my t-shirts are getting thinner, like the ones my dad used to use as seat covers in all of our old cars. the vinyl seats were brittle and sharp, and the t-shirts protected us when we wore shorts in the summer. we only tuned the radio to the am stations, and i learned all the words to the beach boys songs. i still think about that whenever i drive through la jolla. i never thought i'd be here, or anywhere near here, when i was little. california girls was just a song. now they're a way of life. my favorite old car: a red 1966 dodge charger. a fast-back that had gauges like a jet plane. the transmission was on the floor, and it had bucket seats that folded down in the back. i swear when i drove it fast that parts flew off. ask me. i'll tell you stories about it.
the new apartment has a view of downtown, and the sunset, and a little part of point loma. i have a list of things i need to do this year, in this place. being a starving writer is near the top. i'll write words pretending they have calories, and then i will eat them for dinner. but i can't give up coffee. i'm convinced that the coffee bean is an ultra-concentrated collection of words. dramatic-dark-matter. so i grind it up, distill it in hot water, and drink it when the sun goes down and when it comes up. something about that filmy light allows things to twist just off of reality, like a record skipping to a song you've never heard before. a song that you've written yourself.
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3 comments:
It's so funny to hear you write about the same things I remember. You always remember them differently.
I remember you wrecking the charger so I never go to drive it. I also wonder sometimes where our karaoke style Beach Boy tapes are at, those must be great.
The tapes are in dad's closet, but I wish I had tapes of you three singing along! It was great!
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