I'm not sure why, lately, los angeles swirls in my head, why car drives and the quality of sun and things like these are constant memories every tenth time I close my eyes, a yellow-orange sun flare, sun in your eyes, my eyes, shadows cast upon discarded models, things like these. I think about los angeles and I cry a little bit inside but instead the cry diverts itself at my neck to my mouth instead to my eyes and I make this funny little gesture with my mouth only, like a clown frown face, and it's something that I don't understand but happens to me anyways. I do these movements in elevators, on a bike, walking around, and all the while when it happens it seems that I'm thinking about LA, about cars, about the quality of cars on a freeway, that sort of experience that is so foreign to me, right now.
Right now everything feels so charged, so full, but I am not worried about growing older but am worried about worrying about growing older.
and back to LA. somewhere in some room in some darkened apartment in brooklyn someone is saying something about the sun. something about the lengthened shadows. something about the nights when it's warm out. of dangerous things, like the really scary things, like when these firefighters tried to open the locked pregnant trunk of a smoking, burnt car in the middle of herald square while a large crowd looked on; like today, when someone cried out loud in the subway, sweating, clutching his stomach, about to throw up or die or pass out, and for a second the dead realization that I don't want to see someone die right now came at me really quick in the midst of my tiredness and punctured this all, this all. all of a sudden everything changes. you get that dark taste in your mouth and the sky elongates.
sun in the morning and a dark-hazy-gray day. things to do and places to walk to. legs to move.