Hollywood Artwalk #3

hourglass thoughts

day and night. black and white.
hot and cold. soft and bold.
i didn't have to be told how my behavior
was too extreme for anyone's favor. really.

he had caught himself slipping and everything foiled and collapsed through his fingers like sand. how could he expect a machine to run so smooth? man made operations call for absolute room for error. no doubt. so it starts with it never being in his own personal control in the first place.
he took a deep breathe. this time, he remembered to do it right. breathe it in ever so ever so ever so deeply and then exhale, venting it like fog. you only get to do it once. and get over it.

he lost faith in people. their selfish obtuse perspective that was anything but acute. everything in their own right as it fits best for themselves carrying it further to over-obsessing and adding about amongst their collectible fortunes.

he was stuck in an hourglass not knowing which way to turn. the future was bleak but it was already set in motion. the past, never able to catch up with either. two worlds always running into nothing. that was his problem. everything in his life seemed to move quickly. everything that seemed solid would particalize. thoughts like grains falling so fast falling so fast so fast hitting hard bases.

he drove himself acidic. it was as if he was moving in cranberry jello, the only flavor made of real fruit. as real as he tasted it and as fruity of a predicament his reality was.

he had to realize he was in control. he was a gear in the machine and amongst the unique rates other gears were grinding to movie the machine, it all still functioned, just not as perfectly. it will never be perfect. never and perfect are two words that belonged together.

at the end of that breathe, time shifted and he was in a brand new direction.

blanket eyes

the interstate was blanketed with a misty sheet of fog. head lamps passed numerously and repeatedly overhead as if they had momentum of their own, evenly spaced- passing, passing, passing, curving with the road. he was lucky to be driving on smoothly paved highway, especially in los angeles, a metropolis shooting veins of freeways. it was coasting. driving. and jonathan was sitting. comfortably. the constant wiping of the wind shield wipers were usually enough to annoy, but this time, it didn't bother him. he saw it's purpose and everything seemed to make sense. his view was clear even as the translucent film from mist coated the windshield, blinking with each wipe. he flashed in a dream sequence where beds just magically float in the night sky and stars stuck around glowing beautiful warm hugs to those who just paid attention, putting you in a trance sending you to marshmellow rest.
arcade fire choired his ears, sending him to see ghost towns with thoughts of empty parked cars aligning the streets. he imagined this for long stretches, because he knew the world had a lot to offer and everything was endlessly hiding. he knew there was amazing light eclipsed behind all the closed doors and the fog that flooded the canals of streets set an unearthly nature in it's undiscovery. jonathan wanted to discover the hidden coves. he wanted to observe the differnt animals and note their odd behavior. to him, it never got old.
he just drove and soon took note that he was following the direction of telephone wire heading east. at this pace, he would detrimentally run into the sun. he wanted the fog to last forever. the sun would shine and unmask time, devilish details and the otherworldly. no, no, no. just give me time, jonathan chimed. please.
the ultimate wish.
he barely began feeling as if he were headed towards his great adventure away from home.
if his moment had stretched for a month, jonathan was sure he would instantly embark on the cross country road trip he knew he would never do. the weather and climate would change to his unliking. but time changes. jonathan will never get used to time.