19

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🐇The internet connectivity was recalibrated early last week. It had never really worked in this house. You'd finally find a movie, get it going and less than a minute in 𑫨 𑫨 𑫨 till you quit, turning off the television. The maybe wheel isn't horrible, but then what's the television for? I hear my youngest coaxing:

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load, load, the circle of life

Presuming hassle, I don't want to call. Put it off until I was finally going through the office paperwork pile and in the stack was a statement. An hour later the technician was puttering about in blue booties, speaking a shared language of metaphor, feeling like a teacher (had been, is).

It was a trifecta of issues and he's big on the order of operations, so we went from competing machinery, to booster placement (tech note: open space is an asset for clear lines of communication) to controlling the flow coming from the outside-in. Pressured, rushing in, in his words, like a firehose trying to fill a water glass.

Decisions 𑫨

Arrangements 𑫨

Boundaries 𑫨

My mind shifts afterwards. Recalibration: Monday. Epiphany at an Encino strip mall: Friday. I now have different expectations for beauty on this plane, after the flow was slowed just enough to compute, to make sense. Like how I've been learning French forever. Or more like, I get why this works for some. This: Los Angeles.

To be content here, in human form, living inside structure, is to be able to process the messages you receive --- messages received on your how, so you may perform your responsive actions --- your what. Fluid Mechanics: influx >---> efflux

Can-will-get-do-It
My standards seemingly otherworldly, but here I am. Los Angeles is the teacher; the teacher I dislike though respect, meaning, I won't be the same after leaving her classroom.

My neighbors are learning valve mechanics too, probably why they missed the 5:20pm showing in the basement of the Encino Town Center. Private viewing of The Territory, which would have been hard to sit through on the couch at home. Some cannot look away from violence whereas some cannot stomach a peek. Violence is a mainstay of here-ness, no? Must we accept violence? Accept it's current incarnation? A big part of the human story. Protagonist!

During my middle school years, I got to scrub into open heart surgeries with my best friend, a Megan without an h. Her father was a chief cardiac surgeon. Scrubs, caps, blue booties. Up-close in the guts of reparative gore and it was breathtaking. Well-oiled-machine. Classic rock jams over the speakers of the operating theater.

An accident on the side of the road brings freeway traffic to a standstill. The lungs of our ecosystem are being destroyed while we look Elsewhere: at screens.

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ancientfield came through

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