Venice Beach; a fascinating place. This part of the coast has a culture completely of its own. The smell of ganja, pictures of poverty, a freak show (is that ok?), excitement and energy amidst a shadowy darkness. Each person looked like a work of art. Dancers, hobo's, bikers, skaters, hippies, musicians...some rocking people! But definitely a place I wasn't used to. I realized I had left Kansas when shirts saying "I do sluts" or "I'm a whore" classified as regular attire. Actually, the whole 'women as sex objects' mindset seemed like the cool thing to think. I could buy a promotional shirt next door, if I wanted.
As intriguing and interesting as it was to see Venice Beach life, it was easy to leave. It was as hard as it was intriguing.
Taylor, my brother, asked; "can you actually picture what it would be like? To live here I mean...for this to be your life?"
I'm a bystander. Separate. But somehow drawn to the possibility that I could have been the observed.
And among the vast differences there was a familiarity that haunted most of all. As animated as it felt, there on the streets was something very real.
And among the vast differences there was a familiarity that haunted most of all. As animated as it felt, there on the streets was something very real.
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