152 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
152 lines
8.8 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Permanence is Not the Ground We Walk On Here
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Memoirs of Los Angeles
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10/17/97
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Who are we as Angelenos? According to one business journal, we are "the
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most ethnically diverse city in the world." We speak a hundred or more
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languages. We are from every country in Latin America, Asia, the Middle
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East, the subcontinent, Africa, Europe and virtually every city and town
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in the United States. Take the Sunset Boulevard bus from East Los Angeles
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to Beverly Hills, and you see store signs in Spanish, Korean, Thai, Farsi,
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Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, Italian, Hebrew, Russian and English. You
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see Aztecs sharing sidewalks with Celts. You see descendants of the Zulu
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waiting for buses with descendants of the Ming Dynasty. The very fact that
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we are here, as opposed to where our ancestors called home, is a testament
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to how much we are products of the transitory.
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The vast majority of us had to leave something behind to come here, and,
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on arrival, had to push aside what was here in order to make room to
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liveroom for who we are. And wasn't that always the nature of Los Angeles'
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invitation? That the city was wide-open enough, undefined enough, willing
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to change enough, to accommodate the myriad tribes who would become
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Angelenos? The city itself is a result of the inexorable movement of the
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world's economies and peoples. It's unreasonable to demand respect for
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"permanence" from a citizenry who have in common nothing so much as their
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experience of impermanence.
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To speak derisively of how transitory we are is to be dismissive of the
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basic questions Angelenos live with. Art is about the expression of an
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individual and a cultural identity. When a woman is half-Mexican Catholic
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and half-Hungarian Jew, and meditates at a Buddhist temple; loves African
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pop music and German string quartets; is reading a Russian novel, eating
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Thai food, going to Hollywood movies, wearing Asian-made clothing; speaks
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a tongue her grandparents could not understand; works in a neighborhood
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where the reinvention of gender is encouraged, and shares all this,
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willy-nilly, every time she walks down the street, with people as
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patchwork as she, then the question of identity becomes more of a life
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quest than it ever was for people growing up in more homogeneous
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societies. Her life takes on all the great questions in artquestions of
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what, among all this hodgepodge, is truly herself.
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Multiply that by several million, and you have an enormous
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mural-in-the-flesh that we call Los Angeles. Our very identities are at
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stake. Identities we've lost, and identities we're trying to create. If
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that isn't the stuff of great art, then what is?
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The Internet brings the world to our computer screens. But what the
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Internet does electronically, Los Angeles embodies on its streets. As we
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work out our individual identities, and our relationships with each other
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across the old barriers of race and ethnicity, we are determining more
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than the fate of this city. Together, we are living an epic poem of our
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history, and in our lives we are deciding a crucial question of the 21 st
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century: Can so many different cultures, thrown together amid so many new
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technologies, forge a new, fruitful and peaceful daily life?
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Human beings in every era, and in every conceivable situation, have felt
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compelled to create art. That alone testifies to its necessity in our
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lives. The worth of Los Angeles, and the grandeur of the city, ultimately
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depends for its cultural value not on what the critics say, but on the
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unfinished work of art that is Los Angeles.
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Can You Trip Like I Do?
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10/10/97
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That awesome song by Filter blasted through my headphones all the way
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here. I arrived here in my real home two hours ago to grab some things,
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make some calls, send some email, and wait for my flight back to Los
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Angeles tomorrow night. The full shock of what happened hit me when I
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walked in the front door. I was only going to Los Angeles to talk for two
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days, and then I would be back. Almost a week later, I finally return home
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for the sole purpose of grabbing some necessities for my new apartment in
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Los Angeles. I stood in the middle of the house listening to my mind race
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with random thoughts. A cold beer snapped me into a better frame of
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reference.
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What do you take with you and what do you leave behind when you are moving
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into a second residence 500 miles away? To answer that question, you need
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to know how long you plan to be in each city, so that the dominant city
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has the greater selection of your personal belongings. But to answer the
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question of the dominant city, you need to know the reasons for your
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detachment with life and why you are running. Only when you know this will
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you know which city will become your primary residence and how you will
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divide your belongings between them. Another cold beer snaps me into
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apathy. Who wants to think right now? I just want to get the fuck out of
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here.
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I need clothing. Fuck, I'll just take all of it, and haul it around with
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me when I switch cities. Toiletries. Fuck it, I'll take my travel case
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full of the stuff. I have three computers here, so I'll take one of the
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smaller ones that I can fly with. Shit! I'll have to buy another monitor.
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Don't forget the modem. Books. Grab the two I am currently reading. CD's.
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I have a case for them, so I'll just bring that around with me like I do
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already. Oh yeah, movies. Which ones should I take? Fuck. I don't have a
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VCR down there, only a TV with cable. I grab about ten of the newer ones I
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have anyway. Is that it? I fucking came home when I really didn't want to
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just for some clothes, a computer, some movies and two books? Because the
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rest of the shit I already had with me. The rest of my shit can stay here
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until the next time I come home, when I will probably have a list of stuff
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I needed but left here.
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Email all of my F.U.C.K. files to d1s. I'm waiting for the email from him
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wondering why he received so many files on a similar subject in one night.
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Picture all of this happening to you d1s, and try to understand the
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confusion it would cause you, and remember that writing about shit helps
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clear the mind. I knew you'd understand. That's why you r00l!
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Email done, make some calls. "What the fuck are you going back to LA for?"
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is the question of the day. "I'm not moving to LA, it's just a second
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place to hang out in when I feel the need to. San Francisco is still my
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primary residence and always will be." I am absolutely sure of that. Los
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Angeles is just too brutal a place to live, and I usually get sick of it
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after being here for only a week, whereas I don't get sick of San
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Francisco until I am here for about a month.
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It took me less than an hour to pack, but I am here for another day before
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my flight back. I don't know why I just didn't book a flight to take me
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right back after a few hours at home. This place is boring. That's my
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first realization to come out of all of this. I guess that's why I am so
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anxious to get the fuck back to Los Angeles. So I can feel alive. In
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actuality, the opposite is true, and I know that, but I'll run with these
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thoughts for now. I have to call and change my flight.
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se7en
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San Francisco
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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= To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with =
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= "subscribe fuck". If you do not have FTP access and would like back =
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= issues, send a list of any missing issues and they will be mailed. =
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= AnonFTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.SEKURITY.ORG/pub/zines/fucked.up.college.kids =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= FTP.ETEXT.ORG/pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= WWW http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= http://www.simunye.com/fuck =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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