fast talkers and mexican coke bottles

I thought the signs were nowhere in this city but they're everywhere, clamoring for attention er... awareness

Trav said he is writing two at once, that made sense for this moment. 

I drove home an old man was selling junk from out of his truck bed on the long hill up Sunset Blvd into Echo Park. We talked, I got him down to $50 on a table and chairs that fits perfectly in my kitchen. His name was Miguel. He and an old Bank executive, a black guy walking his therapy dog started talking to me about the old days. The dog owner, whose name I forgot, bought his house in Silver Lake for $78,000 three decades ago.

And now it's worth millions

gurl

i want to be the one middle aged guy dancing in the Zumba class that is your heart

the who what wha

writing sucks, i think i only do it to please an insatiable void masquerading as love. comedy is the same. here, i am, doing it again now

one grain

A fresh papaya doesn't taste like vomit. Two Canadian women will invite you to sleep with them in their camping tent for no other reason than to talk American politics as raindrops pitter patter on the soft cathedral roof of the shelter. A guy next to you in a crowd will use the term "infinite crescendo" to describe the musical acts of the love fest. You will write it down in your phone, infinite crescendo. You and a girl will sit at the edge of the world calling each other things like lovely as the unnamed constellations do what they've been doing almost like this existence is not a miracle. You will write at some point in your phone "I don't know why I'm here but I love it". A kitchen cook will explode in rage that you sent an omelette with tomatoes back to him. You will get zenned out again and then be yelled at on the drive home by an angry local making a left turn in his truck while you're peeling a quick right in front of him. You will cry three times. Once on the plane there. Once on the top of a volcano summit. Once on the way down its road where it meets the trail when finally after dozens of cars speeding past your worn out thumb, a Japanese tourist offers to give you a ride back up but then a couple from Lake Tahoe stops and gives you a ride back down to your car. You will realize that most tears aren't from the sadness of loss but from the gratitude of what's had. Your chest, the one that's felt like an elephant has been sitting on top of it for months, it will release and allow the heart to open for awhile. I can travel sober. I can lose my mind at altitudes sober. I can dance in public sober. Dancing, I always said I needed to find mine. My friend said she cried at the stupid vulnerability of intuitive dancing and I understood but then I pounded the floor, jumped thousands of times, made myself move until conditioned tension all spilled out of me and I could breathe again. Then we drank a bunch of foraged coconuts. Earlier that morning, I walked naked on a black sand beach, shriveled, and glorious on this earth for a time

from the elements

The couple beneath the umbrella are everything that's good about people. I wonder if they'll ever know that while they were huddled beneath that lavender instrument, they were also out there dancing in the rain together.

trav and i

Today my brother and I left our apartment in Venice for the final time. The one we shared longer than anywhere either of us have ever lived. It was unceremonious our departure. We got the hell out of there. Too many bad memories. Too much struggle. Too much of nothing. But we were there together even as so many things crumbled around us, and we created as much as our inner and outer circumstances would allow, we wrote quite a bit of good shit actually, and we never took the ocean for granted, and we laughed like hyenas, and I'll cherish that longer than I'm alive.

tom robbins awhile back

script

FELICIA: My dad is sick. I told you. Didn't I tell you that? Well, he is. And he's gonna die if I don't help him.
MATILDA: No one can help. Trust me.

Matilda shivers and her face is sweating profusely.

FELICIA: You don't have to be nervous. I told you I'm not gonna hurt you.
matilda: It doesn't matter.

FELICIA: Yes it does.

i'm fine

My liver is fucked at the moment. From food poisoning, too much drinking this year, or Tylenol. They don't know. It's not that bad, but I can't drink until the next test. I can't consume any food either, not without it bubbling up in my chest, a separate problem that I can't take medication for cuz of the liver.

No problems on this earth are really separate.

And it's difficult figuring out how to be a human being without the little creature comforts of consumption. The food, the drinks, whatever we rely upon as crutches against time and space. And it's difficult figuring things out knowing that whatever I really am will be jumping ship from this body at any moment. I guess that's what's so miraculous about people, our ability to so intimately know of our impending demise while still innately feeling compelled to live. So I'm exercising more, I'm drinking apple cider vinegar and water with every meal, probiotics, and I'm not eating anything after six pm. And it's helping, it's helping, a little bit at a time, and for awhile, it's helping. And that's a damn fine thing, staving off defeat. Anyway, I should get out of my parked car now. I've hated Sunday nights for as long as I can remember, and I'm grateful to complain about it.

oh man look at those cavemen go

I'm like 28 and I've been listening to the Bewlay Brothers by David Bowie on repeat for days and days and I can't stop listening to it

I get like that on songs sometimes, I get stuck

And there's this Swedish-Nicaraguan girl I'm seeing. And her and I are all dreamy eyed for each other cuz she's leaving to go home soon and cuz I still have a week before I find out that my dad has cancer

And one morning I'm taking her back home from my apartment to the house she's been rooming in with a peaceful Sikh family who has a little blonde boy who is in love with her

And I'm driving us up that hill that wraps around the Santa Monica Airport's southern end into Ocean Park I think the street is still considered Walgrove

And I turn on the Bewlay Brothers song again and it sounds crisp and is pitched clearly

And then she reaches for my hand and she holds my hand

And I feel placed

And after that moment I don't need to play the Bewlay Brothers on a loop anymore cuz now it found its location in my heart indefinitely, with her hand on mine

"And so the story goes they wore their clothes they said the things to make it seem improbable..."