Frankie Ding Dong asked me what was up with me and LA? Here is my response:
Well... it was a long time ago now but I left San Diego (the whales vag1na) to make some cash and headed for the bright lights of LA. There I found a woman sporting a handlebar moustache who introduced to me a game people commonly know as checkers. She was a wizard. I had to king her every time but the fact was that she was psyching me out really, testing me for what I never knew would be the biggest challenge of my life... to down a naggin of Baileys in three seconds. She introduced the concept to me over dinner after we made love on a mahogany balcony in her 3 story apartment on the east side of town close to where all the homies live. She lived there because she was a famous rap singer back in 1963 before it became famous and was worshipped by all those who lived close by. Little did I know but she had once gone scuba diving with Neil Diamond off the coast of Florida hunting for marlin with her bare hands and wrote a rap song about it. It was pleasant but too racist at a sensitive time. The Baileys went down fast, and she even faster. I didn't mind the moustache as I had one myself but not as bushy as hers. She left that day and never said goodbye. I lived in her house for two weeks before I finally decided she wasn't coming back and since then I haven't been able to return to LA.
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This is very beautiful in a somewhat shocking, fluid, stream-of-consciousness way. I could wax rhapsodic about my theories of Los Angeles - where my family goes back for most of the 20th c. after leaving NYC - all day long, the crux of it being, 'it's a bizarre place because it isn't really supposed to be there.' I find it the very living definition of postapocolyptic.
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