An e-folio of my concretions, and related writing is contained on these pages. This includes related events occurring from a time before moving South in California.
Within these writings cement acts as a seed crystal of thoughts during the relocation of a foreigner into the ultra suburban landscape, and beyond.
In some ways, I'm not actually in LA, at the same time I am, depending on who you ask. ‘...moving to the South Lands’, and ‘Living in LA’, was at one point for me synonymous, this conception being pervasive in Northern California. LA was once everything between ‘Mexico’ and the physical boundary line of the San Gabriel Mountain range. That gigantic range stood out as the gateway to the Southern Landscape, and LA was that landscape because everything else faded in its shining light. Despite a new technical awareness, it's not clearly something else. And it makes sense in many ways, LA is almost as much an idea as it is a place. An idea that can exist now in every corner of the earth, supposing the the Wi-Fi is strong.
It’s can be hard to know when one’s in LA or not without a big sign explaining things, maybe you can just feel it. A friend and I recently determined that your not actually living in Hollywood unless you can see the sign. One suburban town simply flows into the next blurring any distinction between one town and the next. Even the edge it hard to define but I've come up with a new metric to determine this. If at any point you happen upon a wandering tortoise you have reached the edge of LA. Despite all that I'm really just right over there, technically speaking right where I need to be, maybe your there also.
And so there I am like so many, in the banks of the information stream, sifting through the alluvial wash; carefully panning for gold particles among the black heavy sands that collect on the inside bend of the virtual flow. Usually only a colorful rock or a nice polished stick is found, but the sluice box is always open. Maybe its chilling hard in an almost defunct doughnut shop, or nestled in the reeds at a hip local roster; ears peeled, waiting... hoping for the right piece of salted jargon to tumble by and stick, glomming on for good with your very own type of stick-um, as for me, ill be using the ubiquitous cementum glue stuff that surrounds us all.
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