February 13, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sunny Californian oranges everywhere is what I see. Rolling orchards, in backyards, just far enough away from the incinerators for burning trash. The smoking trail floating into the air. Swollen and deformed, navel bursting in on its zesty peel. Old Southern California is what I mean: before traffic, infamous ganglife, or Hollywoodland. A few remnants remain in my memory, a native’s Los Angeles musings. History through Sunday eyes, eyes that see as things never where, always have been; eyes that taste the world surreal. My favorite way to live.