Blurry Days & Nights In Los Angeles
top bloke
i met a boxer at a sports bar
he was talking shit
to the bartender
just had a fight last night
he’s 14-0 now
told him i’d make it 14 and 1
he came over
pretended to hit me
bought me a drink instead
puerto rican guy
top bloke
a construction guy came in after work
talking shit about his boss
and his car had broke down
was going to catch the train home
stopped to have a pint instead
top bloke
an old native indian with dreads down to his chest came in
talking shit
said he had the best weed in town,
“all these younguns don’t know jack all about weed”
“show us what you got,” i said
we went out to the alley had a smoke
fattest blunt i’ve ever held but it was just the nub
burned my fingers on it but his weathered fingers didn’t notice
top bloke
the boxer bought everyone drinks at the bar
a shot and a pint each
and then another round of pints
a few other mates came in
top blokes from around town
i had to get to a brewery across town
promised some friends
couldn’t drive
construction guy lived near the brewery across town
had the construction guy drive my car
i sobered up on the drive
made it to the brewery in time to buy a round of drinks
sat for the rest of the night with mates
had the energy of a boxer
flowing through me
rest of the night
top bloke
just trying to write
cars out of gas
just trying to write
traffics a mess
just trying to write
policeman’s giving me the eye
just trying to write
there’s a line for the coffee
one simple sentence
the caffeine has taken over
a chapter
people reading over my shoulder
one simple poem
girlfriends all mad on the phone
about you
must’ve done something bad
and me
trying to get out of my own head
on the mountainside
that one day in spring
i was a regular for a while
at a local cafe
i would go early sometimes
right at the crack of dawn when they opened
and the brunch chef and the barista
broke up after a few years of dating
but
on this one morning they had a shift together
and it started getting busy
so busy they didn’t have time to change the music
and “i’ll keep on loving you”
was humming out the speakers.
and wordplay was still the best foreplay
to this day
i wish you knew
we don’t talk anymore
we’re continents apart
she just stalks me from afar
but both of us know
the pillow talk we had
was something different
i hope she is well
you gotta be the worm that’s earlier than the bird
just a man pushed to the limit by loneliness, blues, folk songs, beer, old paintings, heavy books, scribbled notes, and a brain full of love but a heart that lost too many times, what a powerful man that was to me
she came into the cafe
and hugged me so familiarly
like we’d shared a past life together
it shocked my system
couldn’t write the rest of the time
just sat and looked at her
talk and laugh
and i think i cracked some jokes
and we read some poems
but my mind was trying to connect
back with our other life
and see how it had been
why did it feel so familiar
and easy
she was across the table from me now
hours had passed
since she’d come into the cafe
and hugged me so familiarly
Angeles in The Winter
L.A. in the winter was beautiful once you had lived there long enough and had learned to avoid the chaotic freeways, the car crashes when the rain caused the oil on the ill-suited roads to surface. when you had learned to ignore the selfishness of the citizens and you had hunted down authentic ones to surround yourself with.
the beauty slowly arose with the slow growth of green appearing momentarily on the surrounding mountains.
the snow lasted a little longer than the green. and if you made it into the mountains at a time of snowfall you truly felt the winter in its glorious cold haze.
when you let go of the digital tools never leaving your side and mind and started to create solely with the analog tools at your disposal in the unoccupied coffee shops during early mornings while the general public fought the roads and the madness.
when the rain pounded on the sun awnings for hours and you managed to catch it in its torrential state. your heart lived in the space with the other coffee shop patrons passing off the rain’s energy through eachother’s molecules as you sank into a moment of time made possible only by the long droughts of summer.
the nostalgic feeling rain in L.A. gives to all its immigrants of another place, a temporary escape.
it’s the same feeling as if you stumbled upon a song with lyrics of home that caused minutes and time to mean nothing to you anymore.
when the chill in your bones doesn’t work opposing to acts of creation but causes the adrenaline created from the cold to push out into your art.
when the muse and your body’s shivers meet in a scribble of nostalgic love of remembrance of the places in the world where rain is commonplace and green is normalcy and you are happy and satisfied without a burning drive for success and wealth. and you know you are now creating something great and magic because success in L.A. doesn’t matter anymore. only creation and pursuit of dreams do.
but it took you the chilling air of winter to truly understand.
and it only happens for two weeks a year.
and only in L.A.