I ♡ Venice, CA

I began last night mapping out yet another tale from my series of adventures in vibrant living, courtesy of Venice, CA and the hardest work I have ever done on myself while living there.

First off, there is a big problem with me at times lately, very much so. Venice, California is my favorite place on God's green Earth I have been fortunate enough to visit and be enriched by, participated in and fully with.

There I find respect for my quirks AND quarks, understanding to the tune of mutual admiration and the comfort of a thriving artist community in it's niches into the space between Santa Monica and Culver City, gazing outward and onward with each passing sunset over the distant mountains of Malibu.

There I found that my life was harder lived, stretched FURTHER, and my "West L.A. Fadeaway"s only became less painful when I continued to hone the physical and spiritual ailments I am afflicted with as a norm for molding my creative creationary process in shaping my future(s). There life was like a staff "Rock" polisher (lol) and I was in the rough and tumble.

But the air was always filled with music, music of my taste, and the partisans and artisans alike could and did speak to the truth of each and every one of us having the need, the want, the nature of our desires explored and expressed for the all good for even "Old Pal"s. The shops were real, the talent was excited, and the fact is, I fucking fit in like nowhere ever.

Nearly got into a few fights over stupid moves, and learned the choir shouldn't be preached to, and the community protected from vandals, thieves, and violent threats by banding in peaceful self defense.

The fact is, in three visits:

▪︎01/2003 - 4/2003
▪︎12/2011 - 4/2011
▪︎07/2019 - 11/2019

10+ total months spent>

...I learned and was free to grow and DID GROW more completely as a scholar, a fellow, a singer, a comic, an artist, a dancer, a writer, and a musical act rising to recognition by the hands of men and women, boys and girls, dogs, fish, birds, crabs, kelp, fleas and the sky above us all than ever in any other period in my life.

There I had the sand to cleanse my feet, the drum circle to cleanse my needs, the humanity of those around to release my burdens freeing up the hole in my soul, and the guiding tide and it's persistent surf wash and move the one pointedness of my mind towards a unified response to the needs of others, who told me they were missing input without "Ozenoz" around.

There my greatness shined through and though funds were low, the cheer and joy of those who were there was the richest payment of all.

There the stars shine through, there the airliners, the jets, the drones, the supersonics, the barnstormers, and all of the various phenomenon that fill the air are on a brilliant display round the clock (various cycles at times) set to the backdrop of the most magnificent tradewind cloud formations you have ever imagined.

I could go on for hours of the locals that live and work, and devote time and effort to a treasure chest that stretches in it's affect far beyond the "no man in no - man's land..." and in the celebration of diversity of every race, color, ethnicity, creed, nationality, class or religion.

Nowhere ever will ever equal the contribution to my life Venice, California and the surrounding communities in the Greatest Los Angeles Area have given me, and I must say I left my heart in Venice Beach.

Conflicted I dare say.

I felt like a local. When I say this my ears ring with the crowd behind me yelling in support "...local!"

I receded from contact with too many while there while nursing fresh wounds and magnetized terrors, other times insatiable technology realizations and conflicts from past lives.

There were friendly psychics, The Venice Mafia, there was King Dread teaching me and opening keys to view the underground, the lady who I scared who didn't make me "eat a bullet", Rock with his timeless teachings, Zulu always there, always, there was Mr. Nature who reminded me that "time still counts, even in the unmanifested" (E=MC2), the kind support of St. Joseph's Center, Mike the soft hearted, there were international tourists leaving hundreds of dollars of supplements to my illegal scavenging, trading and thrifting.

There was the pound of CBD weed in a skippy jar left donated, there was Michael Vincent (?) the writer and philanthropist, there were hugs from passersby skeptical of my safety at times, there were beach patrol turning a blind eye to my didactic apothecarian self medicating with my young enthusiastic acquaintance Joseph, spitting venom and heart fire while I sang the tune, and Jack who showed me Sawdust Blues on a Passport jangle sharing his namesake whiskey...

There was the entire staff of The Abbot Kinney Memorial Library, their invites to The Writers Guild, and their tolerance of my separated antics and random adornment of the grounds.

There were countless female types who caught my eye, and a little too much of my heart for one too soon to delve far into, this by far included Nicole, whose dance reminded me of my self worth and that life would go on in spades.

There was Bread and Rose's, Michael everyday acting like it was our first time, and ok but hopeful about it being our last. There was Gregory and drunken late night fun, medicinal help, the biggest burger I have ever eaten, talk of 100 ft. high cannabis canopies and the strains cross breeding up there these could, would, and do create.

There was Whitey, who dubbed me "Einstein" and gave me his true genius in communicating to me the world's awareness of my physics, my heart, and the value of our friendship even if we do sometimes "stick a pin in it". His resourcefulness and world wise wisdom and quick whit through humble admonishment astonishes.

There was a man whose name I cannot go to, a further down the rabbit hole hat topped decades' dreadlocks, and a kind face, and respectful manner, I like him. I called him Jr.... and David the vet with his cute little dog "Frankie", and his didgeradoo who shared wisdom and warmth every time we chanced to meet.

There was the Ocean Front Walk, and the man who gave me the art materials I used to craft the open - to - vending and performance etc. spot 202, claimed solely by me for over two months into the ever emboldened and practiced calligraphy of this domain and logo. There was Joel with the food at Dudley Ave. every weekend, and my apologies to Daniel, whom I fear I made an enemy of.

Of course there was Vincent, who Van Gogh's there and has the canvas to paint the town red, who I made a friend of two times instead. And of course, Simon, who told me great tales of fame and influence, and opened the doors to a very professional open mic night. And "God Bless" Bless, who you could miss staring straight at him with his magic. Also Reid, who was always with Spirits... Brian who lived days of my father's passing to the sunrise and let me mind his store while he peddled a wedding dress...

There was Adam, quick with a joke (aside) and to light up your smoke, namely the one I bummed. Everyday he was hunting, pruning, gathering and weaving flowers of all kinds in to the beach park benches, incredible. And, I hope not to leave anyone out, and in my full book coming covering all of my three visits to this magical place I will not, though the names will not reflect, trust. Those visits being:

Acts

1.) The Transformation

2.) The Emancipation

3.) The Proclamation

I say lastly thanks to Allah, Buddha, Christ Jesus, God, Krishna, The Angel of Death, and The Angel's of that, their fair city as I was on their turf; for seeing me through.

And the five pound note I found in the alley for getting me drunk.

Oh, and quite frankly thank you to The City of Los Angeles for giving me a free ride from Venice Way to 178th and Crenshaw by the law passed that allows riders broke and stranded to ride unpenalized without paying fare.

From there, thank you Starbucks for the free cinnamon and sugar water while waiting for the free Barona Casino bus which took me to San Diego County. From there, thanks again for the free ride, Barona, to El Cajon Transit Center to hop the MTS Orange Line Trolley to Spring Street. Thanks to the man who bought the $20 nicotine free vape juice I had found on a bus bench on Abbot Kinney, and for use of his phone to call my Rosalee.

From there, thank you to Rosalee for picking me up, giving me her family home, nursing my wounded heart, and being the love of my life. I have found what I was looking for, it wasn't lost, only misplaced in the spot I never knew was mine to share. I journeyed the journey of a thousand lives, and in the end, found you. For what it's worth, forever sometimes only seems to count in fairy tales you don't believe when they seem to never to happen to you. Now I know again, it can happen to you if you're young at heart. You made me single handedly the luckiest freeloader in history.

Next to Trump.

Good shit.

The years may find me away, the tears may keep me at bay, the fears may tell me to stay, but I will always wish to be there today.

If you have a heart for the arts, and an eye for the lifestyle, for God's sake, for all of ours...

Visit Venice, CA.

You may never leave.

That's an order.