the destruction is still so evident, sometimes i feel like the war is still on.
the cafe i spent hours in, chain smoking through ridiculous conversations and way too many books on topics i had no interest in...
the dark little pub owned by a sweet greek baba who made the best spanakopita ever...
the pagan magick shop that was pretty much in the living room of someone's house...
all gone.
and the rains...
how long has it been since i've experienced the chilly, dark rains?
it seems that i'm slightly disconnected from the world around me, from myself, so ungrounded and dare say confused, no attachment to any place, its just another transition pulled via tiny nano stings filled with the here and now. its bittersweet since i crave change so strongly but its also a bit sad to see so many things go. there is no permanence but instead a sense of place-lessness, everything and everyone is the same. the perfect complement to my desire for non being.
i felt nothing leaving LA.
i wear my masks like its carnivale in venice, floating on rickety cut outs of moral support plagued through dark tunnels of avarice and vindication. an elaborate structure to engulf one's face in feathers and flame, gliding in false gestures to an ever discerning public. the gaze of judgement, a touch of chiffon convoluted to put flesh on the bones of a baroque simplicity, waking elasticity, shadows enhanced in a customary glow.
bridged by time zones, my offbeat, erratic sleep schedule fits in just fine, intertwined land with the clinical flaw of insomnia, oh my lack of timepiece, time sense...i have no where to be, i even sometimes like those strange places my mind wanders off to after days without true sleep. now the self reclaiming wakefulness takes precedence over busybody scheduling, i've lost the need for control, for time, this whole 'whenever you like' time has transformed into the ebb and flow of productivity and natural existence. the witching hour, the place inbetween and my ever growing existential doubting.
