To be in love with the city within which you live is a particular joy of living. Regardless of the face she shows me, Los Angeles always has a seductive, mysterious and wild quality about her that, to be frank, ravishes me in whole, throughout and beyond my physical connection with her. Admittedly a transplant from the other coast and only a resident of Cult of Los Angeles County just over five years, there is a palpable quake that churns with warmth in my belly and makes my heart beat fast when I drive across the PCH (top down on the old Jeep) or run along the Venice boardwalk or drive through Hollywood at 3 a.m. Yes, these are happy times and times less bright, but not less substantive frequent and continue to determine and define my lifestyle and lifetime in the Cult of Los Angeles.
The Cult we become, sinking in entropic spread (no! not dead!), but more on the metric, more on the scale...sacrifice and delight, our holy grail.
Even in the days of despair, in the clutches of the beast and fear, self-made and environmental wraiths abounding; just the realization that I was conducting the maelstrom on holy ground gave me, my purpose, my continuance a sense of certainty. When she chooses to overwhelm my balance with an evil eye or melt the skies on my top with untoward warning, I can still find seductive and haunting shade in her deepest cheekbones (her smile is never too far), her brilliant comliness never more than a sunset or sunrise away, a french kiss with the edge of earth at myriad shores...The Cult of Los Angeles loves and worships itself, it's sun and water culture, it's mad complexity and capital.
The Joy of the Cult in it's vast and rich "myriadelights"...
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