Absolute L.A.

"You live in a town all your life, and you get to know every street-corner. You've got the layout of the whole land. You have a picture of where you are. ... Since I was raised in L.A., I've always had the geographical and spiritual feeling of being here. I've had time to learn this city. I can't see any other place than L.A." - Charles Bukowski

I always try to unravel an absolute truth when I write or when I talk about life with friends, sisters, chica, strangers, etc. As if all the answers lie right beneath the surface of everyday interaction, of simple life - and they do but we don’t always look for them and they can be elusive at times. I get the highest sense of enjoyment when I employ the curiosity cat and let it run wild on my peeps. I’ve never written a thesis, but my sisters will tell you that I can probably pry one from your brain if need be. It’s these truths that mold our philosophies and eventually end up as a part of our ideological make-up - that which either helps, hurts or just is.

Plato I’m not; but a bar hopping, music loving, left field pavilion sitting, fist raising, Ritz-Carlton accounting, Tofurky eating, Mexican flag waving, dumbbell lifting, Bush hating, nostalgic thinking Chicano version, I just might be.

One of those truths…

It’s a cloudy Monday morning in early August in Los Angeles and surely Orion’s belt must be off an iota or two. My abuelita never liked August - an unexplainable sense of sadness overwhelmed her this time of year and I never understood why. Like clockwork, her demeanor would change - her bomb ass homemade tortillas would downgrade to bomb tortillas. The four kisses on my cheek would reduce to three. My only guess was that the desert rains of Chihuahua brought the August melancholy when she was a little girl - the change of seasons is always an emotional damper - more so when the end of summer and worse, baseball season approaches. But isn’t it always summer in L.A.? Yesterday said so...

As I was driving north on Rosemead Blvd. in my dirty ass truck while blasting Madonna’s "Material Girl" - hey, I’m comfortable with my musical taste and sexuality - I had a typically serene L.A. moment. When a warm summer day is accompanied by a cool Santa Ana breeze on a Sunday afternoon in the city of Angels, all is right. All is right despite the wars in the Middle-East, Africa, etc, despite the sad state of affairs a la Bush cronies, despite Kansas, despite my own fear of what’s to come if our world doesn’t dramatically change, despite Cuba. In no way am I promoting apathy and content but one must acknowledge a truth when it unveils itself from within after having experienced an exterior stimulant even Hunter S. Thompson would try. The truth is that I love L.A. and most everything about it, except the transplants that believe the shit they see on television. If you believe what you see on the E! Channel, please punch yourself in the face and avoid the ballots come November. I’ve been to New York and I don’t understand the fixation with a city that resembles a dump site with tall buildings and an average of 2.4 people per square foot. Plus, it’s quickly become a rich man’s city - it gives added meaning to the term “starving artist.” Randy Newman had it right, not Sinatra. I’ve never been to Rome, granted my lifetime eluded Rome’s rise, nor have I been to The Sacred Mosque in Saudi Arabia, no need I suppose - I’m not Muslim. From my not so humble corner I can say that the true Mecca in my lifetime lies in the old Aztec territory that we call none other than Los Angeles, albeit our metropolis stretches from here to what seems an eternity or even longer, depending on what freeway you’re trying to maneuver through. It’s a beautiful thing when a few dozen or so cities are still considered one.

I've been outside; the clouds have parted for the beaming sun.

I may be naïve to proclaim an improvable truth with none other than intuition & insurmountable epiphanies that I’d rather not bore you with. But that’s the beauty of my stomping grounds. I embrace the idea that words can’t always explain certain things in life - love in its purest form is a paramount example. Have you ever tried explaining what the color blue looks like to a blind person? Neither have I.

"It’s not where you’re from, it where you’re at.” - Mos Def
Still, there’s no place else I’d rather be from, there’s no place else I’d rather be at.
Most definitely.

C/S,
- Lucio