L.A

Can anyone understand this city. Is it possible. I've often felt like LA is a city that can never be owned. I may linger in its heart, its chest, its limbs, appendages, hands, fingers, fingertips, fingernails. But I can never know this being. Know, both in the depths of the word (to understand wholly all aspects, all pieces and to understand all), and in the casualness (to be acquainted with, to have a relationship, to be aware of but not fully. know). This thousand foot, thousand headed micro-Purusha (that's a stretch!). Broken, dismembered, fractured. But oh, how we strive to know it. deeply. When we can only ever know it. casually. And it will always own us. its blood. Providing only the whispers of our passing existences.

I listen outside my window. An infrequent passing car. Screeches of racers. Barking. Leaves, confused by this new wind. I cannot hear the city's heartbeart. I can only hear my own. Or imagine my own. A beat within a beat. Blood in blood.

Scott Oshima