welcome to los angeles, the city of angels. not beautiful when it's rainy, not beautiful when it's sunny, but indisputably perfect when it's perfect. as i stand on the ledge outside my front door, smoking a cigarette and contemplating the random things that venture into my thoughts, i inhale and survey the city around me. i've generally hated los angeles... the way people are always in an angry hurry to get to their destinations, treating their cars as tanks when they drive and gold-plated museum pieces when they park... the way the thick brown sky chokes the city, asphyxiating glass-metal monoliths and blanketing my view of the snowy mountains in the distance. through the seldom blue, planes slice the sky to pieces, leaving white chemtrails across the heavens like an enormous web for some horrendous spider in hiding. a jumble of concrete veins and arteries, often clogged, transport what seem to be an endless supply of polluting blood to and from the city, and as i listen hard for the chirp of birds, all i hear is drowned out by the steady hum of the freeway beside me, just an arm's reach away. occasionally, a horn honks, a big-rig rattles, and a police or ambulance siren pierces the dull whitenoise, but all the birds.. have fled.
as the parasitic city continues to grow, it stretches its gnarled fingers to the north and clutchs the brown hills once domniated by lone oaks and green grasses. the land has been conquered and turned into a suburban hell; a labyrinth of identical streets, houses, and of course, cul-de-sacs. where residents themselves can hardly differentiate their homes from their neighbor's, it seems amazing that they can still differentiate between themselves; blinded by everything except for class and race. welcome to los angeles, the city of angeles, where the brightest stars in the night sky are planes, the tallest trees are telephone poles, and the greenest leaves are found in our purses and wallets.
how often i forget that this is los angeles and nevertheless perfect, when it's perfect. brown is the sky but beautiful are the sunsets. sitting on the beach with some friends in the warm breeze, learning to slackline between some electrical poles, i look over at the sea, at the surf breaking gently onto the sand, regretting that i left my surfboard at home. seeing us tumble like beginners onto the sand, a group of young kids come over and join us, and as we watched, soaking in the socal sun, each kid fearlessly jumped on the line, fell off, and immediately got up to give it another go. watching them persevere i revisit in my mind what it would be like to be a kid again, unbreakable and eager to learn new things; my childhood lost to a protected life, though thankful that my grandfather took the initiative to take me to parks, museums, and zoos.
as the sun dipped lower into the reddening sky, and left us in silhouettes, warm perfection beamed through the air, tanning my skin. as i sank my toes into the coolness of shady sand beneath my feet, and listened to the soft crashes of a green-blue tide, i relish feeling of being absolutely free of school and demands. nine months from now, i may be starting another six or seven years of education, but now was not the time to think about that. instead, it was the time to just kick back and appreciate the moment for what it was. it was hard to even imagine that a week ago, a cold continuous rain beat down on this same warm beach. as the breeze kicked up a black plastic bag and sent it rolling across the tan sand before us, pointing to it, a friend and i exclaimed in unison... tumbleweed! while another ran to chase it down and place it in the trash. it was an urban tubbleweed no less, and a harsh yet artistic reminder of reality in this urban wonderland. why are we living here? a reporter rhetorically asked in a segment on the afternoon news. it's for days like today.
los angeles, california.
as the parasitic city continues to grow, it stretches its gnarled fingers to the north and clutchs the brown hills once domniated by lone oaks and green grasses. the land has been conquered and turned into a suburban hell; a labyrinth of identical streets, houses, and of course, cul-de-sacs. where residents themselves can hardly differentiate their homes from their neighbor's, it seems amazing that they can still differentiate between themselves; blinded by everything except for class and race. welcome to los angeles, the city of angeles, where the brightest stars in the night sky are planes, the tallest trees are telephone poles, and the greenest leaves are found in our purses and wallets.
how often i forget that this is los angeles and nevertheless perfect, when it's perfect. brown is the sky but beautiful are the sunsets. sitting on the beach with some friends in the warm breeze, learning to slackline between some electrical poles, i look over at the sea, at the surf breaking gently onto the sand, regretting that i left my surfboard at home. seeing us tumble like beginners onto the sand, a group of young kids come over and join us, and as we watched, soaking in the socal sun, each kid fearlessly jumped on the line, fell off, and immediately got up to give it another go. watching them persevere i revisit in my mind what it would be like to be a kid again, unbreakable and eager to learn new things; my childhood lost to a protected life, though thankful that my grandfather took the initiative to take me to parks, museums, and zoos.
as the sun dipped lower into the reddening sky, and left us in silhouettes, warm perfection beamed through the air, tanning my skin. as i sank my toes into the coolness of shady sand beneath my feet, and listened to the soft crashes of a green-blue tide, i relish feeling of being absolutely free of school and demands. nine months from now, i may be starting another six or seven years of education, but now was not the time to think about that. instead, it was the time to just kick back and appreciate the moment for what it was. it was hard to even imagine that a week ago, a cold continuous rain beat down on this same warm beach. as the breeze kicked up a black plastic bag and sent it rolling across the tan sand before us, pointing to it, a friend and i exclaimed in unison... tumbleweed! while another ran to chase it down and place it in the trash. it was an urban tubbleweed no less, and a harsh yet artistic reminder of reality in this urban wonderland. why are we living here? a reporter rhetorically asked in a segment on the afternoon news. it's for days like today.
los angeles, california.
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