Sunday, July 03, 2005

I knew I was in over my head when I was walking down the beach staring off towards the sunset. It wasn't the sand in my toes or the rays of sun on my face or the passers by that I couldn't handle. It was the silence. It was the perfect kind of moment for my mouth to remain steadfast and silent while the voices echoing through my skull should being waxing all philosophic and remain distracted with some problem bigger than the beach and greater than my flesh and more popular than all the movie stars I had met at the special Malibu event the night before.

But the problem was that I really think I could hear the wind whistling in one ear and out the other. There was not one damn thought but "Look at that pretty sunset." "The sand feels nice between my toes." "Breath in, breath out." And for a moment I paused and turned around. Maybe had just dropped something. Maybe if I just retraced my steps I would find it gleaming in the sand just a few hundred yards back. Maybe I just need a good night's sleep. I walked back to the co-workers apartment where I was staying because the actress-turned-writer who had promised I could live in her giant Santa Monica loft-apartment for the rest of the summer had sold the relationship self-help book she has been working on to a publisher and couldn't leave town to spend the summer at her second home in the mountains far away.

As I walked through the door to the quaint little house the girl from the research department asked me how my day was. I waited for the voices in my head to pipe up with some cute, sarcastic remark. They were silent. "Good," I replied with an air of disappointment. And then I thought about my blog. And how I had made a big scene about this city not stealing your soul. And I wondered if maybe it had and I just didn't notice. Did it melt away in the sunny rays and slide out onto Venice Beach? Did the waves pound it out while I surfed the sunset break and unknowingly watched as the waves carried it back out to sea? Did the sound grumbling from speakers in the Viper Room shake it out onto the floor with the stirrer straws and soaked napkins and gum wrappers? Did the bartender sweep it up afterwards and fling it into the dumpster behind Sunset Boulevard?

I found a place to live. It's simple but it's nice and there are plenty of young people around. I've got internet. I know a lot of girls but none I want to get to know better. I try to tell them my story but even an adventure sounds boring if you can't tell it with a fire in your belly. Every weekend I have something fun and free to do in this town but I don't have anyone I want to do it with. I have a celebrity's number in my cell phone. I'm never gonna call it. Cuz when they become real people they're scary and needy and alone. Even if they tell you you're cute.

If you know anything then know this: I love to write. I love to write to you. I'd put it in a song and sing it to you if I could. But if I became a real person you would jsut think that I'm scary and needy and alone. Not that I'm famous. Oh so far from it. And that's the only thing I'm smiling about these days while I walk down the beach with the sun setting.

1 Comments:

Blogger Mo said...

i knew it. good ol tayden went all hollywood celebrity on us. those big white letters on the hill will do that to a man.

havent lost the skills though. keep it up.

11:55 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home