She's married now but I liked making her laugh. That'll begin the novel about women. For now it's just a line and a remembrance. She was living far off the wrong side of Centinela in a little house that got robbed by someone a psychic later told her was the culprit. The gardener with a brick, not the riled up ex-boyfriend of her sister. What a woman. I liked her and was equally happy to see her go. It's nice being graced by a presence that's never meant to be yours longer than a moment during a larger experience. She was in a large experience herself that was inside an even larger experience who she ended up having a beautiful child with and marrying. I was in the midst of a larger experience soon to enter a large experience posthumously within that half-life of the larger. Nonsensical, stick with me.
I'm walking to an open-mic in Los Feliz. It's today. Sunday. I pass by this damn wannabe Frenchy cafe with authentic marble tables and furniture that's still California wild enough to be more charming than a rip-off. And I can't believe it's here. Where it is, because I'd passed by it so many times since I'd been here first, oblivious to its actual location. Could there have been another location? No. It's the one. I drink a couple IPA's with my grilled cheese on sourdough (feta, cheddar, tomatoes) and I sit first at a table by the bar then snag the small table in back with the drawer that people leave notes inside of, the only outlets are right there too. But they deadened them, the outlets, the cheap money-grubbing bastards. But the food is good, sweet potato fries, the beer is deliciously bitter and crisp and the table behind me is where I first met an experiment of the large within the larger after we had initially encountered one another two days before at a night party.
I told her everything. My parents. My anger. My love. I spilled it out because she was listening. And she had texted me, while on my way there, asking what I wanted to drink. Anything but Stella, I told her. I don't recall the beer that awaited me, but a nice gesture. That was all, the whole thing was. A nice gesture, an entrance into an enormous cavern of beauty and pain, briefly, then an exit.
Two beers at 10% alcohol level shouldn't have an enormous effect on a big guy.
That girl, simply granted me access to a primordial sense of my green lava bubbling originations. She was a symbol. And, I, was a bagel counter number in a secretly crafted revenge, while her looks could still pull off such a numerous feat. She had many more to go after me and I realize some cases are best left unsolved and that poor damn thing could have been a princess in every sense of the spiritual word. But some people are going to be links in life and still incredibly valuable, to us, to themselves. Prized humans.
But it was within the larger but not the largest that I was living when I met her. I don't know the largest yet. I'm getting there. The larger, she was not a link, but the journey, fundamentally so, there was no other path without her, I'd never considered it since we met and won't now that it's suggested. She brought me the final steps to acknowledging God. What does that mean? It's invisibles, we're dealing with the invisibles here. So I can't explain. it's big, but not the biggest. I'm only thankful. That we met that we shared that we ventured onward, even though it hurt like a motherfucker.
When the large universities buy our our contemporary author's archives, will they get their cell phone notes?
Women, what do women do? They inspire, fascinate me. They are continuous and truthfully barely notice my presence within their spectral potentialities. I am lucky to be this other yin/yang individual able to have a moment or two in the sun and under the moon and stars with em.
And Britt, speaking of women, one of the best, another note on Blue Is The Warmest Color, Britt, that we never talked about, was the end. The end, I was thinking about the end a couple days ago, weeks after seeing it and the end. She meets the guy she had a spark with and maybe could have had a world with, she meets him again, but what I think that crafty French filmmaker was saying is that, unlike the time Adele first saw the Lea Seydoux girl then met her again and they both knew it was only a beginning, fate wasn't gonna smile upon love in the same magical way it did the first time. That guy, the spark guy, he wasn't gonna choose the correct direction of street to find her at the end of the movie, because fate or God or the patterns of things, it said, for the betterment of all, that she was gonna have to earn it this time.
And, but, I think she will.
