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Monday, August 5, 2013

Maybe I should have started to write last night...

     Last night driving home from LAX, Hermosa Beach Tapas and the La Quinta desert, I mentally started a story that just began "West Coast" Since I had on the news and NPR and I was listening to what was happening in Niger and Pakistan and wherever. I kept thinking about the term Vapid and how so many of us in Cali (So Cal) could give a shit about events anywhere outside of our immediate area. They always say that internet and communications and TV etc. is making the world smaller and smaller and more like a village, But West Coast. West Coast we are still (for many) blind to what is going on in the world. Like someone just posted to me that they disliked "Raver Chicks" and I wanted to know why. Cause maybe Raver Chicks gotit real. They got it right.

     I mentally wrote a story with parallels between the cares and the care nots and the super cares (they really sort their trash into 3 barrells). I still didn't know if it was an article, an opinion piece, a comparative story. I didn't know what it was.

I knew it began:West Coast. 

I drove until 2 AM, had some short FB chats and started again this morning and the West Coast icdea concept has been circulating in my brain like an "Am I pregnant? " thought, did I pick up a social disease?, or some other self obsessive journey of life thought that managed to take me further and further from the West Coast.

I suspect it means:
A. It wasn't that much of an idea to begin with. It was half-baked.
B. It was really about me and what I was or what I wanted to be.
C. There was a reason my interest level began to fade, like you interest in vanilla wafers or baklava: boring, rich or just over-powering.
D. There really is not an answer, nor a conclusion and it could have said East Coast and had an accent and it was really Classist not Geographic. It could have been French or German or South African. 
E. It could have been about self obsessed Ravers anywhere and we just don't seem to give a flying f*ck about what happens in the world around us and it probably doesn't matter. That butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon thing might just be a crock and it is just a biiterfly flapping its wings.

     And maybe that it why I am having a hard time writing it because, it doesn't have zombies or the walking dead (ok it does but a different kind) or vampires and there is no futuristic world where we all bow and bend to the mighty leader Kreton.

    Maybe on August 5th or 6th or whenever it is it really does boil down to be to just washing dishes, cutting grass, being a vapid Raver and maybe this 17th Century Shaker song is right in a weird way and it really doesn't matter if the world is getting smaller at all. It really is about me and now and here and being a Raver or an ass but not not eaven looking at the fences of that shrinking world that get closer and closer:

Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd, 
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight, 
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right 

Maybe I should have started writing when I had the thought and West Coast would have taken on a life as something. Maybe we are zombies, maybe we are the undead, maybe we are Vampires. But I should have started writing then...Maybe