2 Flew to the City of Angels

Summary

The text is a reflective narrative about a journey to Los Angeles, juxtaposing the city's allure with the stark reality of homelessness and the resilience of the human spirit.

Abstract

The author recounts a trip to Los Angeles, a city known as both the City of Angels and Lost Angeles, where they observe the contrast between the city's romanticized image and the harsh conditions faced by its homeless population. Through a series of dodoitsu poems, the narrative explores the complexity of life in LA, from the freedom of flight to the struggles of those living in makeshift homes on Skid Row. Despite the challenges, the author acknowledges the diversity and individual stories of the people encountered, emphasizing that everyone has their own worries, dreams, and the inherent right to be seen as part of humanity. The piece is a contemplation on the human condition, highlighting that while people may get lost, their situations are not necessarily permanent, and there is always potential for growth and change.

Opinions

The author perceives Los Angeles as a city of duality, both a place of dreams and a site of hardship.
There is a critical view of how society marginalizes the homeless, rendering them invisible and treating them as outcasts.
The narrative suggests that everyone has a unique story that should be acknowledged and respected.
The author expresses empathy towards the homeless, recognizing their resilience and the creativity they employ to survive.
The poem's form, dodoitsu, is used thematically to convey the rhythm of life's struggles and the brevity of human existence.
The author implies that societal labels, such as 'outcast,' are chosen by those who refuse to see the humanity in others.
The piece concludes on a hopeful note, affirming that circumstances of loss or hardship do not define a person's potential for overcoming adversity.

Or: Lost Angeles, as it read in some graffiti

Author pic of Emerson, DuBois and Thoreau painted on a house in the LA area

"...for to the creator there is no poverty and no poor indifferent place." --Rainer Maria Rilke

Been two years since we ventured The streets of the city that Never sleeps and one year since We drove to Texas

Only to decide this year We would fly to the city Of angels from Chicago As though we had been

Granted our wings and given The key to the city, in Spite of COVID-19. This Time, I wasn't groped

By T.S.A., or harassed Just 'cause I'm a literal Melting pot of the races. With not a whole lot

To do or many places To go, we rode down Skid Row Entering a shantytown Of Lost Angeles---

From 3rd to 7th Street, as We passed Cecil Hotel---that Beckons the dust and shadows That make the world whole,

With tents lined like tenements Along the curbs and sidewalks Of abandoned businesses, Coming and going

And treating streets as their homes, Without any luxuries. One guy had his own washer And dryer, sitting

In the open by a fire Hydrant. If I had to guess, He's tapping the nearest street Light for his power.

And, without knowing their names Or their stories, I cannot Assume to know how it is To walk in their shoes

Or to sing their blues, because Everybody has their own Story, with their own worries And inherited

Madness and sadness, along With their own dreams, something so Necessary in life, to Survive the struggle,

Making you understand it. People get lost in the world Sometimes...doesn't mean it has To be permanent.

People stumble, fall, yet rise Up. Only the uprooted Can comprehend what it means To be considered

An outcast, invisible Only to those who choose not To see that they are still part Of humanity.

In this poem, each stanza is in the form of a dodoitsu, syllabically (but not thematically). Dodoitsu is made up of four lines, with the first three lines consisting of seven syllables. The fourth and final line has five syllables only.