BusStop Diaries

Wednesday March 17 - 5th & Main


as i stepped out, into the bustling street, it was another beautiful day in Los Angeles. Downtown has no grass, anywhere, maybe except for the foliage growing in between the cracks of concrete, you can't hold nature back, in any form, she'll shine through even if you cover it in cinderblocks, cement and bird shit or artificial grass. don't fuck with mother nature. The pangs of anxiety were simmering, i needed a place to sit, away from the distractions and man eaters. the  bus stop looked comforting, just an empty bench amongst the ever swarming traffic that snaked it's way through the city like a long line of ants crawling to their hills, honking and braking, brakes screaming and cars roaring, exhaust fumes filled the air and reminded me of what it was like to be alive in a plastic era that could not hold itself when thrown into the fire. i am the fuel, so feed to me the fire.

this led me to thinking about the city as a beast, an animal with an insatiable appetite. i had seen many people enter Los Angeles and become just another snack for it's ever growing hunger, a cheap cheese spread on the cracker of life. I'm sure stepping off the greyhound, from where ever it was they were coming from, they thought themselves as individuals and people with a purpose, a plan, an idea so rich with passion that nothing would hold them back from happiness. they could not be any farther from the truth. Cocaine is easily accessible here, even more so now that the hipsters have taken over and slathered their fresh coats of paint on the crumbling brick walls. Lofts are going up faster than they can start tearing the guts out of the buildings, and everyone wants to be a writer, actor, fashion designer, earth savior and "hip". Give somebody enough cocaine and they can easily think themselves into a greater person than they are without it. This is the scene, this is the place where you fit, the little corner of heaven that you think in your mid-twenties makes you important to something. Surround yourself with enough of these type of people and sooner or later you'll stop thinking for yourself and agree with anything in order to get to the next "bump". Validity is abundant in a place where everyone is as fucked up as you are, truth is scarce in the same scene.

not to say that all the folks down here are bad, but it's definitely a find. We're all dung beetles, living in shit, but swarming together once we find one another. it's getting difficult to go anywhere without seeing a rope headband, ray ban glasses and a fedora. Wearing a fedora used to mean something, now it's just a fashion accessory, and it looks even better when it's covered in sparkly shiny things and made out of hemp so you can tell people you meet about your cause and how extremely awesome you are while you don't listen to a word about them and merely entertain the thought of yourself doing something of importance so you can sleep at night with a smile on your face. get over your shit and open those eyes, we're all just cockroaches waiting for the greater power to help us. it's feeble to pray to god, why bother him with your grievances?

not to say that in any right that i'm an exception. i'm just as bad as all of you, perhaps even worse. but i've never been one to strive to the scene, and maybe thats why happiness comes in waves for me. i too want to write. but like all the ones before me, i don't do the writing to become a cult icon. it's an incurable disease, and i've done it all my life, a free hobby that doesn't require me to pay any membership fees, doesn't ask anything from me more that what i can put in, and won't let me down when i need it. you can find a pen and paper anywhere and entrain yourself for hours on end. people on the other hand, oh, well..... don't get me started.

returning to my point before i went askew.

wait.
that's right.
Downtown Los Angeles.

i'd never live here, i've been a city guy my whole life, and for all the perks that it provides me, home is in a modest apartment out amongst a tree lined street, surrounded by the people who i despise the most, but  know better than to fuck with me. i smile and wave as i walk to my car, and they do the same, but i'm sure as i roll away, they turn to their significant other and say,

"something ain't right with that boy..."

fuck you... i'm probably the sanest one out of the lot. somethings not right with you people, who can't make choices for themselves and just as easily fall into the river rather than set up shop on the bank and watch as countless souls become one ever flowing mass of turds.

everyone is just a cunt hair away from slipping into the scene. some of us just know better and never let ourselves in, because it's gonna be a hard fight to get out.