2/12/2k24 – To Live and Die in LA?…Maybe. Maybe Not.

FLASHBACK to August, 2k23, North Hollywood.

I recall taking my break outside while an insane woman sat next to me, shouting at me, insulting me, trying to scare me or provoke me into assaulting her. I didn’t react or respond. I put my earbuds in and jammed to Combichrist. Eventually, she went away.

The power of silence has kept me alive for 30 years in Los Angeles.

Many people asked when I would be returning to Los Angeles. My reply was always I always get sick of Honolulu in a few months. But this time was different. This time I wasn’t leaving LA an emotional wreck. I was strong, successful and mentally prepared for anything.

It made me tough as nails. I’ve lost over 30 pounds just walking around Los Angeles and the Valley during 100 degrees plus of maddening summer.

The key to survival in the city of angels is to stay silent and respond to no one.

Unwisely, I broke that rule twice.

The last one, as you recall, was where I disparaged a derelict on a bus ride home on my birthday. That resulted in an eyeful of pepper spray. I deserved that one.

It was August 16, 2k23. It was nearly 104 in North Hollywood and my 10-core Super Beast was not turning on, not properly rendering video, going very slow and everything else computers do not do in 100+degree heat.

Needless to say, I wasn’t doing well, either. I was working on a difficult After Effects gig and I was losing my mind with the heat.

I was living with 3 people in a 3 bedroom house. One individual was a Swedish fellow with a blond mullet, who played guitar around 3pm in the afternoon. I’m not sure if he did that before I got there on April 1, or if he was auditioning for my show.

Irma and her redneck husband, Jerry, were subletting a nice room to me. They were good to me for the most part until Jerry would be quite disrespectful to me in the evening. I just got up and walked away to my room to avoid turmoil. Add Jerry’s blatant racism to the equation and I was already looking for another place.

One day, in Jerry’s car, he was speaking to another racist fuckhead, spewing hate while I was forced to listen.

“Send them all back to Africa.” Were the typical responses followed by the usual shit they ooze from their sphincters.

I noticed a letter from the city of Los Angeles. They explained the city was fining them $350 for having to much shit in their yard and they only way anyone could know that was if they could see into the yard…like the next-door neighbors he complained about.

“So your neighbors ratted you out, huh?” I said.

“Looks that way.” Irma lamented.

“Go figure.” I said in my mind. This guy has a target on his back. Even his neighbors hate him.  Suddenly, I realized I had to get out while I still could. I can see a grenade or firebomb crashing through a window while we all sleep.

Those who know me, know when I get quiet, I pretty fucking pissed off. I hold it in, let it bubble, churn, simmer and stew in the pressure cooker that is my twisted mind, waiting to explode.

Today was that day. I was LITERALLY CRAZY FROM THE HEAT and this asshole had pushed me to my outer limits. The icing on the cake was the entire house’s refusal to turn on the air conditioning.

I noticed on the client’s email was CC’d  john_—-__@disney.com. Yes. After all these years of toil, I’d finally made a contact to the big kahuna of animation and it was slipping away because I could not flip an A/C switch and make it all happen.

“It’s too expensive.” They all replied, sweating bullets.

“I’ll pay for it.” I begged. “My computer won’t work and I have a very important job to finish. Please.”

They wouldn’t budge and so I exploded. I unloaded on Jerry in front of his father and a young kid who he mentored. The rage was so bad, I can’t remember some of it.

“Don’t you raise your voice to me.”  Jerry said.

I remember my booming voice…

“THIS IS ME RAISING MY VOICE, MOTHER FUCKER!!”” I shouted at the top of my lungs, loud enough to let the whole block know this shit was going down now, NOW!!!

Jerry had only one eye, hardly any teeth, deformed hands and weighed maybe 90 pounds with wet clothes. For the 3,5 months, I watch Jerry struggle to eat and put on weight. He was indeed, a product of his actions, broken from fights his mouth would induce. And like the previous derelict mentioned last month, neither learned from their mistakes.

 I was cruel and disrespectful to Jerry in hopes he would lay a hand on me so I could hurt him, possibly fatally.

Fortunately, Irma stepped between us and I went back to my room, preventing me from ruining my life, their lives and never seeing my family again.

This is why I never get upset. I lose control.

That night was uneasy as I wasn’t sure if I would be safe through that night. I’m sure they felt the same. Leaving for work, I worried my goods would be in danger, but I was sure I scared the shit out of everyone enough to make sure it would be secure.

I had 2 more weeks paid rent until September and I knew it would be a tense 2 weeks with no guarantee of peace. I therefore, texted Irma to Zelle me the other half of my August rent so I could throw my stuff into the nearest storage unit and be done with the whole mess.

I tried to follow up on a room in Van Nuys, but it was a scam. I spent the next 2 weeks on the street, surviving and sleeping at the Men’s Spa in Korea Town, blocks away from my teaching gig.

I remember it being very hot, hustling from potential home and back to work as my money stated to run out. Near the end of August, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it, but somehow, I made it.

At around August 30th, the same day I witnessed the doomed young man on the bus. I checked my bank account after work at 3am, heading for a room on Pico, and damn! I was paid. I could go on.

Those watching over me, pulled me through. I am so blessed.

CJ Davidson,

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