"If you live in L.A., to reckon time is a trick since there are no winters. There are just..."
-
Eve’s Hollywood - Eve Babitz (1974). (via besieging)
Last weekend I read Eve Babitz by a resort pool in Ojai, which is the best way to read Eve Babitz, let me tell you. I love her and I love the book but this is wrong, and anyone who’s lived here ought to know it. The light changes with the seasons, just like it does everywhere else. In some ways it’s more dramatic because it’s not accompanied by that battering northeastern cold or anything– you feel how ephemeral change is in the world around you, how it shifts something you can see but not touch, and you shift all of your meaning to go with it. I just find it incredibly boring, this idea that a season is something you have to feel on your face instead of behind your eyes and in your bones.
(via zanopticon)
Zan > all things, again.
Zan is right, LA seasons are all about the light, when it comes and when it goes. During the day I’m a bird and at night I’m an quadruped, so during LA winters when it gets dark so early I’m crawling around so much of the time, dragging my body around. My body is heavy and hard to drag, so I can’t go very many places, I have to find somewhere to drop it.
