Sometimes I struggle, staying on track, remaining objective in the day-to-day activities that make up this life. My life. Sometimes, I worry. Often I worry…sometimes about myself, sometimes about the people around myself. It’s the kind of thing that can spin a person into circles until they yearn for a clear vantage point…one of those views that people talk about, high above, from the outside looking in, beside oneself or something like it.
…
I was at the La Brea & Santa Monica Target on a Saturday, hung-over…probably still drunk or fucked from the night that had just passed, wandering. I was there for something, something that I needed in my life…something about my life but I couldn’t remember. I started to sweat, overcome by the masses swirling around me in their Satanic red carts, their lust for econ shopping, their disgusting excitement. For a moment, I thought of standing in the middle of the pretty white aisles of this great American wasteland, pulling trigger and emptying my remnants onto the slick and surely recently buffed tile.
But I didn’t, maybe because I’m gutless but most likely because what pillar member of world society pulls a stunt like that? Not this one. I focused, decided to forget about the overwhelming responsibilities that had earlier inspired my visit. Suddenly, all that was overcoming was overcome. I picked up 11 DVD’s, two sets of bamboo party lights and left with the same sense of false accomplishment that leads me through every task of every minute of every day of this tip of my sweet fucking tongue life…so familiar by now, I get off on it. And maybe that’s my curse, knowing my great flaw…that nothing will ever be enough.
On the way out, I stepped into the elevator, was followed by one couple, another. The doors were closing when a family of happy Mexican-ish descendants crammed inside…obviously at the end of a Target bender and excited to return to their lands in the Eastern kingdom to bask in the glory of a fresh haul. As the doors closed, the alarm sounded. The elevator wasn’t moving an inch…and the doors weren’t opening. We all paused before the first words came from the lady of the first couple, pointed at the family. “You should have bought some food. We’re gonna starve in here.” Everyone laughed until I obviously misjudged the situation…
“We could always eat the children.”
…
Something’s going down in my life…something surrounding, strangling the parts of me that get off on EA and insisting to myself over and over it was a she who insisted, again and again. Harder, harder. Fuck…
I can feel something boiling through. And this incessant tapping in my feet, fingers, face…between my ears. It’s making it difficult to sit still. I have to leave…to wind through the only wind worth mentioning in this town…Mulholland. Because every time I go I feel a step closer to pinning this shit down.
…
I hope the fog is out tonight. I hope it’s seeping through the canyons, cooling the air. I hope it invades through my window, introduces me to the faces of the bits of soul that escape my breath with every exhale. Maybe tonight, they’ll look me in the eyes when they speak…
Maybe they’ll tell me why they’re leaving, or better yet…what’s moving in.
