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110a by: saucemaster 32 pages 5.5x8.5" los angeles, ca |
excerpt:
1 march 1999
letters from friends are one of the most amazing events in life. whether you are expecting it and you are enthralled with the fulfillment of anticipation or if it is an unheralded surprise, few objects are as engaging as a sheet or so of paper which you can caress and fondle until the pages are rubbed raw and the ink runs across the tips of your fingers. is it that you are having a partial conversation with an absent acquaintance, transcending distance and time? no, because you are viewing a moment in you friend's life which has ended. the letter is proof that your friend has thought about you, but the truth is that, since the letter has been sealed and sent, the thoughts of you have ended. while you can think of nothing but him or her huddled at their desk; it is frightful to realize that he or she is now on a highway in ohio or a sidewalk in washington, thinking of the roads passing by or the cold wind in their face, but not at all of the paper in your hands...
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5 march 1999
an old woman told us about her friend's philosophy which states that now that she is in her fifties and her amount of time remaining is much smaller than it used to be, she needs to be more selective in her use of time and resources. she needs to read theory instead of newsweek; she needs to watch fritz lang instead of jerry seinfeld; she needs to keep in touch with friends who help her excel instead of those who are merely convenient. voices rose in protest; they challenge that when you are young, it is okay to be frivolous with your time because you need the 'experience'. finally, this statement is made: 'what is more important than having fun?' i grit my teeth in silence, sorely lamenting the people by which i have inadvertently surrounded myself, until the leader of the group asks for my opinion. i hesitate for attention, then i state that i've already begun this selection, despite the hopefully large amount of time which i have remaining. i go on into the stratification of acquaintance; there are people who i only ask for banal facts; there are people with whom i speak for the time it takes to fill my tea cup with hot water, and there are people whose friendship is the inspiration for the work of which i try to improve the quality. i add that i am depressed that the final group is regrettably far from me, and i that am stuck with the undesirable first group. in my conclusion, i actually mention two people the room; retaliation ensues.
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5 may 1999
beyond the summer, there is another year of classes, then another summer of using any excuse for avoiding a 'real job', then thesis, then graduation. i have no desire to be in any place over another, and i am not returning to any previous state of life. with a lack of ties, maybe i can have the chance to pick any place to start again; however, with no ties, there is nothing pulling me to one place over another. starting over and over again will put me into a further state of isolation than the one in which i am living. without the interaction that must take place at school, there is absolutely nothing happening in los angeles for me. so, i certainly do not want to be stuck there, as it is so empty for someone like me, but, on the other hand, with my lack of courage and abilities, every city i move to will be equally empty. maybe, hopefully, something will occur in the next two years - two years - which will give me a hint of guidance as to where the proper place for me will be. whether it is a job or a person, i do not know, but i hope that the place will be a place of my choosing first, a place of my belonging second...
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1 september 1999
a year has slipped away, for once so loudly that i can not help but miss it. the usual trite observation of 'this year sure went by fast' has no appropriate use here; every day brought acute agony with its unavoidable audacity. a year in this city without a break has forced me to remember every day like a spit in the face or a kick in the teeth. despite instances of joy, which i recall with relish, i remember days which i came close to allowing to kill me; days i never want to forget turned into nights of which i can not endure the memory. why is a year so important? all at once, every marker of my arrival has returned to mock me with their intent on procession without regard to my existence. from billboards to class schedules to record needles, occasions of the past have returned. most apparent is the weather; i never noticed its feeling when i arrived, but now i can't escape the air which has become thick with a chilly, heavily foreboding sense of something to come. it talks to me as it did on autumn evenings in stone mountain, georgia, fifteen years from now.
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2 september 1999
the first few weeks in los angeles were a turmoil of worry over money and housing, excitement of new discoveries, anticipation of the promise of new endeavors, and nervous confusion over relationships. after a year went by, the city reconfigured itself to remind me of the time and to demonstrate what it has allowed. around my house and on my desk and in my car are piles of evidence of projects which i have miraculously never found the time to finish: a stack of wood in the utility room waits to become a table; the living room still has no light at night, though dozens of cables and electrical components are laying in the corner; my fifth roommate is spending her second night here; the driver's side door on my car still won't unlock; record needle is still broken; zines still are unedited for print; the trunk is still rotting on the porch; shoes still splitting open - most insulting is that the city, and it is the city's doing, for she never would have found me anywhere else, has shown me one to love again, then pushed me into loss. it let me see a face and heart and mind to make me sing, then took her from my reach until the day i can become free from this infernal place...
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the angry red planet
los angeles, ca
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published by the angry red planet, 2000