memories_embedded_in_objects raze i was putting the cd for "l.a. woman" by the doors back in its case. and i remembered, for the first time in a long time, that i bought this album while in toronto for the weekend. summer. 1996. i was reading a fat orange biography of jim morrison, mesmerized by the train wreck that was his life. i remember confusing a fancy packet of blue hotel liquid soap with hair gel. i massaged some into my hair and watched it start to froth. i wiped the froth away and used enough gel in its place to fashion a small animal into a weapon. there was a homeless girl sitting just outside the lip of a store that afternoon or the next. i remember her face. her dark hair. her hooded sweatshirt. the sound of her voice asking someone if they had any change they could spare. her looking up at them with something like fear mixed with reluctant hope. them walking by without looking back. i think i had some vague notion of what a homeless person was, but i didn't know they really existed until that moment. i didn't know there were homeless people as young as i was. i was twelve or thirteen. she looked twelve or thirteen. it seemed like some horrible mistake that she or anyone shouldn't have a place to stay. that she should have to beg and suffer the ignorance of strangers. if i hadn't spent my money on that cd, i could have given her ten or fifteen dollars. maybe it would have helped. i hope she found a place to call her home. i hope she was alright. i wonder what her name was. it's funny, the memories that live inside of things. 130925 what's it to you? who go blather from