A classy addiction.

Born in the Midwest, moved to the west.

Bewildered more than a pastor on Halloween.

The first 5 months I live in la I wrapped my brain around beauty that would take a life time to soak in.

I made a bundle in Chicago and figured if I did that great there I should have no problem here in the city of guardian angels.

So I moved.

With my stock in hand. Moved to the ocean to find the life that I always imagined for myself. And I found it. Warm everyday. Business and deals and life changing decisions, decided by college dropouts that displayed a niche.

Business men and women, some, but most just icons. Just simple people that told themselves that what they “do”, they do it right. Witty stoners with quick one liners that get themselves cast in multi million dollar projects to simply act as they did in college.

Wheelers and dealers that fell into cash or inherited it from their family’s….No disrespect from this end, I want to be you.

It’s a classy town….LA.

Some times in bad ways and sometimes in very admirable ways.

And me. Brett, sitting here in a studio apartment in West Hollywood, spending that bundle on simple things like laundry detergent and rent.

Fired, rehired, fired again. Tending, serving, standing up for what’s right and succumbing often to what’s wrong.

My first 5 months in LA I lived a comfortable life. Living half heartily on money made from home.

I pressed.

I did.

I got a job tending. I got fired for protecting the rights of a stranger.

I stand by my actions.

And living here at 1538 N. Vista.

I found solace these months on the rooftop of my complex. I’ll say what I will about los angeles. But the beauty in a star filled night on the roof top of the Alexico Building Complex cannot be denied. This is where I spent my nights. Listening to Tom Waits and Van Morrison, drinking bourbon alone and watching the stars.

The buildings here are so manicured. There is a feel behind them, a thought. If you are not the best here than you are nothing, and you can feel that in the architecture. Straight lines. Balcony’s with perfect views of perfect pictures.

But I recognize so suddenly in my stay, a blemish.

The building across from me is picturesque.  Id say like a Rockwell painting but I don’t think that covers it.

You can see the consideration  that went into building this condo. The rooftops mimicking a structure from the roman coliseum. The balcony’s of each building shaped flawlessly to accompany a porch deck table, or a Webber grill. You can see the care.

My eyes for 5 months get fixed on a splotch of red paint. The building is lined with a zigzag design, a red stripe that I suppose is in place to complement the exquisiteness. Very calculated, flawless as a human eye can see. But what I cant stop starring at is this huge splotch of red paint. It cant be missed. It looks like some disgruntle painstman got fed up. I imagine after weeks of lining the complex he quit and threw a bucket of paint on the wall.

For 5 moths I stared at this blotch. And for 5 moths it has yet to be retouched.

I think its wonderful. Its my touch stone, I don’t know why.

I’ve begun my “normal life” no drinking, no smoking, no bad thoughts. Precision. Precision is my life now. But still I cant help but to go to my roof top and stare at the beautiful mess that a person in pain invented.

The mountains, the sun set, the ocean, the grove, the malls, the “business”, the casting directors, the directors, the girlfriends, the good friends….none of it….somehow none of it brings me as much comfort as this splotch of red paint.