I really can’t articulate why I just don’t feel right. There is a part of me that is sure that I’ve always felt like this, and it’s kind of silly to question the matter now.
I have a feeling I’m going to regret leaving L.A. in the middle of the day like this. I suspect I’m going to have to take an alternate route to S.D.: something like I-605 to I-405 to CA-73 to I-5, or even wackier I-710 to I-105 to I-605 to I-405 to CA-73 to I-5. They really gotta widen the Santa Ana Freeway. Or get trucks off of it. It’s a straight-up clusterfuck.
I just went on a MySpace friend-adding frenzy. Mostly people I am acquainted with through {m}aganda magazine [entry on S.F. Bay Area Progressive Directory][DeCal course catalog], the Filipino-American literary magazine at UC Berkeley that I copy-edited for back in the day, and for which I was managing editor my senior year in college.
I guess I’m feeling acutely the lack of culture in my life. Not just ethnic culture, or hip-hop culture, but plain old creativity. I have no outlets, except for this godforsaken blog, and one might argue that writing for the vast, uncaring ether only saps what little creativity I have left. Maybe I should take Elton John’s advice and disconnect myself from the Matrix for a few years. See what it’s like to live exclusively in meatspace. Either I’ll find myself or end up going crazy. Or maybe insanity is just another word for enlightenment. Right.
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