My 26th birthday fell on Easter Sunday this year. In some circles this might have great numerological significance. I don't know about all that, but nevertheless I decided to check out an Easter ritual event at the local mail-order Golden Dawn-esque occult organization.
Not to be confused with a Xian church...
Easter, or rather Spring Equinox, of course is the universal mythology of solar resurrection and rebirth. The Jesus version happens to popular lately in the last few thousand years--although maybe declining in this last century--but its only a reflection of every other universal consciousness.
Nothin wrong with gleaming knowledge from corporate holidays.
And then there's the Easter Bunny paganism... transfered via modern mythology into: buy shit.
And hell, even Passover has eggs.
Even consumerism has its use.
Hence, I like eating those Cadbury eggs.
Are you aware of the latest Cadbury eggs conspiracy?
So, one early Sunday morning, I went to Highland Park to our supreme headquarters. First time there.
These occult rituals I will attend every so often... how can I put this? A nice try. I don't feel like I was connected to anything cosmic, watching the chants and the walking in circles and Freemasonry symbolism of Joachim & Boaz pillars and chessboard floors and colored robes that each represent element; and it was interesting, and it wasn't enlightening per se, and I feel that it was a very noble try.
The best part of hanging out with Qabbalists is the party afterwards, and the nice conversations. Plus, free food.
I appreciate all the generosity, on this, my first Easter ritual.
Afterwards I went to Hollywood. I swear, every damn time I step out to the depressing Hollywood & Vine stop--in front of the Pantages advertising Wicked that's been playing in LA forever--I vow this will be the last time. I went to Borders and read some William Burroughs Queer, and read some Neil Gaiman Signal to Noise, and I went to Amoeba and listened to some music and flipped through some DVDs. I called some people in the area, but everyone seems boring, and then I gave up on Hollywood.
Then I did something I never do. In attempt to expand my worldview, shamanically widening my sensory perceptions, I had a chat with a homeless girl.
These crust-kid gutter punks that line the streets of Hollywood Blvd, they're so fascinating. Usually we ignore them. Sometimes, if feeling very gracious, we give them change. But we don't talk to them.
I noticed this girl reading a comic on the sidewalk while panhandling--Alan Moore Top Ten--and I attempted communication.
I sat down, talked about comics, and her lot in life, and LA, and so on.
Funny fake names. Traveling by freight train across America. Dreadlocks. Hairy legs. Skateboards.
Heroin. Speed. Whatever these kids to do keep themselves entertained.
Bruised arms with razor slices. Complaining about sell-out music, and glamorizing black metal.
She's a lesbian, and her fiance passed away last year. Surrounded by death.
Motel vouchers. 47 states. Stealing books from the library. Crashing in Skid Row.
More grateful for cigarettes than food.
And LA, as I suspected, is apparently the most uncharitable city in America. The only city where nobody gives money on a bloody holiday. Brooklyn, New Orleans, even Cincinnati are better towns.
She must have been underage, and she said she's been traveling for nine years.
I'm envious. I wish I could live for the moment like that. I wish I could cut myself off from the system. Off the map. Instead, I have credit card bills and rent and a bank account and its all so hollow.
We are such a pussy culture. We are afraid of life. Of suffering, of embarrassment, worried that losers won't like me. Be polite. Be cold. Be dead.
My interview over, I left, and I don't think I'll ever see her again.
But then again, drug addicts are usually pretty boring. I could only handle so much research, and I don't think I'll be visiting that squat anytime soon.
There are so many different worlds surrounding us, overlapping geographically, and we never pay attention. Gutter crustkids in their own hidden community, ignored by wannabe actors, a separate frequency from art fags, and nothing to do with office workers. From whatever person's point-of-view, they're perception is the whole world.
My little shamanistic experiments, I tried to open my eyes to these many ignored worlds.
And it was my birthday, and I didn't tell anyone.
And then a bird shat on me.
Go "home", whatever that means.
According to Robert McKee, the essence of drama in a mythological narrative is for a scene to either begin positive and end negative, or begin negative and end positive. Yesterday was the latter.
I had a bloody 8:00 AM appointment in Inglewood at the unemployment appeals office. I despise these bureaucratic nonsenses, but, as said, I'm in the system and I can't get out.
Without divulging too much personal information and boring details, suffice to say that in a few weeks I might owe the state of California a lot of money that I have no way of paying. That's what I get for being a bum, time to pay for it.
It was rather embarrassing; I had to see my old boss and go before a judge. I left a bit upset. Luckily, the results won't kick in for a few weeks and I'll just not think about it until then.
I decided to go to West Hollywood and visit my friend at her bf's house.
Surprisingly I had a good time. My friend's latest boyfriend is very cool; we talked about comic books and famous people known, while waiting for the electrician. , an artist who self-publishes and actually makes a living. He can afford a WeHo apartment on his art. He reads a bunch of books.
Its the magic trick I'm trying to figure out, how to get away with doing whatever you want.
I'm taking notes.
Sometimes I want to burn all my bridges and start anew somewhere else. Other times, I'm inspired and dammit I deserve to make it here!
We shall see.
This will be my last post for a while, need to focus and this blog is a distraction. If I am to succeed in the American Dream of doing whatever you want and still making $ on one's art, I need to goddamn focus.
There are better things to type than this.
Happy Sun God rebirth day, now go get resurrected.
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