The Golem of Los Angeles

Gospel of Henry David Thoreau at the Circle K Convenience Store

111 Gospel of Henry David Thoreau at the Circle K Convenience Store Sure thing, Henry Thoreau, i’d like to live a life aware, but how aware do i really want to be of time wrinkling and ripping my house, town, corner store, my life with my wife together apart, chain reaction exploding every moment until right now? As i walk to the corner store, it seems beneath notice, like hidden insect monarchies who rise feudally, Chinese mini-dynasties below grass amassing armored masses to fight red on black for world control from a twig to the outer territories by the far fence post. following the brain in its baggy elliptical flow to the corner store past open house notices, aren’t i supposed to do more than notice that the world is fizzling out and even find some kind of order, a pattern in the hand signals leaves make in breeze? or, tell me the truth, Henry, is that schizophrenic? i think i see a design in buckled sidewalk, but how to decipher the circle round the “K,” the bell that rings when i step inside, the silent rows of Snickers, mounds of Mounds, the sour Zours? Blow your tiny horns, insect trumpeters! Let all the popcorns pop at once, the girly mags drop off the walls, the grey matter rip with electricity! No, i think i’ll just go back to drowsing about and looking for snacks. What else can i do when it’s beyond my ken —the way the unclosed “P” on the handwritten sign on the TiPS jar makes me think of TiTS, the five-buck bill i drop thoughtless into the jar and my goofy smile fading inside the tired girl behind the counter, chewing gum? ...