east hollywood, 3 am

It’s almost three am in East Hollywood. I live on the border between East Hollywood and Los Feliz. It’s easier to say Los Feliz, it paints a better picture. Oh, I know that, they say. Do you go to that restaurant?

I usually say no. I live sort of simply; I live in my bedroom and I get out when I get out. This week I spent most of my hours sleeping. I would be awake and then I would drift back down to my bed. It’s complicated; I work from my bed because there’s nowhere else and then I fall asleep. This week’s been worse than most. The drugs won’t let me sleep at night (that is the first factor) and then I make up for the sleep during the day (second factor) and it all leads back to this: 3 am and reading things on the Internet.

I always wonder if my musings mean anything, if by trying so fucking hard to depict this pain, this life, I am doing any good. I mean, I get comments and emails and they are always gracious and supportive, and they say it means something. Maybe it’s me who doesn’t feel fulfilled.

What I wrote last Friday is probably the closest I’ve come to saying what I need to say, about life in pain. That it dials me down. Like a drug, it transforms my experience, and because of the filter, I’m not sure what’s real.

It’s past 3 now. I looked out my window to find the voice. The voice was real; it was coming from a woman, walking the alley between my building and the building behind me. She was singing, and then she stopped. I looked to find her but I don’t see very well without my glasses. It’s dangerous, walking at night in LA. It’s not like New York. This is not a place to walk at night at 3 am, and I wonder if she was singing because she was scared.

I understand. I hum when I am nervous or embarrassed. I hope she’s okay.

I hope she was walking home.


  1. You do make a difference...keep writing.

  2. I have been stalking you (blog wise) for awhile now and I have to let you know you make a difference, but also each time I read something you write I wished I would of had your courage and free spiritness at your age. You amaze me.

  3. I've wondered the same thing about my musings, started and stopped so many times because of the doubts. I'm thinking of trying again, and the timing of landing on your blog seems to be telling me something? Suffering... none of us escapes it, some of us suffer in these bodies more than others. I've been at this body suffering thing for many years... And sometimes I wonder what the point of my writing about it is... Some days I wonder what the point is of drawing or making any kind of art ... Unable to make a living my value can sometimes get lost...And then I realize it's really a question I'm asking myself about the point of my life... Is there one? Of course there is, just like you. It is to live for as long as we have...to live... Life is constantly experimenting with ways to create life... We are to live, and hopefully some of the things we learn along the way we can share with one another, and in so doing help someone else feel a little more understood, a little more seen, a little more valuable than maybe they thought they were. You've done that for me, and I'm grateful. I hope you keep writing.