Fuck it, I'll listen to more Boo Yaa Tribe, sitting in the back yard with the bluetooth speaker dangling out the window, reading about the history of ghazals. Violets and dandelions everywhere, here in this strange part of Belmont, Charlottesville that's not quite Hogwaller (that's once you pass the BP) but also not really the gentrified part of Belmont just yet, though there is a big ass house they're finishing building up two doors down, and the old lady who legally owns this house I'm renting the basement apartment of had a stroke and is in her 90s, so once she passes, who knows what her kids do with these properties. Sometimes the process of old ways dying literally requires old people dying and the next generation not wanting to fuck with all the work of farming or owning places or working on washing machines or cars, and everything has slowly gotten outsourced to corporations for the past 40 years, and we are fucked.
I often think about weird things that academia doesn't give enough attention to, like how L.A. gangs, which were always geographically based, have been altered by gentrification. Are there hybrid gangs now in certain communities, or new truces and disagreements because of how certain neighborhoods were relocated to certain certain aging devalued subdivisions? American culture is weird, because it's sort of like having all these weird little actual cultures underneath the superficial level of no real culture at all other than absorbing the undergrounds ones into the sunlight until you've bleached them of all their microflora.
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