I’m starting to get heart palpitations right now. I think I’ve been drinking too much whiskey.
Today I woke up and took a shower, afterwards I got lunch with Chris. When I got back I lied down on my bed and took in the day with an open window and moving fan. It was in this natural meditation that old obscured memories were unearthed by daylight.
When I was younger I went with my father to Hollywood and saw a black woman dressed in bright colors, she carried a plastic bag on her head. I hadn’t been exposed to her culture yet; at that point she simply appeared outlandish. I was amazed by her balance and concluded that the process of carrying something on ones’ head was a nearly impossible task worthy of admiration.
Around the same time my mother took me to buy a Halloween costume in Hollywood with one of her friends. I remember the entire setting composed heavily of deteriorating concrete. A group of punks walked through the scene. One punk had an enormous mohawk that was bright green. I had never seen such a shape of head. To me, his head was a kind that carried no hair but a sharp metallic substance with protruding steel spikes. His was a type of head that was more so engineered by logical design than human conception.
To see the world as a child.
And I continued in my mind- driving with my grandmother, grandfather, mother, and father. Up the 10 freeway heading west to the place I was born. My father told me at a very young age that it was my freeway. And I continue to look outside towards the gigantic concrete pillars that angle other passes further into the sky. My eyes are half closed allowing the more important rays to sift in through my eyelids gently touching my retinas.
On this Friday, I find myself repeating in my mind:
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
I am 7…
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