I'm sitting here in the late night. Another bottle of the grape poured down. As those of you who know me, (or know of me), for those of you who know my tales, sometimes before I lay myself down to sleep, I tend to watch the algorithm of late-night music videos that pour upon my YouTube screen.
 
I took a little detour tonight, however. Decided to change the pace. There was a lot of Dream Pop playing. I've always wondered what's the difference between Dream Pop and Shoegaze? I'm sure there's a definition. But, what really are such definitions? Answer: Just more bullshit, defined by the reality of somebody who doesn't really know.
 
Anyway, and in any case, a song popped into my brain… You know, one of those songs that's sitting way back there, waiting to be reheard. We all have them. We all remember them. Usually, when we remember them, however, we never seem to have any way to re-play them and let them parade in our ears.
 
Tonight, that was not the case, however. I could just type it in. And, it would come up.
 
The song? Tear Stained Eyes by the band, Son Volt. Damn! That's a great song.
 
There's no music video or anything like that that goes along with that song. The band never made one. And, maybe that's the best thing, just allowing the lyrics, and the music, to drive the visions in your mind. It's a perfect experience.
 
Somehow/someway, while listening to that song, it drove me to thinking about my youth. Youth, at a time when I was rapidly becoming an adult. Maybe way before many/most of those who surrounded me or of those who had walked before me. I was still young. Young, but having walked a long hard road down my (then) short path of life, at that moment of my reality, maybe I was too old for my time? I don’t know?
 
Again, anyway and in any case, the song sent me to thinking about a point—a point when so much of my life was defined by a certain street, Western Ave.
 
It was a time. I was maybe eleven, twelve, or thirteen. That's the time I lived there. In the area of L.A. now known as K-Town. But, it was a different era of the world back then. That street it held so much/so many of my experience and my realizations. They all happened along that street at that point in history.
 
Now, I could go into all of that like some sort of autobiography nonsense. But, I'll leave that to another time, and perhaps another author. As. my days are growing short.
 
Anyway, this flash came to me… Came to me, as I was listening to that exceptional song. It came to me, that I should start out, Western Ave., maybe at Wilshire Blvd. I should take the walk. Walk from the Wiltern Theatre, where I saw so many seminal movies in my youth. Take that walk, North. Walk past all the businesses that have come, that have gone, that are forgotten by most, but not me. Maybe just step back a few feet deeper South down Western. Back to one of the early Hapkido studio where studied. Or, a bit deeper still. The location for, The Funky Cuts Barber Shop, as it was called in the very first film where I given the starring role. A piece for a USC film student's final project. Or, more North to the bookstore where I discovered, The Tao Te Ching. That book changed my life. Then, walk a little farther to the next theater of cinema, The Embassy, (now long gone). Where again, I saw so many exceptional pieces of film. Keep walking North, up towards Hollywood, where I eventually re-ended up. Born there, lived there, perhaps I'll die there.? Like the lyrics from that great song by, The Animals, San Franciscan Nights, “I wasn't born there, perhaps I'll die there, there's no place left to go.” Yes, Hollywood has defined me. Perhaps, the most major part of my life.
 
So, that song, set me to thinking… I should/could continue my walk, past all of the events of my life up that street. Events, that happened along Western Ave.
 
There was a bike shop. I bought the bicycle that I loved more than any bicycle I had ever owned. Ever owned and ever have owned. And, just a side note here, I have literally flown to Italy and had bicycles created for me. But, I won't go into that here.
 
Back to the bike I love the most. This beautiful green Schwinn, Pea Picker Model, as it was called. Loved that five-speed Stingray. How long did I own it? A very short period of time. Stolen.
 
You know, I think that's what most people who steal things never understand. For them, all they do is gain something. But, for the person they take it from, they have robbed an essential element of their life. To this day, and all the bicycles I have owned since that point in time, as I have been an avid bike rider much of my life… There has never been a bike that touched me more deeply.
 
Okay, Okay… Before I get too far off track. And/plus, I bought a few other bikes from that dealership. But, continuing in the forward motion up Western Blvd. Then, there was Reginald Denny. This great hobby shop. Here, then gone—forgotten by most. But not by me. I lived it.
 
Now, there were several other places in between. Let's say, between Wilshire, and Hollywood Blvd. Let me state this one particular business, Pioneer Chicken. For some reason, I know not what, there have been all of these photographs, and/or people, discussing Pioneer Chicken on Western Ave. and Hollywood Blvd coming into my feeds. I’ve even seen a few photos of Bukowski hanging out there. He lived just down the street and around the corner from me, when my mother and I moved back to Hollywood and we lived over on Hobart between Hollywood and Sunset.
 
That was a place, Pioneer Chicken, where my bud, Saturday Jim (RIP) and I would hit up after a long hard night of Punk Rock Slam Dancing and drinking post living whatever it was we lived at the Punk clubs. We would grab a bucket of their chicken. Make our way back to his aunt's house, just a block away. She was a GREAT gal. We’d drink a couple more beers, shoot a little bit more Jack Daniels as we ate that hallowed chicken. Then, he would crash on the couch. I would grab the reclining chair. Passed out. Drunk beyond belief. Living a reality that few people could ever imagine. God, that was an exceptional time of life! Everything was possible. Everything was so haveable. Now/today, pretty much all the participants of friend-scene, (other than me), are dead. Sad really. All I can do is remember and question why???

Or, speaking of Saturday Jim… We could go up to the end of Western where he planted his head into the wall at the point where Los Felix turns into Western. Venchinzo and I were waiting at their apartment over on Garfield for him to get home one night. We were planning to go and see The Surf Punks at the Roxy. Jim didn't show up and didn't show up. Finally, we get a call from the ER. He had gotten way too fucked up with his truck driving bros and while riding his motorcycle home, he didn't make the turn. BAM! Fucked himself up pretty good.

Kinda funny, really… Western now/today, for a few decades actually… I don't live too far from Western over here on the ocean side end of the street. In fact, just yesterday I went to a thrift store that I like located on Western. Kinda crazy, though it is the longest street in L.A., how that street has defined so much of my life.
 
So, I don't know, what do you think about this? Do you want to take a walk with me down memory lane? Do you want to take a walk along Western Ave. Walk, from Wilshire to Hollywood Blvd. And/or beyond? Maybe we could take a camera and film what is now, as I reminisce about what was then. Maybe we could make a Zen Documentary. I don't know, what do you think?
 
Life, reality, what does it really mean? I have my memories. You have yours. Which ones are more important?
 
Me, I can sit here and reminisce. I can sit here and write about them. But, this now is never that then. So, what does that then actually mean in this now?
 
Question: Should I/are we going to take a walk along that long path of life? I don't know, what do you think?
 
If nothing else, take a long hard listen to that great song by Son Volt. It's one of those songs that once you hear, you will never forget it. It's one of those great songs, that I wish I could have created. A song that your mind will always return to. Return to, until you are no more. Then what?
 
What happens when all your memories are gone?
 
Like has been said by someone much more wise than I, “You die twice. Once, when you leave your body. Second, when the last person who remembers you speaks your name no more.”