BLUE COUP D’ETAT

Los Angeles is lost. I’m a blind taxi driver and a psychologist. Everyone has their hand out and I’m giving carefully, breathing in the smog, feeling light headed, sleeping on floors dirty with feet sweat or on futons that a hundred people have shared behind the Mann Chinese at the Nirvana apartments where flies congregate on cloudy days and watch you from the walls, patient for your departure or there are the smoke musty hotels on Hollywood Blvd with creaking floors and cum stained sheets, dead swimming pools floating birdshit and soggy crumbling leaves. But I’m distracted so I shouldn’t be complaining, distracted by other people’s problems, should thank god for other people’s needs and problems, for hardship and confusion, for obsessions that make mine seem small and petty that reveal mine for what they are - dreams, a one sided dialogue, unfulfilled madness, a whirlpool of figment and fantasy, a waste of time. But love comes from within and is so blinding that it is hard to believe when others don’t feel the emanations, don’t feel the way I feel, don’t feel the sincerity. you gotta have this within yourself to feel. Two souls feeling it and reflecting off each other like mirrors in the sunshine.