I made it. I successfully landed on my feet after getting evicted.
Last weekend was kind of crazy: moving an entire 500m² (5,000 square feet), a whole 19-year presence from my friend and property manager, Jason. People showed up to help, it was great, hard, emotional. The weather was impeccable, warm and soft. I still went to play basketball in the morning despite hauling ass for 12 hours afterwards. My body feels like granite right now. On Sunday morning, 7am, I woke up with 3 gunshots across the boulevard. 10 minutes later, the cops. 2 hours later, yellow tape all over the block. I saw yesterday that someone died there. Drive-by.
It’s a weird feeling to be so close physically to random death by weapon, you know? Especially while you’re trying to survive sudden displacement and find yourself a nice place to live in. Fortunately, my good friend Arthur has a place and allowed me to move in his house. A wonderful, wonderful home. And I still can bike to work. Meanwhile, I will interview soon for a sound design position in Palo Alto. The week before that I was getting a baby mattress for our homeless woman from FedEx. Yup, she ordered it I don’t know how. But she just lost her delivery address. Ain’t nobody doing this for her anymore. Fuck gentrification so hard.
Shit is super-wild and exciting and scary and I feel like sleeping and stretching for 96 hours.
Workwerkwerkwerkwrek, though. I have all those projects, like buying South Los Angeles and rent it out to whoever I want. Like the white dude who’s buying my ex-block, displacing people who lived there for a substantial time of their lifetime. So dear friends and neighbors around: don’t sell shit. Ask me first, ok?
We’ll get through it child. We’ll get through it.