The bus looks claustrophobic and diseased. Illness transferred through the quiet, polluted air. (no one goes to college anymore.) Old high school principal arrested for driving under the influence after a supposed hit and run collision. Lose job. Lose credibility. Move town. Move to L.A.
No one looks happy on the bus. They look unwilling but they face the void the same direction. The rolling hills shrouded in smog. Hair conscious. (15 month lease. Remember that. Would have to find a roommate.) Roll a joint on the cover of a bible. Bong hits for jesus. Recording sacred, worship music. People will listen in dark rooms with swaying candles, heads down turned and bobbing to the beat, feeling the holy spirit infiltrate their spinal columns.
No greater feeling of 'being outside'. Unfamiliar. The heat and the hate. The eternal artisan water. The french roast imported from South America where slave children are doubled over in the unforgiving equatorial sunlight. But no fear. Fair/free trade.
Huge billboards communicating acquiescence. (How much money does it take to dissolve a soul?) I miss a sad girl who blacks out more than she should. Her jealousy comes from my environment, my jealousy comes from her nature. I am at storefront windows in one city. She dances behind them in another. She wakes up disoriented in my bed wondering aloud if she had just made another mistake. But rather than be vocal about the reasons of this thought, she sighs, relaxes visibly (she tightened up with a gasp when she awoke) and puts her arm over me, hair in my face, head on my chest. Feel each others heartbeats and train them, through patient repetition, to be in tune. Her memory is not, unfortunately for her and my heart I guess... her memory is not going to persuade into or out of a decision. (How can we coordinate so far away?) How can we wind up our wristwatches to click at the same time? (Life is so much more with the touch of someone's skin tonight.) I will go through the cycle of missing her again. If she was in my life more prominently, more physically, I would have to tell her to shy away from drinking. Tell her that it is all okay and that the thirst bottles of wine once satisfied are now in my hands. The drinks on occasion are fine. But it's not a party if it happens every night. (step into the sunshine). We would reinforce each other. Build me up, I'll build you up. Paint my picture, I'll write you a song. Convince me to try crazy things. New things. The courage to grow. But we are far away now in as many senses as I can recall. You are heroin. You are the pusher. Self-sabotage would not happen if we were in close proximity. But my worry is undeserved. She worries because of the beautiful orange women who swarm hot desert streets and sit by pools pretending to be studious to prove to their parents they deserve this life and they deserve to return and return and return. I left her off near the place I met her. A brief kiss in the sideways rain. God damn what a strong bond. Something adhesive something awful.
Image is huge here. Everyone has a pocket mirror. Selling bouquets and oranges on street corners. Had a problem exiting compound. Apartment compound. (Any sense of unity? Consistency?) Everyone has an attitude, an ego. I may not be easily corruptible but this environment becomes poison to anyone if experienced for too long. (I can't freeload for this trip. Would have to work somewhere for a living. Resume sucks. Might have to lie.) 2 years of college paused to chase a pipe dream. I got high and had a dream. We jam out parts and make important connections. Speak of movie deals. A big performance at the end. A CD/DVD package. New technology. No one from L.A. is from L.A. They come in to make it big, to make a name for themselves, no matter how many others they have to stomp on to reach the first wrung of the ladder. To paradise. To fame. The ultimate goal is to make it onto a billboard. Or to be found on a flyer for a big show. To drive an old ferrari. Lines of good coke on the back seat. Living so full and so safe. "Nation's largest clean-air fleet."
Plan. Not to get robbed.
Girls. Music. School. My disdain for Arizona may lead to a rash decision much like what happened, for some reason, to Portland. Where I miss my life. I miss my life. I miss my life. I miss my life. And because it will never come back even if I move back.... I must move forward. (The fuck have I been searching for??). I don't care about the money. I hate the idea of a commonplace job, working in a shop selling bullshit to blind folks. I don't want to buy a wife. I don't want her to have shiny things unless she is deserving. Merit. Earn. Warrant. Rate. Justify. Be worthy of. Be entitled to. Have a right to. Be qualified for.
There is one I would buy something shiny for. She is cynical and will hate the gesture. I am cynical and will love the gesture. Wow. Isn't it so strange.
Danger in my veins. Fill up my cup until I've had more than enough. I miss you. I miss all of you. I desire to learn. I desire to travel. But I distrust everyone and everything. How could I last in this environment? With sometimes crappy lyrics. (I will help for now on)
Don't be timid motherfucker. This is your time to shine shine shine shine shine shine.
Impress and decompress. Kill it. Everyone will love you. Don't be forgotten. Here we go now. Band stylist. Nice bass. Fucking sick.
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Later that day, having walked a few miles toward success. Entering and exiting stores with over priced clothes. I'm wearing clothes and have a suitcase full a few miles back. I was in the coffee bean on 3rd and Hauser I believe. Now. Melrose and Stanley ave. Cuties in here. My body soon requires a nice meal. Apparently there are neat shops around here but mostly it is independent shops that offer expensive shit to compensate for their overall lack of things to sell. Study the rudiments. The acknowledgement. Joke around but not about vertigo or blind spells or blind luck or something. A house far away but not nearly accidental. They plan to move up in the world next week or so. Drums and bass. Eyes like diamonds. I miss her. I miss my pets. I miss my family. Some of these I will miss forever but many I will see again and this should not discourage me as long as they all back me up. A shit job. Difficult lyrical content. That christian band mindset. "a huge draw" but it is not a crowd I wish to be involved with. Be nice and kind. Do your thing. Get out of my face about it. Thick rimmed glasses, dark coffee from Seattle. From my hood. But no one knows. (Ray Allen on the Sonics?) What happens next?
Decision to be made. They like me apparently. I learned most parts by ear. (She loves perfume and I hate her.) They will call me in an hour and sweep me up. Beam me up. Drag me along with hopeful attitudes (I probably just kept walking and walking because my medication makes me care very little.) I'm a writer. Yes I am. Very interesting. Shit. Now is a good time to edit my old story. Here in this coffee shop a million miles from any street I know the name of outside of movies and television. (L.A. sucks if you recognize no celebrities. Good for you I say. You're famous.)
