I haven’t written much lately because I’ve been working like a dog with his ass caught in a wire fence. And it’s not like there hasn’t been much to write about. Nothing like a little end-of-the-world economic hysteria to spark the imagination. Motherfuckers got real creative during the Great Depression I’m sure.
The truth also is that I’ve been trying to escape the chattering madness. Part of me thinks this is fear propaganda perpetrated by the corporate elite to scam a trillion bucks before their pal George leaves office. Like when you’ve been fired you look around for staplers and shit to steal, these guys just got some really pricey staplers at their grasp. It’s either naive wishful thinking or crass cynicism. Kinda both.
I’ve been trying to keep it in mind, that despite what the papers and pundits scream, life is still rather wonderfully silly. The weather is just now starting to relent and even allowed me to break out a sweater. That’s blustery for L.A standards. I came up with a new dish for pork and potatoes. My oven still cooks food at 350 degrees. That hasn’t changed. Dogs still run up to me and want to be petted. Life is pretty, pretty wonderful. And silly… there’s just so many silly things to do with life.
I’m thinking about heading to Joshua Tree for Halloween. Sit up with a bottle of wine and bay at the moon. Carve pumpkins and tell ghost stories. I’m a simple man with grand dreams. They involves coastlines and love letters. Candles burning down to nubs while couples whisper their lives away.
The trees with their spooky limbs, the rocks with their haunted radiations, what better place than Joshua Tree for supernatural fright-fun?
I love creating new compound words. Wordlove runs deep like the mighty, mighty Mississippi. Even a 12 year-old can spell Mississippi but the majority of Americans can’t spell Massachusetts. Maybe that’s why all the dummies live in Mississippi while the smart people live in Massachusetts. I shouldn’t say that. There’s actually some dummies in Massachusetts too.
Just kidding. Really. I shouldn’t pick on the South. It’s a beautiful, soulful place with absolute human treasures. I love the South too. I love it all!
There’s still much to smile about, America.
We have bright days ahead. And things to look forward to.
A midnight burrito at La Cabana in Venice for one. There’s something about the unflappable disdain of the serving staff there, year after year, which is so reassuring. With black vests they drop the chips and salsa on the table in a way that let’s you know they think you’re a cockroach, with a smile. But the patio is open-aired and the margaritas magically blended. On a Saturday night there’s no better place to end the evening. The Mayan murals on the wall remind me that there’s been other empires in this hemisphere to fall. Sorta ironic afterall.
I was with some of my longest friends, just laughing and chatting. I hate to break it to you folks, but life is still a pleasant proposition if you do it right. I’m tired of feeling panicked. This Depression is getting boring. Jeff Buckley is singing though my speakers and lives through my soul and this doesn’t frighten me one bit, sharing my soul with Jeff Buckley. And with you. And my soul wants to let loose, to swim through the boulders in the desert and forget that there’s such a thing as a Stock Market and 401Ks.
Every generation feels like the last.
The pink light of dawn always comes too fast.
Join me, in refusing to feel blue.
Changing the curtains on this view.
I’m swirling now. Writing this at 3am.
Words floating and swaying…