I've been slipping through the streets of LA looking for things to fall in love with again. I spilled into my favorite church, the water and power gardens by my house. Maybe I'll get married here. It's been hard sleeping lately, there are so many sirens wailing, I just can't get used to it. What do you do with all those tragedies zooming past your window. Where do they go? It's the strangest thing returning to your home after a month long hiatus. Really makes you wonder why you came back. LA is full of magic, but its harder for me to find it lately. Where to look? I've checked in all my old stomping grounds, and there are vestiges here and there, but no explosions. Tiff walked with me to the canyon and we watched the sun set. A man slipped past us with his silly poofed and decorated pomeranians...he was wonderful. I wish the headshot photographer hadn't ruined the moment with his “professional” photo shoot. Its been so long since I've had a moment of pure perfection. It’s mainly my fault, I've become so critical. Magic and perfection are so linked to faith and a willingness to immerse. I'm becoming one of those people, ones so common in LA, who can't hold still long enough to realize what beauty they're drowning in. 
I've been wandering. Somehow I've managed to remember to take my camera with me, and whenever I see something, I stop. I almost missed my neighborhood council meeting because I couldn't stop staring at the hills. They've sprouted cement markers and have morning glory creeping up their sides. Every time I stop there I run into the same man wearing the same backpack. I've become so paranoid that my first thought is to grab my purse. I shouldn't go down that path, once you start believing the worst of people the world furnishes proof. A man dropped his groceries by my car and I asked if I could help him. His nostrils flared in surprise. I guess it's rare for people to be kind to each other. It's rare for me to be present enough in the moment to remember such common courtesies.
I met Dolly Parton's third cousin today. He asked me to marry him. I'm not sure we're compatible, and I'm fairly certain he was drunk. I didn't accept his proposal, but I did photograph him. He's been feeding the same flock of pigeons for seven years. They adore him and perch on his body as he feeds them 100% all white bread. He lay on the grass covered in birds and bread crumbs and demanded I take a picture. The sun made the pigeon's feathers glow, and I could count every rib in his chest. I wanted to thank him for giving me a moment of beauty, but I think he's not all there. He kept repeating the same three sentences over and over; did you know I'm Dolly Parton's third cousin? I've been feeding them for seven years. Yes, they love me, oh yes, they love me. I couldn't stay. I've been quite the coward lately, so I ran to Macy's and bought a pair of shoes.
My little sister and I posed for a photograph out in the fields. We found an abandoned wagon in the hills. I've been thinking about death lately. I decided that I want my body to be turned into compost and used to plant a tree. Cremation is not a clean as you think. Nereida and I lay on the wagon, still as corpses, for the exposure. While there I looked at the stars, the ones I could see. I don't know why, but floating through the sky where four disembodied lights. They swooped and swirled, but didn't follow a discernible system. I wonder if you'll see my little sister in the photo...she's awfully fidgety. 
I got drunk and ran around swearing and making up songs. I'm thinking of writing a memoir entitled “confessions of a budding alcoholic.” Although for this to be true, my drinking would have to actually affect my life, and I'd probably need to get drunk more than three times a month. Well shit, there goes that idea. I'll just have to write a memoir that doesn't play into my need to over dramatize. I could write about the night I broke into the Southwest Museum and found a life size fiber glass horse. Of course I climbed onto it and watched the lights twinkle in downtown while eating a freshly picked grapefruit. Where else but in LA could you find such a magnificent absurdity?
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