trip to the beach

The grey-blue graveled tar of the roof was my personal beach; its midday sun-heated stickiness grounded me. Just below, West Hollywood hummed, ignorant to my hovering above. Little breezes lapped at my body, invisible waves of a ghostly ocean.

The noise of idling traffic became the sound of a neo-sea, all man-made but doused in an artificial  L.A. nature. All pure design, plastic organic, new holisitic back to basics human projects. Palm trees, non-native, made to sway in the smoggy afterbirth of constructed paradise.

Flat, dirty windows under a flat, blue sky. I couldn’t even pick out the sun though it baked right through me. All the buildings were flimsy sets. Nothing happened behind these tarred and feathered doors, did they?

Nothing was even as magical as smoke and mirrors, just wood and paint. Wires gaffed to be just slightly out of sight. My rusted, cemented beach vibrated under my hot, prickly skin.

If I closed my eyes, maybe it would just become the ocean. Car horns would be boat horns, rambling figures seagulls or sea buoys. Waves of cars rolling by became the endless tide of sun-tipped crests of endless human hope, hollow and persisting.



Elsie in New York

     “No, bumptious reader, this story is not a continuation of the Elsie series. But if your Elsie had lived over here in our big city there might have been a chapter in her books not very different from this.

     Especially for the vagrant feet of youth are the roads of Manhattan beset “with pitfall and with gin.”

     But the civic guardians of the young have made themselves acquainted with the snares of the wicked, and most of the dangerous paths are patrolled by their agents, who seek to turn straying ones away from the peril that menaces them.

     And this will tell you how they guided my Elsie safely through all peril to the goal that she was seeking.”

Elsie in New York
Elsie in New York

Epic groundscore in West Hollywood. My reasearch has led me to surmise these pages fell from this O. Henry here. Oh, Elsie and O. Henry. The perils! The parody. I love that this literally fluttered into my lap on my rooftop(ground) in WeHo.

things i enjoy.

instead of last year’s things i don’t enjoy, let’s see it from another view.

talking to strangers
dressing myself up
pretty clothings
traveling by car, preferably solo
imagining the lives of everyone around me
writing by hand in pen
ASMR videos
styling and plaiting hair
headphones while crafting
radio while writing
weird signs
remnants of lives before
abandoned areas, houses, trinkets
learning by doing
solving word puzzles
salty taste
mythological creatures
forest critters
scary movies
dumb and dumber
bizarre humor
weird twitter
tiny projects
belljar worlds
learning to speak lydia.