A lot has been percolating in my brain the past couple weeks as I drive around, stop with some quasi drama, keep the calm, deal with drama, keep going as if no bump in the road.
I've been thinking about loneliness and what it means to live alone. The freedom, the power, the sadness, human connection, touch, interaction. What do _I_ want? It's something that I know most of the time and occasionally get confused and unsure and insecure. Especially as I try on different personas (go outside my comfort zone) and hang out with different personalities.
Typing of personas, I've been trying on the slacker persona with no luck whatsoever. I like to _do_ things. It's in the doing of things that I am. By rubbing myself up against experiences (by doing things) I learn about myself - what do I actually do in any given situation, other than what I think I would do. It's interesting and enlightening.
I've been watching a slew of movies: Naked Lunch, Eraserhead, She-Devils on Wheels, The Village, What the bleep do we know. They're all about creating a new reality. I had never seen Eraserhead before and I was surprised at how the story was completely main-stream - which makes the expression of it (Lynch's style) all the more obvious. My downstairs neighbor's cat yowls just like the eraserhead baby - which made for a strange awakening occasionally last week.
And then I've been exploring the roads en motorcycle and convertible. Yesterday Carson and I drove around the Santa Monica Mountains on various roads that connected to the Mulholland Highway. These roads are amazing. They somewhat remind me of northern California Marin and to the north roads, but there are way more canyons. They are sharper mountains, young and rugged and very ominous. The mountains are powerful and raw and somewhat scare me in a way I'm not sure how or why. As I drove on these roads the view of my life shifted, I could live up here - in fact - I've always wanted to live in a rugged place like this. It seems so far away from civilization, but Malibu is a mere 15 miles away, the suburbs of the San Fernando Valley are another 15 miles away. Santa Monica is not much more than 25 miles away. The more this percolates in my mind, the more it appeals to me.
I also did some exploring on the east side of the Santa Monica Mountains. I wove my way up the valley side of Griffith Park and scooted through it stopping by the Carousel. I was riding my motorcycle and the organ circus grinder music caught my attention. I could almost recognize the songs - they were Felliniesque. As I pulled into the parking lot I was greeted by a scrawny coyote waiting around for scraps. I parked my iron horse up under a tree. Removed my helmet and jacket and sauntered down, clop clopping in my Daytona riding boots, towards the spinning circle. I bought a ticket and a gum ball and smacked my teeth blowing bubbles until it was time to mount a wooden horse. The time came and I was pulled to a horse with a carved helmet piece. As I write this now, it seems perfect that I would be drawn to this horse, but at the time I was unaware of the connection. I jumped up on her, my jacket laying across my knees and we waited for the music to begin.
I have this delight of riding carousels. The music, the wind, the spinning that blurs the outside world. As I rode on the spinning circle, watching the empty horses go up and down in mechanical motion, it occurred to me that it doesn't matter which horse I got on to ride. The ride was still the ride and would end and begin. The horses were there for me to ride. They could not get cut lose and run free like the mural at Ocean Park and 5th in Santa Monica. And that was ok. Because I was there, sitting on one, watching the way the world works. Replace the horses with people and personalities and costumes. I buy a ticket and can try on any costume I want. But I have to pick the same costume for the duration of the ride. Some carousels have only horses and others have all kinds of fantastic animals. This is another costume parameter. The organ music added to the surrealness of my vision. I was reminded of the woman swinging in that Fellini film, the faces with their dark eyeliner, the eyes outlined, the mouths in various gestures of which words do not exist to categorize.
The music stopped. The movement stopped. I got off and walked up the hill to Lady Knight, where she was waiting for me under the trees.
The Malibu canyons are great on the motorcycle. Of course, the world famous Rock Store, is on Mullholland. On weekends the place is packed. You can wander around, chat with other riders, and check out tons of gorgious bikes.
My favorite quick weekend ride is to head up PCH to Encinal canyon. It makes a right turn just before reaching Mullholland. Follow it down until you reach Mullholland (again). Encinal is nice sweepers which are fun to ride. At this point Mullholland is fairly technical riding with sharp blind turns. It's a workout on the bike. As you continue you eventually reach The Rock Store and take a break. If you're in a hury you can cut back to the 101 quickly by getting on Kenan. Otherwise you can continue around and reach a bunch of other fun canyons. I live in Redondo Beach, but if I get up early on a weekend I can go have brunch and be back by noon.
If you haven't see http://www.pashnit.com check it out. They've done a amazing job scouting and documenting the great motorcycle roads in California.
Take care. Keep the rubber side down.
Posted by: Daryll Strauss | August 05, 2004 at 09:20 AM