listened to Maieli on the way to the hospital’s pharmacy and the drive is long and scenic — there’s a lot going on, a lot of different neighborhoods to go through, so many different businesses and people, and everyone is outside, everyone is enjoying this 80-degree weather — and I saw so much and felt so much that I will never be able to adequately document, and I thought about a couple things:
- I really hate on this place, but I somehow have a lot of love for it, too
- if I ever get rid of my car I’ll miss its stereo system the most, especially that bassline (I have the bass turned on so high)
Los Angeles is weird, lonely, vast yet that weirdness, loneliness, vastness makes sense when you know displacement and alienation, when you don’t feel “at home” at home, when you start to cry at red lights yet can’t quite fathom why… but your body knows, your body is smart, your body, as Cherrie Moraga tells us, is always re-membering what our foremothers endured. so I know why this warm, stagnant weather affects me. so I know why something as seemingly banal as looking up at a palm tree that doesn’t even belong here, that was uprooted from its home and transplanted to foreign soil, makes me want to weep and wail.