jueves, 4 de junio de 2009

Hazy yellow street lights

Currently listening to "Los Angeles, I'm Yours" by The Decemberists.

There’s something about this strange city that captures me. It’s not something concrete I can readily single out and describe, like the warm summer nights of Atlanta or the sandy shores of Miami. I don’t know, maybe it’s the absence of concreteness that I am in love with. The feeling that everyone’s here for a reason, but no one really knows what it is. The feeling of uncertainty and alienation, of moving together without direction. It’s like I’m on an endless road trip of self, forming new bonds and collecting new experiences like tokens, only to end up in the same place I started off. The car is full, but no one’s speaking. Just breathing, and occasionally blinking. We move in incarnate unison, but we stray in spirit. We’re not human anymore, just discrete aggregations of atoms, aimlessly searching for something beyond our own objective existence. One for one, all for none. But just for a single moment, the uniformity of our journeys, the sameness of our searches, the demands of our ids, bring us together, make us one. This single moment is what defines the very fabric of this great city. Yes, we are isolated. Yes, we are alone. But in our aloneness, we are one. We are the individual specks of light on the midnight city line, radiating in every color, every shape, and every size against a dark abyss. Some of us are blue Helio flames, making sure the world will know our names; others are hazy yellow street lights, easily forgotten and swept away in the hustle bustle of the city; and there are the few who come and go like ever-changing beacons of red, green, and yellow, giving us hope when we need it and slowing us down when we’re moving too fast. Our placement is arbitrary, our purpose elusive, but one thing is certain -- from this ambiguity, from this irony of solitude in togetherness, a sad collective beauty is crafted. As the city awakens and turns a humdrum gray, I realize in the few months I have slept here, breathed here, cried here, loved here, this city is my home.

Los Angeles, I’m yours.




Tactfully,
T.J.