it's funny how -- when i miss LA and get all nostalgic, conjuring images from my memory -- one of the first things I envision isn't the beach, or the mountains, or even my home or my backyard... it's a smoldering hot, sun-drenched concrete parking lot. hahahaha, which probably sounds horrid to the non-angeleno... but thinking about it, parking lots form such a huge part of angeleno identity... without public transportation or pedestrian accommodation, it's the beginning and end of your journey, it's the portal to the next destination, the entrance arch and final curtain. it's a hang out spot, a monumental slab of flat concrete accumulating solar radiation and emotional baggage, witnessing first love, murder, wholesome happenings and illicit activities. but of course, it's a reluctant public space, a reluctant witness -- who warned the parking lot that it would have to endure such a variety of events? certainly not the engineer, bringing the parking lot to life through a maximum amount of modular car spaces on x amount of square footage. it certainly is not designed to human scale -- and somehow that contributes to the magic and epic nature of the parking lot. the parking lot remains one of the most emotionally-charged images in my mind when I think of my hometown.
(// pardon -- massively sleepless and work-stressed, as you can probably guess. this very moment in time sucks, but in general things are alright, I suppose? just weird, I can't tell whether or not I'm entering a dream phase or starting to wake up from delusions. i'm on the cusp and oscillating maniacally between the two. which is both pleasant and frustrating. Starting to looking at myself objectively from the outside is a little frightening;