It's June of 2025, the week I graduate college. There's a suspicion in the heel of my boot that I don't know where to go from here. This website reminds me that I care about things and can turn myself into whoever I want. The only direction is a sort of California that exists only in the backs of my eyelids. There, an imagined realm, blacklight posters with mushrooms and wizards and pot leaves, cartoons and video games in rooms with dusty window blinds, jobs that make employees wear silly hats, old couples with swag, young bucks with twinkles in their eye, skaters and atheletes and people without passions, never things to do, never in the "arts scene," never healing an inner child through play or knowing someone, never knowing a place , but buying a new lego set and recording bands in basements, perhaps baseball, smiley faces and websites and writing pages to hang on the wall. Twenty somethings living with their moms and dads, and an angst about them in the milk residue left in their cereal bowl, making them wants things that exist alone, solid dreams to write in the inside of a three ring binder, not everything, never dreaming for everything, but cartoonish apsirations. In my willed california, I do not do a real job and there's fuzzy haze over the town the type that's orange and crystallized. There are less cars there, except on freeways for the neccesary hum, but in normal roads only an old soda cup acting like a tumble weed across the median. There are 7/11s and parking lots, marinas and other suburban archetypes. PTA mom sweet old lady dancing men and grumbling adolescents, nothing too new or old, all of it heating up the planet, all of it dying my hair blue, all of it sounding like Linkin Park. My loved ones included only in a symbolism of themselves long gone-- since disputed versions from the 2016 san diego trip, the hotel pool at night, the cliffs by the burgers, the plastic chairs on top of gyro place's blue and white walls, my moms tanned shoulders, my dads blistered nose. All reaching back instead of forward, lunging over chain linked fences and lawn mowers, never seeing adults or human resources. Not making it big, but smoking out parking garages, making my eyelids heavier so I can see it all more clearly.
