Hello Everyone,
My time in LA is almost up. Its been truly wonderful coming back but, alas, it is time to go. I leave for San Francisco tonight. I have to say, I can see myself writing country songs all night with Luis and his roomate, Andre, and participating in late night highly immature toxically funny conversations about pubic hair with their super gracious neighbors for the rest of my life. However, the rest of my life's none of my business and I can't tell the future what to do, so I might as well get on the next bus. In all honestly, I'm itching to get down the anyway.
There was one more thing to do while I was here and that was to hit the beach, which I did. I took a city bus down to where Marina Del Rey borders Venice, where I spent a lot of time 10 years ago, and let the memories come in and do their thing then felt them pass on through. I was going to get off the bus where one of my old jobs was, but when the bus stopped there, I just stayed in my seat and let the past pass on by.
I took the bus to the end of Washington Blvd. and entered the last county fair carnival in the U.S. and that is Venice Beach. Out there on the edge of America, it is quite a sight to see. In the light of the sun reflecting off the ocean you've got all types of time spenders. Some people have a purpose for being there, for someone has to operate the hot dog and burger booths, the authentic serape shops, bong shops, and medical marijuana evaluation centers, complete with bean bag rooms to get high and ease your glaucoma suffering, lack of appetite, or just general meloncholia...should a valid physician deem you meloncholy, hungry or blind enough. The people hanging outside of those booths have a purpose, I'm just not sure what it is, but they sure look like they know. Then there are others, who appear to have not recieved proper notification that The Dream has ended. The dream that fueled them to the coast kept going, out beyond the Pacific, and left them there to stare out at the ocean, with a gaze of wonderment, or bewilderment, at the prospect of a dream crossing the ocean. They seem to be hopeful, that a dream could cross that big water, but that is overlayed on another look, that of no hope that the dream can go all the way around the globe and come back to them. But they keep staring, what else are they gonna do? It was their dream.
That is all ground level, however. On the balconies of the apartments above the freakshow you have another view of the ocean. That is the view of sundecks and cell phones and working lunches in bathing suits. Conversations over brunch about things I couldn't understand and money making while tanning. I hope to understand money making one day, that would be nice, and there is a part of me that would really like to see the ocean from that balcony, but when I think about that that balcony gets higher and higher....like the tribal underlings below getting their prescriptions filled. I decided to part the ganja cloud and go forth up the beach.
Passed muscle beach, the long walk consisted of bikers, roller bladers, lovers, tai chi-ers and general day off-ers. People spending their time. That continued all the way to the Santa Monica Pier. I went to the end of the peir, which is the end of the old Route 66, and thought, marveled, really, on what it must've been like, before the I, cell, mobile and bag phones, before the internet, even before the TV when going west really meant going west, a place that really only existed when one saw it with their own eyes. When one's thoughts became real.
Maybe the dream did manifest, it just wasn't what they thought it was. How could they have known? There's no web page or iphone app in the world that serves as a magic eight ball. The answer is only at the end of the trail, and things have to be seen to believed, in the long run. Don't they?
Take care, everyone, and thanks for joining me on this journey. Talk to soon...
Todd
No comments:
Post a Comment