Going home_Museum De Phantasia_End of a Season_Out of this Maze
Catalog Guide:
Going home
“We could stay here, how much money you got left?” My friend Kevin says as we walk down under the Venice sign in Venice Beach. Sedate, he looks around taking in his first time in Los Angeles, but not California. The heroin has something to do with his leisurely manner. “I don’t have much, a few hundred.” I speak. “I have about the same, but we could make it work. Stay here?” He says this in a joking manner but with a hint of seriousness. I scoff first and then say, “Eh, these fucking desert people, sometimes I think we’re just too different.” Every drug addict has a what could have been moment...
Museum De Phantasia
Museum De Phantasia You know, like West World but without all the death and risk. Without the hassle of trekking out into a deserted wasteland propped up by cardboard city structures. In a tall skyscraper, eleven stories high. Each floor with its own theme. You know this. It’s very infamous.I don’t know it.You know, like a theme park, but real-life.Not all that special then.You’re not understanding.Let me explain it, Dorothea. Horace and I have actually been there.Oh that was one hell of a time. Thanks for reminding me.Oh quiet, Horace, you stiff log. Sip your rum and get fat on your nuts and ...
End of a Season
At the dawn of the day he woke up from his flat thin mattress with a severe backache. In the tiny room he noticed his children one on top of the other in the corner floor mat, snoring in unison,. Without much delay he washed and rushed to the bus station, navigating the forest of people clustered at the old station, his steps piding men and women and slipping through the pockets of space to make it on time. The season was fast approaching and his work was always heavy this time of the year.When the factory clock horned at six he was already on the assembly line, he parted the litwww.onedoor.cctle red lever ...
Out of this Maze
The sky was clear, the breeze felt cool for a summer day, and sounds of construction sites and traffic was no bother. Walking away from a Brooklyn cafe with an almond milk latte in one hand and my other sliding along a chain link fence to an abandoned building. Nothing in my head but the present. Two plus months and this would be my last lunch-time-latte from the Seven Sisters Cafe and my last days in this neighborhood. I had accepted life as a freelancer and experienced plenty of last work days. I felt differently about this go-around. Understandably a shift was happening, but unknowingly aff...