introduction

I've never been that big of a fan of the cold. Some people don't like the heat, maybe they don't like to be sweaty, or maybe the sun gives them a headache. Those people are probably dehydrated. For me, the only time when I feel really secure is when I'm warm all over. There's a comfort in being warm, maybe it's the same instincts of being safe in a mother's womb, or relaxing for a nap in the sun. The sun feels nice on one's skin. Maybe it's because I'm a fire sign that I get too cold too easily... or maybe it's just the shitty San Francisco weather. It's foggy every day, especially in the summer. The fog is scary. It's scary because it's mysterious.


But when I think of moving, it seems realistically impossible. Why would I want to leave the best place in the world? I've been to other countries, and across most of the continental united states, and no matter where you go, you find that nothing is like the bay. It seems like an ironic stereotype that the rest of the world thinks people from the bay, cause it seems to me like the only place where people are real. Real because they're not afraid to be flawed. Sure, I have lofty ambitions just like all these other bitches of moving to Hollywood- I guess that's the dream. I don't really care about LA, but Hollywood plays out on a global stage, and everyone knows it. The world looks to Hollywood to see how to exist, which makes it arguably the most powerful force in the universe.

Nobody wants the same things, which makes me think that I too could be successful... but it seems like at the very basis level, everyone does want the exact same thing. Money, sex, and love all mean the same things to everybody in regard to value and expense. Like life, this novel is composed of memories I've tried to block out.