It's as if the universe had turned upside down, and it's harsh winters had burnt over. I prayed for this day to happen. I prayed with my arms wide open, for happy to stumble into my life and turn it right side up, to burn the letters off these pages to leave this skin blemish free. But it takes more than prayer. And as it turns out, the letters where the dim candlelight on the road here. Happy prefers to stumble onto blemish filled white bones molded into books of us, in a universe turned wrong side up. And it's better that way, because happy is temporary and means nothing without the truest of us; pages filled with crooked words and dog-eared blank paper scattered throughout time. The real us. No one ever prays for an accidental stumble with truth, though we should. Wrong makes the right of us happy sometimes, and stumbling into the unknown is the sum of all of this beautiful catastrophe called life.
The Unedited and Incredible True-ish Silly Tales of Almost Every Los Angeles - Valley Romance.7/20/2014
Part One. Victory Blvd
(hint: read between the lines) It was hot, the dog-days-of-summer-in-the-Valley kind of hot. These two lovebirds were eager to find a peaceful shade at any nearest tree, a tree this side of a place the she lovebird had never been, but had always wanted to "experience." Thanks to the internet, she quickly found a perfectly shady place! "Where's Victory Blvd?", she asked while thinking she might already know, because everyone kinda knows where Victory is. Of course, he was all, "A few blocks up from Vanowen. Duh." And she's like, "Where's Vanowen?" And he's like, "Ah Fuck it! We're getting out of the Valley." She was all smiles. Victory! And they lived happily ever after. (For a friend)
Every year my distant memory reminds me that I should wear the summer like a wedding dress, made of blue-colored strings played in variations of C Major. And so by July I collect the summer sun in a basket full of strings, and let summer happen. And you should too, despite a desire of being held captive by yesterdays spring, and being pulled by autumn into your tomorrow. A memory needs space to grow, so that you can be reminded to wear your today, to listen to the symphony it drapes over and under your skin. Let the summer chords settle in your pores. Let the settling happen, while you wear this celebration, of you. |
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