What a strange past couple of months its been. School and work go on and sort of drift by to my side, as many other things in my life seem to. I drift in and out of deep thought through varied soundtracks and across interstate freeways.
And somehow the skyline of LA has it's imaged burned in my mind, as viewed from the hills north of Highland Park, from the highway just east of the 210/134 split. I look at that skyline when I come home from work, over Kellogg Ridge on the 57 and the whole time I'm on the 210 West, like it's a beautiful girl I'm pleading with to fall in love with me. And she answers with scorching sun, gentle rain, and today she answered with wind.
Sometimes it's all very normal but it all seems so surreal. The Sunrise blazing to the East this morning was the closest thing to "watching" a sunrise I can remember doing in a long time. I was driving east on the 210, watching it as the road wound. It would disappear behind hills to the north and reappear, and flashing through the ramps of the 605 south and finally coming up high enough that I could see it consistently by the time I reached the 57 South. Somewhere in there I felt myself change.
My grandmother on my mom's side passed away sometime Saturday morning. Her health had been declining pretty steadily for the past year (at least) with the most recent lull in that decline occurring sometime around 2-3 weeks ago. Unfortunately, she was back in the hospital and rapidly declining about a week and a half ago. I'll spare you the details. I wasn't really close to this Grandmother, but that doesn't seem to dull it as much as I thought it would. Now I'm just faced with the guilt of never having gotten to know her while she was still here. I'm flying to the Bay Area sometime Tuesday evening to attend the Buddhist equivalent to a funeral.
Everything feels chaotic and I feel like we are all insignificant in this massive and smothering world of steel and glass traveling at 75MPH in the 65MPH zones. I feel insignificant like the rest and naked at the brink of it all. And I gaze into Los Angeles begging her to smother me in her hot streets and anonymity. Being insignificant doesn't bother me, but being bare and alone on the edge does. Peace is to be found somewhere in the bedlam of the LA freeways, I feel it almost everyday. It comes from Los Angeles reaching out to touch me, or 106.7 KROQ playing the perfect song at the perfect moment, or the sun's position in the sky, or 80 MPH with the lights blazing by. I feel like a voyeur when I take pictures of cars on freeways at night, like I am capturing an image of what may be the most significant and emotional moment these people might be having with the City of Angels... and I quietly walk back to my car with these images, mourning the fact that these people didn't even realize that they are the substance that courses through the veins of this place. From the chaos and crime of Riverside to the valet parking in Burbank, I am scattered all over Los Angeles.