Malibu: The Colony - The LA Flood Project (sitios de interés)
Descripción del sitio
Stage 1:
Robert, Charles, and Barbara had once shared bathrobes and martini glasses here. Sally had asked Mel to remove a few trees that were obstructing her morning view. Joan had met Eddie here over a shell, and they had sized each other up. A rented home in "The Colony" has become a necessary and predictable plot point of every Hollywood success story, along with barbecues, binges of pills or bottles, high priced prostitutes, or the amateur equivalent, tabloid divorces, rehab, et cetera, et cetera. Just a row of houses, each built, like the celebrities themselves, to attract the eye and yet to be discontinuous with those that flanked it. In Malibu, they own even the beach -- well, as much as one can own, halfway to low-tide, a not unfitting marker of their spot in the story arc of their own E! True Hollywood story. And with the wanton eye and ire of the king who wished for Oobleck, they turn custom-fit noses to the skies as the first drops begin to fall.
Stage 2
Hi, above PCH and the gross bodily Malibu, they had purchased the house, an estate, to be sure, for its singular view of the Pacific -- for a small fortune. Friends had warned them over Dom and tapas that only fools bought homes on hillsides, yet these same friends all flocked to the end-of-summer party, to stand on their porch and gaze as the sun slipped away at the end of civilization.
Now, after having disdained every evacuation order in an attempt to personally secure their home, they could feel the supports lose their firm footing as the face of the mountain dissolved.
So used to seeing the surfers down far below catching their waves, it is they who are surfing now as their house slides down the hillside toward the Malibu Inn and the pier which is now submerged.
Stage 3
The water has receded, as it should, but the mountain could not. Once it broke in waves along PCH and the buildings below, it would not be drawn up into place. The hill that remains is smoother, stripped of all chaparral, and of course, there is nary a house to blemish it. A land reclaimed.
PCH is unrecognizable. A mound of rubble and dirt collapsed on it like a reality TV star after their night of celebration, faceplanted on trash, designer shirt in tatters, lipstick, blood, heroin.
The Colony, now a kind of barrier reef, house-tops poking through like rock outcroppings. The waters had taken out their supports, washed over hardwood and parquet, reached out for armfulls of hillside and pulled it back upon the homes. The beach, if so these mounds can still be called, has reverted back to the people.
-- MCM
Robert, Charles, and Barbara had once shared bathrobes and martini glasses here. Sally had asked Mel to remove a few trees that were obstructing her morning view. Joan had met Eddie here over a shell, and they had sized each other up. A rented home in "The Colony" has become a necessary and predictable plot point of every Hollywood success story, along with barbecues, binges of pills or bottles, high priced prostitutes, or the amateur equivalent, tabloid divorces, rehab, et cetera, et cetera. Just a row of houses, each built, like the celebrities themselves, to attract the eye and yet to be discontinuous with those that flanked it. In Malibu, they own even the beach -- well, as much as one can own, halfway to low-tide, a not unfitting marker of their spot in the story arc of their own E! True Hollywood story. And with the wanton eye and ire of the king who wished for Oobleck, they turn custom-fit noses to the skies as the first drops begin to fall.
Stage 2
Hi, above PCH and the gross bodily Malibu, they had purchased the house, an estate, to be sure, for its singular view of the Pacific -- for a small fortune. Friends had warned them over Dom and tapas that only fools bought homes on hillsides, yet these same friends all flocked to the end-of-summer party, to stand on their porch and gaze as the sun slipped away at the end of civilization.
Now, after having disdained every evacuation order in an attempt to personally secure their home, they could feel the supports lose their firm footing as the face of the mountain dissolved.
So used to seeing the surfers down far below catching their waves, it is they who are surfing now as their house slides down the hillside toward the Malibu Inn and the pier which is now submerged.
Stage 3
The water has receded, as it should, but the mountain could not. Once it broke in waves along PCH and the buildings below, it would not be drawn up into place. The hill that remains is smoother, stripped of all chaparral, and of course, there is nary a house to blemish it. A land reclaimed.
PCH is unrecognizable. A mound of rubble and dirt collapsed on it like a reality TV star after their night of celebration, faceplanted on trash, designer shirt in tatters, lipstick, blood, heroin.
The Colony, now a kind of barrier reef, house-tops poking through like rock outcroppings. The waters had taken out their supports, washed over hardwood and parquet, reached out for armfulls of hillside and pulled it back upon the homes. The beach, if so these mounds can still be called, has reverted back to the people.
-- MCM