In Los Angeles. Remembering Versailles fantasies of chicken bursting with butter garlic smell and shreds of pork. My belly full of greasy foreign dreams. Media arteries clogged if I can't navigate by electroculture - the signs are lit up by sunshine and I can't see past Vin Diesel into my own future.

It's an unfamous part of Los Angeles we've discoverd. The houses are small and unvarnished the ccars unremarkable and well maintained. Vegetation has been allowed to grow just a bit too much, bringing land within reach of our car now loaded with five culture makers stuffed in three bodies. We debate our place here. I remember vampires. We spin in circles at the top of a hill, making donuts in a small car with a steering wheel festooned indian.

But then we turn a corner and we see style again. Fine homes that boast of peace. That with money and wood siding we could see our way past bills and failure. I debate these things these days. Can I make children in this world as I live? All styles are acceptable. Snatch it baby, like you live, aw what Sister Ray says.

I've been writing on the web for so long I've forgotten how to sell words. Jane constantly corrects my grammar. I'm just looking for art in human endeavor and realizing that all our hours add up to few projects unless you're in the business of funding your friends. But the concentration of wealth into dispersable chunks does fuel rarified culture and children with no pride.

Sometimes I realize I would live better if I could rip out my pride, fingers at my own throat, gasping kneeling on the sidewalk pull out the push I have to live different. All that I have in me that looks past all that I have love already. Just seconds after that time I get my spirit fingers back, and I see that with pride lost I could reach and hold all that our culture values - power in freedom, cultural slack. My pride restored.

Jane walked on Ryan's back as he let out some long low satisfied groans. This on the grass in Griffith park, where we recovered from our lengthy car-time.

Jane mocked my convertible short-pants after I unzipped the legs and left them gathered down around my ankles like a Tokyo girl or anime character.