Another post that starts by talking about the weather.
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A poem about moving forward.
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I watched the first song of Julia Jacklin’s set through some guy’s empty ear-gauge-holes. His ear lobes were just dangling there, and as I clutched my beer close to my chest, if I positioned myself just right, Julia fit perfectly in the hole. It’s not that I wanted to watch the set like this, but it was an entertaining observation that half-drunk Tory reveled in. She sang Body.
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It’s May in Los Angeles which puts us at the beginning of a transitional season we experience in between our mild, damp winter and the desert hot summer. This season is categorized by two themes: clouds, and the fact that everyone, every year, forgets that this happens.
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