Sundays in Los Angeles are typically angelic in tone. The gods fight for attention with white puffy signatures in an achingly blue sky — with swaying palm trees stoking the warm air against your shoulders.
As the hike to my friend’s abode soothes the muscles of constant worry — I feel the stress of bulleted platforms that deliver our Moments with authoritative beats. This time — there is the prediction of a massive earthquake in Southern California. The effects will be catastrophic enough to mimic these times of extremeness.
There are no virtually no clouds above me — and yet my footsteps seem to evoke a heaviness of fear and regret.
No gorgeous day goes unpunished.
You can’t escape the juxtaposition of enthralling afternoons with the angry locusts in Trinidad or the hurricanes that are ravaging people, places and things — with biblical capacity.
I believe the world won’t fuck us up if we have more days like the one — that is soaking me up with sensual murals of lust — for the life I abandon way too much — for the favor of a cave-like mentality.
Shit! I’m one of the ones — who expects the miracle of healing when my hands are still dipped in the pot of nonchalance. These times of desperate upheaval with no end — isn’t the song of the Lord — rousing the need for a return to prayers of the saints. It’s not the response to evil deeds that have stayed unpunished long enough to warrant floods of merciless treatment.
The shadow of light that made my sandals shimmer with steps of my submission to the dreams we share — grew even more stoic — when I recalled the benefit of options.
We can choose to recycle properly. We can make an effort to invest in electrical cars or at least do our part to reduce the layer of potency in the air. We can research ways to contribute actively in the enforcement of all the stuff — that inevitably helps to initiate the protection of the earth — that we will leave behind before we are ready and unwilling.
The bluest sky with greenery acts as a compass — with the shade of calm that rivals the rivers — hugging centers of business in a city — that put my hub next in line for violent tremors — that I may not survive because I still don’t know what the fuck to do when things shake around me and I have nobody to hug but myself.
The countries that are civilized with leaders of degrees and ceremony — deceive the people they serve — for gallons of oil — and the promise that babies dwelling in these nations of utter contempt and basins of resources — that you utilize when you casually switch the light “on” — will see a light in the sky that won’t ever close their eyes — even when the fire wages.
We are supporting global genocide and pretending not to care because our neighborhoods still look recognizable.
What happens when that reality is switched for a version you purchased when airstrikes gave you more fuel for the road trip you saved for?
The beautiful days will come to an end and the earth will kill us.