It was a lovely Sunday in December for a photo shoot on the beach,
70° with some high clouds.
The day had a distinct lemony meringue feel to it. A familiar childhood comfort food memory. Or an 80′s television show.
I use to come to this beach when I was strung out.
Those were very different wintery Sundays when my brain felt a little like taffy. I relished the non sequitur fluidity, the free association that was the companion of drugs and no sleep.
But on this day, there would be no Scooby snacks.
There were clothes and props. A teepee. And a crew and their model.
Why did I do it?
I can as much answer that question as much as I know why my cats like to go in the cupboard.
It was comfortable.
Although I don’t think the later comes into the cats decision making.
I’m not sure I know what that means.
Biking Los Angles at night is invigorating, to say the least.
Just get me on the bike before I have a chance to think twice about it.
And I’ll shout more useless LA trivia at you than you need.
Or want. Or already know.
But, you already knew that.
I want to go south. You say the direction I’m pointing is east.
This gives the implication to not trust my sense of direction.
This might be the right sensation.
I promise I’ll get you were you need to go.
I mean, I know I’ll get to where I’m going.
It was another movie in the cemetery. Cinespia is the summer time tradition.
The walk back to Meg and Sergio’s was a bit blurry, marked with a vomitous punctuation in someone’s front yard.
” ‘Now, ask what the Great Conjunction is, what’s the Great Conjunction?’
‘What’s the Great Conjunction? You tell me!’
‘THE GREAT CONJUNCTION IS THE END OF THE WORLD! Or the beginning. HmmmMMM!’ “
“She laughed. ‘It won’t last. Nothing lasts. But I’m happy now.’
‘Happy,’ I muttered, trying to pin the word down. But it is one of those words, like Love, that I have never quite understood. Most people who deal in words don’t have much faith in them and I am no exception–especially the big ones like Happy and Love and Honest and Strong. They are too elusive and far too relative when you compare them to sharp, mean little words like Punk and Cheap and Phony. I feel at home with these, because they’re scrawny and easy to pin, but the big ones are tough and it takes either a priest or a fool to use them with any confidence.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary
This day I was happy. Happy on rum. It made the sky sparkle, but disengaged my sense of direction and responsibility.
I had to get Megan back home by 7. I sent her off in some obtuse and long path towards Hollywood while I ended up in Crenshaw.
It’s a miracle I got home with my camera and bike. I don’t remember any of the evening. The day was lovely though.
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me…
It was nice to take off my shoes. Walk in the sand. Get in the water.
It wasn’t a quick pace. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than leisurely. But we went big for a day of riding.
Griffith Park. LA River Bike path. DTLA. Culver City. Marina del Rey. Venice Beach.
All city baby. On our way. Viva la Alex Baum Bicycle Gang yo.