I couldn't help but sit here and wonder about the squareness of the buildings; of how architecturally and geometrically sound they are.

Oddly enough, downtown LA has become the city I know with the confidence and fluency with which I spell my name. I am astounded. I had no idea that this would be the place I know-the place I care about.

I found a garden and a grassy knoll on the third level of the Citi Group building leading to the top of Bunker Hill. For a moment it seems as if I have found an oasis in the Moroccan desert; the last treasured spot left in the city. As the knowledge creeps in that I am being watched by some all-knowing eye, i decide to rise up in defense. I will act as if this space were mine own despite the prying eyes and fast approaching dawn. For this balmy and breezy, almost fully mooned night, I'll pretend as if I really did find that oasis.

I stare up at the great monuments of glass and steel as if they were the Sierra Nevadas with their ancient austerity and natural magnificence, for buildings and great mountains are not much different. Neither makes sudden movements. Both are intricate and dominating: over powering. And both were forged out of a power beyond the myopic sight of one woman. They remind me of where I stand and what the world is capable of creating. I wonder (looking up) if the architects knew their buildings would be so straight.

I felt the Santa Ana winds for the first time tonight. I felt them, at first, as I was walking out of my care late this afternoon in Torrance. Quite windy, I thought, might not make it as pleasant to be outside. It was hotter downtown. I broke into my third apartment opening all the windows, letting the hot winds blow and clack my vertical white blinds. I slowly inhaled my orange-blossom flavored beer, wondering if I needed a real meal, and pondered acting on my desire to call him. I'd toyed with the idea all day after waking up from a vivid dream overwhelmed by his presence. It's difficult to for me to ignore these dreams; they seem to penetrate me deeper than the sting of reality. I woke up at seven in the morning with a desire for him deep in my bones: desire for the man I had always imagined him to be. I was covered in him and couldn't wash him away from my thoughts for the entire day. I battled with calling him. For what reason? I thought. What would I say to him? Come here? I need to be around you? I simply don't know.

As I was reading the hot winds swept through my windows, wrapping the thin hairs around the base of my neck gently about my face; teasing me. Enticing me to do something. I called him. He answered. Then, afterwards, I picked up my guitar and love him as I never have before. He suddenly felt soft and deep. Warm and distant. I let my fingers and the E string hypnotize me for a good thirty minutes. I made him loud so everyone in the street below could hear his cries, and I made him cry softly, falling down to an ending strum.

When I walked outside I felt the hot gusts blow up my legs and caught a full view of the large moon glowing above the city. Fire wind, full moon. this must have been why I woke up so early, so moved by the shadows that touched me in my dreams.