>I say this and it feels like a betrayal to the women in my movie whose inside lives are locked tightly inside their skulls, who feel time passing slowly and painfully. The luminous haze that floats in the spaces between buildings and cars and people does not turn the city into a dream world. There is more than radiant, shifting nothingness in Los Angeles. Once after a night of drinking I woke up on the sidewalk with an escaped chicken on my stomach. On the bus you can hear Mexican women bragging about their grandchildren; the Korean shop owner on my street sells me Caronas and listens to blue grass. There is an ocean and traffic. There are earthquakes and gun shots and more women with dazzling teeth than any other place in the western hemisphere. There are many things more solid than dreams, but the thick light sometimes comes between me and all of these things.
