I only hope I don't wipe out in West L.A.
I would have preferred it if the walk I took to recover from my back spending the afternoon in spasm had not ended with me smashing my knee black and blue, but I'm starting to think I never had a warranty on this body to begin with. Anyway, I took a bunch of pictures.
I have no idea what kind of flower this is. I had a better view on its neighbor, but I liked how much this one looked like a collage.
The shadow thrown by the gas station onto the side of the Knights of Malta Hall looked like a prowling—or perhaps merely an inquisitive—robot.
I have photographed this angle of brick and copper before, but I love it so much, especially as the late light warms. I love this illuminated color of brick.
Exhibit A. Insofar as I can decipher the maps, I believe this building is scheduled not to survive the high school renovation.
Exhibit B. Which feels like a shame, because it's full of portals into sky.
Exhibit C. I'm not sure about the longevity of its neighbors, either. I liked the step-stair effect.
The Knights of Malta Hall presides over the someday of Gilman Square. It looks much lonelier to me now.
This house on Montrose Street reminded me of the sea.
Nothing about this picture captures it, but![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spatch and I stood for fifteen minutes on the bridge on Sycamore Street with the sun setting directly in our eyes because what they were doing on the railway was re-setting stretches of track with backhoes, steel rails and wooden ties lifted and separated and lowered all in one piece like sections of spine. And then the light ran toward us on two parallel tracks the same ochre-gold. I hadn't known that was a construction technique. I wish going out to view the progress of the GLX did not feel so much like Russian roulette. We saw more people on the streets and more people not wearing masks this evening than at any time since the beginning of the brief shining moment of Massachusetts taking this pandemic seriously.
The warning coloration of the telephone wires.
We found poppies growing in chain-link.
The future falls in the petals.
Eat your heart out, Caspar David Friedrich.
Becauserachelmanija reviewed a book in which someone surfs a tidal wave through Los Angeles, the Little Girls' "The Earthquake Song" has been stuck in my head for hours and will probably be stuck in my head for hours more. I don't know that its cheerful fatalism is the best thing for my mental state right now, but it has such a bounce.
I have no idea what kind of flower this is. I had a better view on its neighbor, but I liked how much this one looked like a collage.
The shadow thrown by the gas station onto the side of the Knights of Malta Hall looked like a prowling—or perhaps merely an inquisitive—robot.
I have photographed this angle of brick and copper before, but I love it so much, especially as the late light warms. I love this illuminated color of brick.
Exhibit A. Insofar as I can decipher the maps, I believe this building is scheduled not to survive the high school renovation.
Exhibit B. Which feels like a shame, because it's full of portals into sky.
Exhibit C. I'm not sure about the longevity of its neighbors, either. I liked the step-stair effect.
The Knights of Malta Hall presides over the someday of Gilman Square. It looks much lonelier to me now.
This house on Montrose Street reminded me of the sea.
Nothing about this picture captures it, but
spatch and I stood for fifteen minutes on the bridge on Sycamore Street with the sun setting directly in our eyes because what they were doing on the railway was re-setting stretches of track with backhoes, steel rails and wooden ties lifted and separated and lowered all in one piece like sections of spine. And then the light ran toward us on two parallel tracks the same ochre-gold. I hadn't known that was a construction technique. I wish going out to view the progress of the GLX did not feel so much like Russian roulette. We saw more people on the streets and more people not wearing masks this evening than at any time since the beginning of the brief shining moment of Massachusetts taking this pandemic seriously.
The warning coloration of the telephone wires.
We found poppies growing in chain-link.
The future falls in the petals.
Eat your heart out, Caspar David Friedrich.
Because
rachelmanija reviewed a book in which someone surfs a tidal wave through Los Angeles, the Little Girls' "The Earthquake Song" has been stuck in my head for hours and will probably be stuck in my head for hours more. I don't know that its cheerful fatalism is the best thing for my mental state right now, but it has such a bounce.
no subject
*support support*
no subject
Have some more!
*support support*
Thank you.
*hugs*