[habitually seeking the same thing that happened the day before.]
it is about walking. more or less.
if i can remember anyway.
i seem to be doing much more of it than i ever have.
and some of it is even by choice.
it is only from the seven and a half miles of good ol one foot in front of the other action that brings me here.
and it is a hot day.
but why shouldn't it be?
weather, the most boring subject, is thick here and always has been.
a slight breeze now and then which is more than i can say for the sticky, wet air in central new york.
when you walk between buildings there is a draft carrying the rot of the streets.
i'd like to blame it on the wanderers that ignore elaborate shelter and instead use boxes, shopping carts and sometimes even tents. they bathe in the rot and blow it all around us. a place that resembles mexico, i'm told.
but really...
it comes from the east. like everything.
and that cement fortress of these nomads is likely to be confusing.
since i live in the type of vacant, forsaken parts of this great city of california.
where at night the starless sky is florescent and pink.
an adult playground.
they say.
though i do not know who says that.
it is at night that i choose to wander.
not far from my home, but far enough to lie on a patch of grass under a tree on a hill in the center of the city.
the tall buildings behind me. the ever pink above.
there are a thousand other happenings at night in my life now.
things that are now all habit.
i am not alone.
and i do not want to be alone in this city.
the endless city of california.

and always when i walk people, men, stare.
and i am quite aware of it, though they may not be able to tell until i look up and meet their eyes.
who wouldn't wonder what they're thinking.
obviously, 'the most beautiful girl i have ever seen.'
obviously sarcasm.
while they wonder in amazement at my lack of height, grace and stability, i wonder why we use terms like, 'the most ---- ever.'
it's dull really. until i reach my favorite park.
this is where the fuchsia flowers grow above our heads and the lavender ones fall to the ground.
and always the birds play around us.
i'd like to think of animals doing everything that resembles 'play' and nothing close to constant survival.
where is the bird playground?
'do you think that every tree has a bird in it at one time?'
and it is in this place [and all over the old places i've been] where i watch the birds fly by to remind me that there are places that aren't here.

but past this sanctuary is the wall of mirrors where i am not the only one to slowly turn and catch a glimpse of what i look like on the outside.
it is apparent here that i cut my hair too much.
and among all the locks of recently chopped hair, i wonder where the secret is to make it look fantastic.
fabulous even.
i'm sure it's in the beauty aisle in right aid.
which is definitely the first aisle in the store.
the last being alcohol.
proper.

always everything is in between.
i am in between the most populated suburbs of america and the sea.
but i am usually not interested in the abandoned places of this country.
not in comparison to the deserted and even untouched parts of this world.
and not at all in comparison to the relinquished, dead parts of this mind.
travel is soon.
there is some number of species that has not yet been discovered.
which doesn't seem to make sense at all and i can't remember that number anyway.
memory.
i do this every day.

the secret is out that i am the president of the anti-john travolta fanclub.
still active as he ruins another seemingly good film for me and everyone on this earth.
cassavetes' she's so lovely this time.
we cannot stand for this terrible blow to cinema.
it's been going on for decades.
i know we're all praying for that joke of a pilot to crash a plane somewhere.
at least i'll come out and say it.



today is the tenth day of my birthday.

this was the first:


malefic came to my birthday party...

... in low resolution.
- posted by angela @ 5:41 PM