I stood in the backyard of a house on the Eastside. Sunday night. I was staring at a tall tangerine tree. A citrus time of year. A young black man singing like an angel amid his delicate electronic instrumentals. People artfully scattered amongst the features decorating the rustic earth with a presence.
Friday I was at a bar in Venice. After hours of conversation, I kissed a lovely black woman by her car. I bring up her race only as it pertained to her age, she was 35, older than me but lovely. And black 35 is like a white 28, I joked. I asked the crowd at Silverlake Lounge if that was anywhere near racist. They said yes, toward white people not aging well. Relieved. White people are fine. White men especially. I am one and if it's any consolation, I said, I'm not having that much fun with the whole thing either.
I gotta save all my best lines for a script or two. I'm sorry.
As long as life provides me no free time to think about what composes life, I'm frickin doin all right.
That people fall and pine over each other even when there is merely a prison window of a chance.
I wrote in a little notebook that I was so drunk that the subtle nuances of my penmanship had changed enough to become court verified indistinguishable.
I realized recently, only, I don't know why, that I can't stand watching people licking their fingers after they eat.
Oh! The park. There was this little park off Sunset. I'd gone there to read at 1:30 yesterday in the afternoon. Just a little sliver of grass with a few mature trees, some large smooth sitting rocks, and mariachi music blaring festively from one of the little bungalows surrounding. And this androgynous figure in black sweatsuit bottoms and turquoise sweater, in down-dog, one legged at times, two at others. I barely noticed. But then two hours later I walked by and the person was still there doing it. Then four hours later I went back to my car to charge my phone and the person was still there doing it. then at 7:30 I went back to my car and the person was still there doing it.
One night, I put condoms into a hidden pocket of my jacket, and this just so happened to situate the protection over my heart.
