splatarina

YO who lives in LOS ANGELES?

People,
I am moving to LA in a couple weeks and have been looking for everything but a place to live. Will be going to City College (4 days a week) and Santa Monica (2 days a week).

I am getting mixed information from friends living, who have lived, or grew up there about which neighborhoods are where it’s at. Maybe you some have something new I haven’t heard yet?? Would love to hear about it

What’s good about where you know in LA for a 23 year old gal?

reply/message me 

PS I know I have be virtual-MIA. I am working on a new page (will post a link soon) and decided to enjoy my last month in Portland irl sans web-culture.

I Sit By The Window by Joseph Brodsky
 

I said fate plays a game without a score,
and who needs fish if you’ve got caviar?
The triumph of the Gothic style would come to pass
and turn you on—no need for coke, or grass.
I sit by the window. Outside, an aspen.
When I loved, I loved deeply. It wasn’t often.

I said the forest’s only part of a tree.
Who needs the whole girl if you’ve got her knee?
Sick of the dust raised by the modern era,
the Russian eye would rest on an Estonian spire.
I sit by the window. The dishes are done.
I was happy here. But I won’t be again.

I wrote: The bulb looks at the flower in fear,
and love, as an act, lacks a verb; the zer-
o Euclid thought the vanishing point became
wasn’t math—it was the nothingness of Time.
I sit by the window. And while I sit
my youth comes back. Sometimes I’d smile. Or spit.

I said that the leaf may destory the bud;
what’s fertile falls in fallow soil—a dud;
that on the flat field, the unshadowed plain
nature spills the seeds of trees in vain.
I sit by the window. Hands lock my knees.
My heavy shadow’s my squat company.

My song was out of tune, my voice was cracked,
but at least no chorus can ever sing it back.
That talk like this reaps no reward bewilders
no one—no one’s legs rest on my sholders.
I sit by the window in the dark. Like an express,
the waves behind the wavelike curtain crash.

A loyal subject of these second-rate years,
I proudly admit that my finest ideas
are second-rate, and may the future take them
as trophies of my struggle against suffocation.
I sit in the dark. And it would be hard to figure out
which is worse; the dark inside, or the darkness out.