PUBLISH DATE TBD
Unlike most cities, Los Angeles won't "introduce itself".
You have to drive, explore, and search through the different self-sufficient "towns" within the city.
Leave all pre-conceived notions at home and head out there with your senses and blank expectations.
What you'll end up with is entirely yours. Nobody can define it for you, and nobody can tell you you're wrong.
These are my first three years.
These are the voices and stories I found.
Below you will be able to find snapshots from the book covering neighborhoods of Los Angeles.
For the full version please check back for a release date.
We All Hate You - Los Angeles
Broken, graceful, and oh so elusive.
It's a new home.
Tired bar maids dry scorched glasses with ripped towels and vacant eyes.
With that, the slient countdown for the bantered throngs to simmer down across the bars.
Off with you now lads.
Urban campers sweep the pizza shops. It's a broken poem stuck on repeat.
A room for one, please.
A room to be what you want for a minute. For a lifetime.
They recon a few years in Shakeytown might be what the doctor ordered.
Here we are. We will never be enough. But here we are. And we are wonderful.
Cooping with the chaos of LA.
Processing the world that is supposedly sculpted and perfected.
The world that has too many voices, too many personalities, and not enough structure.
This lonely island I float.
This abandoned part of the woods I scream.
So I had to make you a voice.
I had to pretend we knew each other.
I had to fake I knew my way around.
Dear LA, these are my voices for you, these are your people to me, and these are your neighborhoods.
It made me feel home.
He drove throughout the night and into the early morning. The darkness had shattered in slow-motion and the city started to move. He didn't know where he was going but it was towards something new and desperately pure.
She could recognize the moment someone became a part of her.
Then, the feeling of when a person left - they took a part of her with them. From there she would never be the same again.
The night sky would burn brighter. The sea would roar louder.
Her lungs would expand with a new sense of purpose and everything around her would change as if life was starting all over again.
She wasn’t afraid.
She was broken and beautiful.
A tidal wave of grifters sweep the viaducts of the lonely concrete river.
All that is left is the debris of abandoned evidence of an old life.
The rumbling city buries the vibration of their breaths.
Under bridges and brigades in cramped darkness the ghosts of the riverbed find rest as the days drag on.
She made him speechless.
No matter his attempts.
A flower like you only blooms on burning ships.
Sorry sir. We’re trying to build a city here, and you're in the way.
A silenced, black, and blistered breath cracked open: “May I smile?”
The dust had eaten its way into his eyes, his skin, his mind.
He’d become a polluted gargoyle, waiting for its methodic crumbling destruction.
He had shown her that he wasn’t afraid to live.
Something to remind her that she was alive. He was the perfect storm she’d been looking for her entire life.
Yet, she wasn’t brave enough to follow along.
It had been two weeks and he was still waiting for her to call.
He came from forgotten times. As simple as a dried pack of Chesterfields, and as important as a sunrise.
We caught each other in an anarchic free-fall.
He was the ghost of Reseda.
Larry ran a half abandoned community center tucked in between a Howard Johnson motel and a neglected retirement home.
He had found his angry purpose in the world of underground wrestling.
She watched the cars torch the highway. It was the road to hell, and she couldn’t wait to get out there.
Early on, he knew what kind of love he deserved and desired.
There was no shelter from the sun. The heat knew how to warm her body and mind, no matter the refuge.
An oasis on twi sides of the thin sheet of glass, yet she felt trapped.