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there is a place in Mar Vista where i can check out of the world proper

drop out of time and space. out of the unnecessary worries, illusions and delusions of so-called reality.

to simply be. to rest and heal.

and in the emotional scatter-zone of L.A., that sort of thing is needed.

in New York, daily life is not so deeply out of balance. for me at least.

and i've said it before but it's good, for myself at least, to reiterate: the 1000-mile-stare i see in the eyes of most every man, woman and child on the morning train to Manhattan... it takes a dose of L.A. to put that kind of darkness into my perception.

why is "home" like that?

how is it that the big bad Metropolis, the scary "if-you-can-make-it-there" place, feels so familiar and inviting?

but the place i'm most familiar with - the place i was born and grew up in - is so damn annoying.

so ugly.

But in one small room there is air. That room in Mar Vista doesn't feel alien. It doesn't feel like the oxygen is sucked out of the place.

it doesn't feel like i'm in the presence of an enormous animal that you always feed but is never satisfied.

in my mind: L.A. = Need

unquenchable need. blind animal hunger.

maybe it's just me. the millions of people here might have a different take.


wait, is that my house you're talking bout?

still processing, huh?

you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

further: you can't teach that old dog old tricks either

worse: a bunch of new dogs are severely fucktarded too.

sometimes you want to go
where everybody knows you name
and their always glad you came
you wanna go where you can know
something something yeah
you wanna go where everybody knows your name.

god, Im sad we missed yellow submarine. I needed that different air. I couldnt get up though.

are you calling me a new and fucktarded dog?

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