The weather here is dark and gray which is what I remember about this place in general. One of the things you end up growing tired of is that color. I hear all the time about not wanting to live in certain places because of the people or the weather. Can you imagine how horrible that would be, having those as deciding factors on where you lay your head at the end of your day? I grow attracted to and then turned off by what I see around me. Los Angeles, a sea of just strip malls and strip malls and places to eat and pavement. Everything feels like it was built fifteen years ago, including the smiles on the faces of men and women alike there. At the end of the day I don’t hold much value on where people are coming from or what their opinion of me and my cd collection is. I like the feeling of a conversation that intoxicates me so I forget where I am, Los Angeles, Salem, San Francisco, Albany, Oklahoma City. St. Louis, wherever. Everyone including me will agree with this, but all of them and I are shallow. Nobody actually feels this way. It sounds nice and feels romantic on paper, ahem, screen.
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The things that end up ruining it for me though, every time.
The color green. How many awesome Radiohead concerts can these well read dudes take my girlfriend to before I explode? Why would I ever care at the end of the day, look at me. I kind of know what I am doing. I think I know her like no others do.
The color red. I never feel this way. I write it down well though. Weapons and rage and words to cut innocent losers down thousands of miles away for no reason aside for my own amusement. Seriously though, I do have a pretty well stocked arsenal here, so yeah. Watch out.
The color blue. I can sit here and listen to twelve thousand minutes of Gershwin songs and weep and feel like a pussy, or I can throw myself into a situation I invent inside my head that will put me three hundred notches below where I am when I am listening to James Brown’s Escapism (Pt. 1 & 2). Why I invent these is the same as why i feel like someone is out to get me. I see them. This house too, no shade to pull down in the kitchen where I am now. Outside there: the woods. Good Lord who knows what or who could be out there. Every time I am in front of that window (which I try not to be at night) I kind of brace myself for the impending bullet that is going to come through the window for me. When I realize it’s going to come in a different form than a bullet I breathe a sigh of relief and get back to researching things I never should have researched in the first place. Had I not though, life would be hidden in some closet somewhere in the midwest still. I never feel blue anymore. I haven't since I came back here. This gray, yeah I'll grow tired of it but it feels good on me. My eyes are sensitive.
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They will never pick up on anything, which works to my advantage.
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