Everything Works if you let it

Part of the search for gold here in California comes with the territory. You know what mines have been picked...and you know what's fool's gold:

"Yeah, they're original episodes of Soul Train and everything, back from the '70s!"
Hmmm...why are there Japanese characters all over the screen?

"It's a cozy 1 bedroom...there's parking, it's not a busy street so it's not had to find a spot."
Who builds a place in Los Angeles withOUT parking?

For months, I have searched for new video swank, a new place to live, and the continued search for the drink. Vacancies would taunt me...collectors would have nothing new to trade but would love a copy of my stuff...I was buying drink at an alarming rate. And just 1 week ago, I was fearing the sad realization: this search will last into the dankness that is the summer, all of this during the time I'd rather be in a customized van, driving through the canyons to Malibu while Suburban Lawns plays on the stereo. That's what I have planned. Fuck, I'd even settle for a compact car and REO Speedwagon as long as we're on the right track. But depression got a hold on me and I feared having to step everything up: living search, new videos, more beer. But then everything turned right.

There's a new place with all new shit. There's new video gold from vaults that aren't to be opened. And...yeah, I still have to buy more drink. But this weekend, my last in a certain decade, I let it be Lowenbrau. It's all happening.

Oh yeah, summertime in southern California? I believe "swank" is the usual response.

Kind Hearts Don't Make A New Story, Kind Hearts Don't Grab Any Glory

It's all coming together out here, everything swirling around, mixing and settling with sufficient pleasure, until the proper complexity is achieved. It sits until it needs to, and then it's magic time. Poured with care, extension of life, the ancient drink, sweet fruit turned sweeter. The head can cool off in this breeze, the brain bubbles sinking back to the bottom, to be downed with a final gulp, wonderful release.

Night time in Santa Barbara, and everyone's got something to get on about. The region is foreign to me, a mass of culture that is too intricate for my eyes, especially from where I've just come. The universe here speeds up, molecules bumping into each other at faster speeds, a closed system. Up north, things were easier.

Fuck, and tonight we'll be back in Inglewood.

The Santa Ynez Valley is a sight to behold for sure, but don't look too long or you'll learn too much. The thing here is the feel, the air that is circulating, the pulse. It's all slower, but that's too singular. This isn't Altoona, WI. It's slower, but with a purpose. Bill Hicks once said that smoking pot didn't make you lazy, it just opened your eyes to the utter uselessness of most of the activities in your life. That's what this place is like. A natural tonic, a blood re-organizer. We'll slow it right down, base it out, and we'll discover gold. Deep beneath the soil of this region is the soul, breathing out a fantastic blend of crops and atmosphere. The outward weather working in unison with the thirsty earth, it's a dance, a great stimulator. Is this how the ancient Greeks thought about it?

And so we'll float through these villas, oblivious to life outside of this place, the head on low vibration. We'll let all of the hangups melt away, all of the connections fuzz and fray, the rivers of streets will guide us, the signs will nudge us. We'll catch the sediment, and let it drift to the bottom of the glass, holding it up to examine, witnessing the slow settling with admiration.

After all, that's what happens when you add gold to water.