Nature vs. Nature

Winters in LA unravel in a surprised flux.  Big gray rain comes in windy, sharp flashes for an evening or a day, then the sun swoops up from the dregs and speaks its power for hours- till the sky dries from white to blue.  The other day, I came home from dinner to find a single layer of hail waiting for me atop of all raised surfaces- the hood of my neighbor’s tan SUV carpeted in cold, irregular pearls.  Made me think of January 12th, 2001, my 13th birthday & the day of my Bar Mitzvah, when it hailed like I hadn’t seen here before or since.  I remember the news reports that afternoon- camera crews at my middle school filming tiny, slumped, smiling attempts at hailmen, then filming dudes in the surrounding suburbs on snowboards getting yanked down the street by pick-up trucks from the end of a rope.
I wanted to believe it was a sign, an omen- my world telling of the heavy elements around me and above me coming to a strange fruition- but what isn’t nowadays?  I expect frogs next, just like in Magnolia.
Just like I expect edgy, caffeine addicted crows to start crowding trees and telephone wires outside of cafes until they just HAVE to have a sip.  Just like I expect the seasons to flip and mix like four eggs in a hamster ball.  Because, now, I don’t need any symbol-savvy atmospheric conditions.
The war is weird enough as it is.

Humidity and fire

Fire hooping, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

Hanging out with fire spinners has taught me interesting things about how weather affects their performance. I would think a humid day would be better- more moisture in the air, the fire would be less likely to catch their clothing. But apparently that’s not really the way of it. When it is humid, the fire stays closer to the source, so their props get hotter and the flame itself is more static. Instead of burning up and out, it stays on the torch, and is more likely to catch, or at least, more difficult to handle. It makes perfect sense, but I never would have thought of it. New things learned every day.

Sweet Peas

Its finally summer and the East Coast is melting. It threatens rain but only drizzles for a short time and the clouds leave the city muggy. This is weather for beaches and sprinklers and sunblock. Not riding to work, trying to look professional. Is there such a thing as a professional tank-top? I need to get to work at my sewing machine because I have plenty of fabric and the shabby chic look seems to be in. Walks to lunch are sticky and unpleasant, office days seem longer and longer and longer and coffee doesn’t quite pack the punch it seemed to when the breeze was cool on my face.

Hollyweird Babylon

Something isn’t right here.  A lot of somethings aren’t.  A lot of somethings go against everything and, thus, we have a lot of work to do.

There is a production going on in Los Angeles.  A movie is being discussed and planned. Timid money stirs in accounts held by rich strangers with stranger motives, trying to weasel itself inside the heart of a digital diamond. I see the shit, but not the story. I feel the strange money sitting in my wallet that will soon become coffee, snacks, pens, and hard drives reaching out to more significant moments- to all the wandering people who have come here following the scent of an ideal, but finding only themselves in an edgy city that’s utterly packed, utterly cramped, with piled concrete, selfish real estate, and firm belief. I’ve seen them pace the dirty, overwrought streets in cars and on foot, which are as crowded as the rooms here feel. But we are here to entertain, not to pity. I feel the money, I hear about the budget, the thousands marching towards the screen and away from everything else, the back scratching backstabbers that keep The Industry alive, the glitter coated shit river flowing, and just want to burn or steal it all. I want to shut it all down and force them to listen to me and realize that I’m right, that time and money should be invested in therapy and exploration, not fetish and masturbation. I am among those blind & compromising hopefuls perpetuating the problem, yet hoping to make it turn on itself.

The problem lies in the aims and ends- too little, too limp. The problem lies between how to respect free will and how to impose my own. The problem lies on its side, covered during the day under new ‘For Lease’ and ‘For Rent’ signs on top of oily sleeping bags and jackets. The problem is of our hands and in our hands. The problem is as much of who we are as the resolution, so here’s to the evolution of our intellects/conflicts, which will grow if I want them to enough.

Happy May

May Day in NJ, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

Its warming up here in Philly. Soon everyone will be heat-crazed, but for now its still enjoyable. Playing on swings makes every day just a little bit better.

Dahlia in a small pot

Dahlia in a small pot, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

My dahlias are growing! I really can’t wait. This spring weather is lovely, even if it can’t make up its mind between cold and hot. I hope this little plant does well in its pot- from everything I’ve read it really should have more space, but since this is all I have- stubborn gardener away!

*** UPDATE *** My lovely happy growing Dahlia was stolen last night. Still not sure if I will risk another planting.

Errands all day…

Errands all day…, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

but somehow in the spring, I don’t really mind. The sun was setting as we drove home- it was a very full day.

Notes After a Robbery ……………………………(edited journal entry)

I can’t fake very well. When I’m falling, my heart races and I wear a scared mouth. So many things that are my fault, so many things that hurt me that I hold onto~ that’s the sign of a low confidence kid, that disappointment, pain, and detachment, that’s home to me- walking around with shit in my pants, waiting for it to go away

Some of us think, some of us feel, some of us are deluded enough to believe we can draw the line between them across the populace & down our torsos. Some of us realize every moment is precious and that no matter what pain & horror & broken heart, it’s important to fight forward, to escape yourself by throwing yourself into the world, realizing that all roads lead to Rome & hurt blows & might as well give yourself no choice but mesh with your surroundings. Some of us, us like me, us the self-obsessed, the ‘in my world/in my head’, the lost swimmers, are more abusive with their reasoning, calling our pain reason, like we’re hurting for a reason we’re still trying to understand, when we’re hurting for a reason we can’t escape- can’t change- can’t rationalize.

I felt like our love was important, like I said before, and that if I turned my back on it, I’d lose something big, something real, something very David. I’d lose the first thing I really understood, really lived in, really tried~ but now I see that simply love is important, however you can manifest it. Hell, especially when it can manifest in a place you wouldn’t expect. It’s people, man. People are my rock, my fuel, my glory- I want to love who I want to love, and I want to want things that sound like good ideas, but this fucking thing, this fucking pressure, to find the truth~ to keep the truth as most important~ it’s all tiny steps & nudges & leans that put people in misdirections~ that put them in an ill fitting crowd, in ill fitting clothes, in an ill fitting town, in an ill fitting house, at an ill fitting job towards an ill fitting future~ all in good intentions & “achieved” empathetic understanding~ but why should a concept be more important that a happy life.

I don’t know. Do I trust my notion of truth, call myself warped & afraid from that once new experience of enormous pain, say that I kicked out my own love crutch and haven’t tried earnestly enough, haven’t tried low & bottom enough, haven’t thrown pride & instinct & comfort away enough, to walk- to find a new/better/something. How willing am I to trust the advice of others & be uncomfortable? Be places I don’t at first want to be, around people I don’t click with, in situations & events I don’t care about…at first? To always be seeking a new vantage point that looks to the sky & can somehow still see the earth- to create new points/.grounds for comparison.

Where am I going? Am I strong/hardworking enough to make this into something? I want joy & I want love and I want it all in one package. I want joy and I want pride & I want to talk & help, but not without that Love love. How much should I question & how much should I DO? I’m not dumb enough to turn the hurt into motivation and the other off beat, gorgeous chicks all have boyfriends, and I sleep & smoke & watch & wait- I listen to advice, then ignore it & listen to my hurt & hesitation.

Readiness, peace, terms, and ease will come in time, but now is my time to find what I care about~ I sometimes think that this hurt and pain is inevitable & is me- that this is my truth, my story, my mountain, my conflict- Love vs. time, reason, good ideas, & the world~ but then I think how I’m just another boy with a broken heart among millions in the same boat~ the leaky boat- the boat that’s beached between the city & the ocean~ the world & the inward pursuit~ turning our heads back & forth & attempting to decide, but really just knocking on wood, sitting, looking, & thinking in circles- and that this is no truth to keep, explore, or protect, no eternal flame~ this just happens. People fuck up. People fall in love, come into themselves & each other, save each other a few dozen times, then someone fucks up or fizzles. Then the love is supposed to lose authority & credibility & the boys & girls move ON- the rush with the wind & rain towards the next idea, the next golden goose, the next fountain- to throw yourself into the more & the new & roam the entire fucking planet, but…it hasn’t happened so far.

This sucks, but there are colors in the light, there are bursting rainbows that sit on humidity and wiggle with the heat, there are billions of girls in thousands of countries that can see me, there is what’ll come after I’ve grown more reasonable & established a true base camp of a location, a people, & a goal. Everything I need is here already, but I must be wanting to build. Am I?

I’ll tell you what I am. I’m a broken heart worshiper with a bad record~ I’m a writer, an artist, a son, a friend, dark spots and light spots, a chess game of sensitivity, a stubborn circle, a tester, a mix. Pain, it has my heart~ it’s with nearly every moment in every part of my life- but I think that’s the truth. That pain will just always be there, and maybe it should be, but I need to learn to separate that from my daily mood. Let it inform me, direct me, remind me, but don’t let it in.

Block it with your stroll.

Unseasonal Downpours

My city is bursting.
Baby greens reaching out with amazed sensations over every curved natural angle- all that can be created showing us how easily it can be equally overwhelming.
When I lay in the grass (and it may be the grass, the long, snapping fingers of ripples and roots that now have every right to make us think our hills can be as emerald as our bodies want them to be, that calls & salutes to me most) like I’m doing right now, and watch the clouds come from the ocean and put on slight of hand techniques so astoundingly magnificent (complete with Santa Claus’s luminescent head frowning at a family of shape-shifting gray whales below a sheer sheet of air cracked into patches or left laying as a film), I lose my language & start to learn.
Whatever sits beneath the green in Angels Gate or the green in Koreatown or the green at Sunset Junction, wither it be a street, a fort, a city, or a park, it has never before this winter realized how wealthy it becomes once things get stranger.
The gray tries its best, but our California sun knows how to bleed every opportunity.
We forget we’re so alive.

Yes; the water poured towards perfection, the wind closed its ears and screamed, the land, Los Angeles, drank away its poison with an older, clearer spirit, and the animals walked through the new fields yearning to make an impression- but how will we forgive this weird abundance when it again dissolves into our everyday struggle?
I don’t know, but I’ll take a few pictures.
And maybe write a thing or two.

Snowday

Snowday, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

We got a lot of snow this weekend. A lot a lot. The final count was 28.5 inches, the 2nd largest snow fall in Philadelphia history (since they’ve been counting these things, I suppose).
More snow forecast for Tuesday/Wednesday. ARRRGGGG!!! There is so much snow, there isn’t even a place on my sidewalk to build a snowman. Taking the subway to work takes almost twice as long as my bike. I hate how immobile snow makes me! Relying on Septa is a frustrating way to get around the city.