I haven't referenced the Lounge in a long time. Maybe because I'm there everyday. Henry Rollins said, "You're only an 'American' when you're outside of America." Ya, like you are not really wet when you are under water. You are not wet until the context you are in is defined by an opposing, enveloping ubiquity, in this case, dryness. Digression is my great! and most amazing! stylistic folly, for sure. Tangents usually lead me to cool, wet places, none the matter what stylised vehicle we commence story or description (the first passion of language) with. So I go to the "LBC" with vigorous and indefatigable frequency for the myriad magic that strikes and ebbs and flows during cool, smoky moments of laughter, heat or attraction, a minute of cool inhalations and the press of a thousand loves and constant ahhhhhs do melt with molten wish massage...The precious territory that directly engages me with magic, me with joy and sweetest friends, me with sheer eternity. Right! Now back to the focus... I was at La Brea and conversing with two great friends, Castro and Martin El Patron about things dudes of our nature and type talk about. The conversation took a circuitous route as lively conversations born of a lively bunch do. A casual, enjoyable exchange became inspired when Martin El Patron, now El General, told us a story of some moves he had just finished making, prior to arrival and completing our intrepid triad...
Running out of juice/time. More on this later...
No comments:
Post a Comment