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I want to preface this story by again stressing that there
are no coincidences in life. All people, events, experiences are there to serve
a purpose to you. It is up to you whether you choose to understand them, forget
them or simply dismiss them. I choose to understand, but pay me no mind, unless
of course, you want to understand.
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I was back in helLA and the sun was turned on and shining
bright and matched my sunny disposition on this beautiful day in space.
I got picked up by my rainbow dreaded favorite LA painter-
an old soul- her energy Soft and wise and outer space and color laden and
beautiful. It felt good to bask in this wise and young creative spirit.
We talk creation and inspiration and everything seems so lovely
despite barely trudging along in one of helLA’s fantastically depressing jams
of traffic.
We head up atop a mountain and there is more divine talk and
my mind wanders to the previous evening, comfortable and freezing on an
Eastside Milwaukee porch, smoking and regaling and sometimes preaching to a younger cousin and his
younger friends.
I recalled as I said goodbye, that one his friends parted
with this
“Enjoy your sweet life bro”.
He said it without condescent and it was wistful and honest
but
I was offended and hurt and not hurt because I was offended
but hurt because there lived pain in his statement.
He didn’t believe that he could make the experiences that I
have had.
And that’s just not true.
I am beautiful, but I am not special or singular in this.
You can have what you desire.
You just have to believe.
And then try.
I ran back up the steps to tell him this:
“YOU CREATE YOUR WORLD. YOU CAN CREATE WHAT YOU WANT. YOU
HAVE THAT POWER”.
He nodded like he understood and although the words were
processed words are just words words words words and mean nothing at all and
are pointless and empty unless they activate an inner knowing or remembrance.
I drove home and I hurt. I hurt for all of you hurting. I
hurt for your programming, your lack of belief, your anxiety, your coping and
your depression. I hurt because you are weary and confused and battered; but mostly I hurt
because you hurt.
I went to sleep that night in the snow and awoke in LA and
now here I am on a mountaintop with my rainbow headed creatively energetic
sister and last night was 5000 lights years ago.
LA.
HelLA.
Fantastic Savage vampirical beast of a town. Magical and alluring and
sexy and intriguing but dead dead dead,
Dead all the same.
A dead city alive, disingenuous and dirty that thrives
feasting on its own and I was back in it.
But it didn’t bother me.
Not Today.
Not anymore.
helLA just seemed kind of small today.
The sun was shining and in my soul.
I went to see one of my brothers, a dreadlocked clothing designer chief in
these parts, his house a natty dread-loved oasis in the middle of Koreatown. We
embraced and sat. He found a bracelet I had brought back from Colombia. A
bracelet woven by the hands of a sister shaman and created with meditation and
beautiful intentions and prayer and love. I had lost it upon arriving from
Colombia in helLA, but he had found it, however it was a gift for him all
along, so I tied it on his wrist.
We left to see another chief
and his chiefess in the film parts- A Black-Irish hockey playing east
coast chief known to be tough as Nails as it were.
And in today's case, a brother and sister having a rough
day.
We drove down sunset and sat on the sunset and were again
stuck in this awful 8th level of Dante’s hell jams of traffic.
We simmered on Sunset and I saw post surgery nosed bandages,
ratty pubescent transvestite hookers, and men dressed as signs to sell films I
would never see.
We barely trudged along.
In front of a West Hollywood library I witnessed 3 ten-year-old
Mexicans get guns drawn on them by police, no doubt swooping in and saving the
day.
Photo: Police Gwan Fight
We finally get to the spot of rest for this brother and
sister and there was trouble and confusion and anger and hurt in their air. It
saddened me. It hurt me. The pain of a brother and sister is too much, too
much, but I can take it.
I am here.
I embrace both and silently wish them well: love, honor,
truth and infinite blessings on your journeys.
We eat at some over priced sunset eatery and watch me lose
money in college basketball and discuss the night, when It occurs to me that it
has been about 1 year since I last saw my brother Chron Burgundy, and as I was
in helLA, I should give him a call and see what he is doing.
Who the fuck is Chron Burgundy you ask?
To be honest, I don’t
really know.
I could say he is very short and Jewish and a record producer
from Hollywood, but that isn’t him at all. No, that is not who he really is,
none-at-all.
He is a kind and sensitive soul but a peculiar frenzied madman one too. He wanders this space called
earth and I have passed and sat with him on my wandering journey once every
year or two for many many years now.
And tonight I feel is the time again.
He is the Greek Goddess Eris or Discordia, and perhaps we
share a bit of that energy, because every time we have crossed paths, savagery
abounded. But I had evolved from mere chaos in the past year. I still loved the
action, but I now sought and fought for synchronicity in strong energy.
Over 2 years ago we were in Breckenridge, and with my
beautiful Breck-Bunny sisters, we watched Chron Burgundy speak in tongues after
his soul got inhabited by an evil Burton ghoul at the Breck-bunnies haunted
Burton snow-flop house, but that was only after we kidnapped a Korean Gene and
forced him to drink and smoke and be merry and get elevated in this high
elevation.
Then,
About 8 months ago, Chron Burgundy showed up at the hipster
dive bar Dr. Teeth in the Mission District of Savage Francisco for my Korean brother’s
birthday and a race riot ensued between the natural inhabitants of the
neighborhood and us un-naturals, who had only come from SOMA and Pac Heights to wax off and revel in a chief in these parts day of birth.
But there was discord in the energy of this place, and it
really wasn’t our fault. As the police came and hauled the Mexicanos off, there
were some of us un-naturals who felt like we won, but no one in that situation
really did.
Today I didn’t remember these things as I got ahold of the
enigmatic Chron Burgundy; today, the sun was shining and my light burning
bright.
He is having dinner with his family but we can meet him at
his house around 10 or so.
I forget about him and we drink and laugh and tell stories
and put smoke in the air and give advice.
We end up at the Standard and play ping-pong and I lose to
the hockey chief twice and am done.
We sit outside and put some more smoke in the air.
I talk to a girl next to me and tell her I appreciate the cadence
in her speech. She is Ukrainian and young and cute and her cadence was
deliberate and appropriately accented and soothing.
She says she is meeting her boss here and we taunt her with good-hearted
sarcasm about meeting her boss on a saturday night at a hotel in Hollywood.
She sits with us and shares the peace smoke and is about
everyone’s speed and thus has jokes and jokes for days.
Chron Burgundy buzzes with the address to his parent’s
house.
We wait for another chief in these parts, an acclaimed
Hollywood Puerto Rican chef from back east and leave.
It was I, the chief chef, chief natty and chief nails with a
good-natured and ready young skateboard
artist couple and we were headed for the hills in the comfort of our chauffeured
black SUV.
We laughed and played music and talked over each other as we
ascended further and further from the lights.
Read the Conclusion to the story: Strong Vibrations in helL.A. : Chron Burgundy Pisses Off Jesus by CLICKING HERE
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