nixon

Yesterday sunset in Los Angeles was drawn all in oil pastels. The smoke was so thick in the city that at times I could not see just down the street. It muffles everything- sound, color, emotion. Everywhere people were wearing bandanas over their faces or gas masks, goggles, or just their shirts pulled up to breathe through. At one point I stood outside with a friend and caught these huge, feathery ashes that were falling like snowflakes, letting them build up on our arms and faces like children in winter. I think if we had stood there long enough we could have made angels in the street. It was beautiful and tragic, the apocalypse upon us soft and quiet as sleep.