Beginners

Have you ever driven down the 105 Fwy East from LAX under the tunnel and along the way? It's an ugly journey, to the right are a bunch of military industrial complex buildings and depots and corporate drudgery fronts, but still I've somehow become fascinated by the distant view of the sky and the particular angle of the roadway and sometimes I'll take it to the 110 and then the 10 and arrive downtown. I have been scouring this city for years upon years. Turned over rocks. This city is infinite. This city is endless, one of hidden abundance, but there are certainly permutations. The film Beginners, the gay parent, failed romances, cancer, life emulating art or vice versa, it's powerful to feel a little bit or a lot understood. Even if it's unnerving and sad and beautiful. And stylized. Life is not styled in such a way. Life is not linear. Life is absolutely stunning in the beauty it contains and stark in how much savagery it amounts. I knock on wood. The wicker of my nightstand. I knock on wood obsessively. I wanna talk about the real people. All the real people who have somehow managed to populate my worldview with remarkable elements and passion and care and surprising talent and understanding. Characters are for movies and we pronounce them and they help illuminate the indistinguishable mass of continuous life and they are important in their own way. But the people. They aren't with me in the flesh at the moment, but the people are what we're here for and I know that we are an equation that's involved deeply in answering ourselves.