Selected journal entries from my crazy life


9. 9

June 8, 2015, Los Angeles CA

If driving from Sacramento or from the north in general, you enter the city on the 405 once you cross over Mulholland drive, a street the that divides the city of Los Angeles from the valley, which is still Los Angeles county but not actually in the city of Los Angeles. Mulholland drive sits along the top of a costal mountain range running west to east from Santa Monica all the way to downtown. Technically the costal mountain range is the very top and end of Beverly Hills and the Hollywood hills. It is a most beautiful drive, one my favorite spots in the city thus far, and I sometimes drive it in the early afternoon when the temperature is warm, not hot and the Santa Anna winds are blowing delicately past my lips as I wind around the mountain slope with the windows down. There are great views of the city from Mulholland, from behind palm trees swaying in the wind, of the Pacific to the San Gabreal Mountains east of downtown. But thats not the only reason I love to drive on Mulholland, its to see all the money. There are two parts to Beverly Hills, the flats, the stretch of houses at the base of the hills, ranging from six to fifteen even twenty million dollars, or more even, and then there are the houses in the hills.... You may get a glimpse of half of the house, a long wall with a few windows covered by palm trees or other hiding brush from the flats but when you drive on Mulholland, you get the opportunity to look down onto these estates, mansions, no castles might be the best word, Spanish villa castles. Many celebrity’s live in the flats, Justin Biber for example is renting a house in the flats for sixty grand a month, that is not a typo. If you live in the flats needless to say you are rather well off, but if you live in the hills, you are, well they consider themselves to be royalty. For example again, there was a house in the hills not far below Mulholland, that is up for sale for eighty million dollars. I cant tell you how many times I have almost got into head on collisions with bentleys maserati’s, lamborghini’s, bugatti’s even because I could not take my eyes off of some of these houses. And then something strange happened to me. I drove up beverly drive through Beverly Hills up the canyon all the way up to Mulholland, looking at some of the most expensive real estate in the world and there was a very expensive very new and very shiny sports car in front of me, the make and model of which I have no clue because it probably will not be released until 2016 (in this city if you have a car that was released this year than it is out of date) and it stopped, and a gate opened and the car pulled in. This house was situated on the hill side facing the city and the drive was made of gravel and ivy grew up along the front of the pink spanish walls and in the gravel drive were at least $500,000 worth of sports cars, (only two) and the gate slid shut and I drove on in the jeep and I suddenly wanted it all. I wanted everything in the world, that would not be enough though, I wanted the world and the cosmos and beyond and that still would not satisfy. This is something you could never experience in Sacramento or San Francisco even. Los Angeles creates false dreams and ambitions. No one cares about there neighbor they just want them to die so the can buy there property, demolish it and build a new castle on it. I really struggled that day. I wanted it all. The house the cars the money the anorexic blonde waking me up with morning bj’s. I wanted all of it. But then, by the grace of god maybe, I had another experience. In Los Angeles west of the western avenue, south of Mulholland, north of the 10 freeway and all the way to the beach is the west side. Thats where all the money is. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Bel Air, (yes the fresh prince) UCLA, Rodeo dive, the fucking Playboy mansion, all that shit. My family no longer lives in Beverly Hills but we’re a mile away. Anyways, my cousin is only fifteen and has a permit so I take him driving a few times a week. He said where should we go today? Lets go south I said, Like along the coast? No, like south central, lets start in Inglewood. “No,” he said, “I don’t go South of the Ten.” Fifteen years and he had never been south of the fucking ten freeway. So we get into Inglewood and its rough but not much worse than some of the bad parts of Sacramento. And then we get east of the 110 into South Gate right next to Compton and things got bad. Like third world bad. Homeless people all along the street, prostitutes in broad daylight making deals, drug dealers on every corner, (I know one when I see one) the houses that lined the streets were uninhabitable, like Im talking fucking tin roofs no joke, than there was groups of people on the corner all wearing red and I noticed that everyone in the cars around us were giving us death stares, I assumed it was because we were white, and I looked down and noticed I had a blue soccer jersey on, looked at my cousin and said make the next fucking turn north, lets get the fuck out of here. Driving back to the west side I became disgusted with my self and the entire west side in general. I wonder if anyone in Beverly Hills ever thought about all the crimes and drugs and homicides that happen no more than ten miles away from them. I kid you not every day I turn the news on, every day, there is a shooting here a stabbing there a car chase ending with LAPD shooting some one to death, every single fucking day, and no one around here cares. They just make sure to never go south of the ten freeway so they don’t have to see it. Out of sight out of mind. I know for sure in the hills there is over a billion dollars worth of real estate. And that is on low end. If these fucks could get together and invest in there own city there own community they could end all of this shit. The hood is no more than ten miles down the freeway. People, a ton of people, the majority of the population in the city, live in fucking squalor. Right now there are more people sleeping on the street than living in the hills. Do you think that dick who pulled into his spanish villa is thinking about all the blood running through the gutters in south central? No. He’s thinking about getting a new car before 2016 hits and how he can have more than his neighbor. There is a small viewing park off Mulholland where you can look south across the flats and over the ten to where the tin roof houses are, and beyond. The dividing lines are black and white here. Rich and poor and thats all. It is frightening. ​

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