Don't Forget the Funny Man

Honesty, honestly, is dead. I like to think that this is just a clever turn of phrase. I also like bland cereals like Kashi.

Last week I went for a hike to a place called Inspiration Point (aka, Mt. Cliche). Once at the top, I could see all of Los Angeles in an impressive panorama, covered in a thick layer of haze. Seriously, I couldn't see a fucking thing other than the city of Altadena which lay directly at the foot of the mountain. What a drag. But that couldn't get me down. I'm a trooper. The archetypal urban sprawl lay at my feet. What now? I whip it out, work up an erection and beat off all over the ground. It was late in the day. I was alone. No sane person would be 2 hours deep into the San Gabriel National Forest at sundown. All I had to worry about was someone in the valley below looking up at me through some kind of telescope. And if they were? Good for them.

A funny thing happened on the way back down the mountain, though. I saw the eye of God looking down on me. No shit. The sun had been set for a good while and the lights of the city below shone through the haze, displaying the true beauty of Los Angeles, man-made though it may be. I passed through the ruins of Echo Mountain Resort, a mountain-top getaway circa the early 1900's. I lamented the passing of man's creations back into nature, and continued down the hill with my path lit by the yellow streetlights below and the white moon above. Stopped in my tracks. Thin white clouds created a black oval with the moon shining brightly in the middle. I made the rest of the way without falling off of some cliff or attracting the attention of some large and hungry wild animal. Hit the liquor store for a couple of tall-boys. Watched an old Hitchcock film. Passed out with headphones on and lightbulb burning. Peaceful.