Bundy Sb & Mayfield Ns - The LA Flood Project (sitios de interés)
Descripción del sitio
Stage 1
You will not find parking on Mayfield
Nor Dorothy nor Darlington
You will not find parking up on Gorham
Or down on Kiowa
You are not allowed to park in the Ralph's Fresh Fare Lot
Nor anywhere on San Vicente
Bundy is a non-starter
Still a pilgrimage destination for those
Lured by OJ’s lore
In this landing place
for ambitious newcomers
dreamers from Back East
Down South
Up North
this land of over-priced apartments
They come with their
headshots and demo-reels
still bearing the babyfat of college
torchier lamp, movie posters, futon to flop on
But no matter how they got here
train, plane, or uhall truck,
everybody's got to drive
up the clogged streets to success
And the ones at the end of the jam
Must weigh carefully
Whether to get involved
With a lover
Shack up, cohabitate, or just room together
Cuz the beginner’s pad
only comes with
one parking spot,
if you're lucky.
Stage 2
The sheer amount of stuff
hoarded by this transient class is uncanny.
Those who see themselves on the way up
acquire and acquire and acquire
And to every binge a purge,
As the complete collection washes out of windows and shattered glass doors.
First the light goods:
computers, purses, cellphones,
playstations, rice-cookers, and stereos
then the larger:
Flatscreens, framed artwork,
small furniture,
end-tables, wicker chairs, coffee tables,
and then the more massive
headboards, boxsprings, a recliner,
And finally the dream:
the rosebud,
the item placed high in a closet
out of reach
but never out of place
that one lock of hair
of that lovely head you call home.
Stage 3
They will pick up and move home,
those who survived.
If it wasn't the flood, it would've been something else
the last rejection, endless dejection, lost erection,
slammed doors too many to mention,
unreturned phone calls, lapsed attention,
rescheduled lunch
no-call backs, no replies, no remorse
just back home to something usual,
something more normal,
Set down their stakes
somewhere where the sun don't shine
quite so much,
somewhere where flesh is expanded more
naturally
bloated with salty stews rather than saline sacks
and where unbleached teeth turn a timeless tinge of yellow
and brown.
and where dreams are not traded like stock options
but stretch out from a seat on the porch
on a windless summer night or in the rain
yes, natural ordinary rain,
in a land that can handle a downpour.
-- MCM
You will not find parking on Mayfield
Nor Dorothy nor Darlington
You will not find parking up on Gorham
Or down on Kiowa
You are not allowed to park in the Ralph's Fresh Fare Lot
Nor anywhere on San Vicente
Bundy is a non-starter
Still a pilgrimage destination for those
Lured by OJ’s lore
In this landing place
for ambitious newcomers
dreamers from Back East
Down South
Up North
this land of over-priced apartments
They come with their
headshots and demo-reels
still bearing the babyfat of college
torchier lamp, movie posters, futon to flop on
But no matter how they got here
train, plane, or uhall truck,
everybody's got to drive
up the clogged streets to success
And the ones at the end of the jam
Must weigh carefully
Whether to get involved
With a lover
Shack up, cohabitate, or just room together
Cuz the beginner’s pad
only comes with
one parking spot,
if you're lucky.
Stage 2
The sheer amount of stuff
hoarded by this transient class is uncanny.
Those who see themselves on the way up
acquire and acquire and acquire
And to every binge a purge,
As the complete collection washes out of windows and shattered glass doors.
First the light goods:
computers, purses, cellphones,
playstations, rice-cookers, and stereos
then the larger:
Flatscreens, framed artwork,
small furniture,
end-tables, wicker chairs, coffee tables,
and then the more massive
headboards, boxsprings, a recliner,
And finally the dream:
the rosebud,
the item placed high in a closet
out of reach
but never out of place
that one lock of hair
of that lovely head you call home.
Stage 3
They will pick up and move home,
those who survived.
If it wasn't the flood, it would've been something else
the last rejection, endless dejection, lost erection,
slammed doors too many to mention,
unreturned phone calls, lapsed attention,
rescheduled lunch
no-call backs, no replies, no remorse
just back home to something usual,
something more normal,
Set down their stakes
somewhere where the sun don't shine
quite so much,
somewhere where flesh is expanded more
naturally
bloated with salty stews rather than saline sacks
and where unbleached teeth turn a timeless tinge of yellow
and brown.
and where dreams are not traded like stock options
but stretch out from a seat on the porch
on a windless summer night or in the rain
yes, natural ordinary rain,
in a land that can handle a downpour.
-- MCM