Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Sunset on Hollywood
Those who know me best might agree that I can be a bit of a nomad. I get that from my old man. We went on vacation just like the rest of the kids in grade school. When we were limited by time we would take a flight, but dad always considered it more of a vacation when he could spend some quality time on the highways. I have seen most of the west coast from a car, some of the mid-west also. I grew-up in Portland and after spending some time on the road I usually make my way back here. But sometimes Portland can feel too small, and that’s when I take to the road. My favorite destination has become Los Angeles. Los Angeles is awfvlly driver-friendly and not far from home when it is time to leave. I haven’t ever really thought of anywhere besides Portland as home, bvt lately I have wanted to see more of the world. There are some great destinations in the United States, but southern California is always hard to beat. I guess it is hard to leave a place like Hollywood without a few stories. Sooner or later I might try Los Angeles for a stay, and when I get there I will already have some favorite haunts.
It is a pretty healthy drive to Los Angeles from Portland so after I got in I needed to crash. I was able to track-down an inexpensive place to stay in a decent neighborhood, and soon afterward fell asleep. I wanted to see a lot of the city, and didn’t want to waste my time sleeping off a hang-over from staying out late at the bars. I had other plans, instead.
After I make landfall in Los Angeles I almost always make for the beach first. I have gotten to know Los Angeles’ beaches well, but there was still some of the beach that needed to be checked-out. I remember Long Beach from when I was younger. My folks usually took us to Orange County because there is so much for young children to do there, but this time I felt like something more grown-up. I ended up near Huntington Beach, which has an almost quaint (for Los Angeles) feeling to it.
Huntington Beach sort of reminds me of some of Oregon’s smaller coast-towns, because it has some smaller surf-shops and a slower pace than urban Los Angeles. It is far bigger than any of the Oregon Coast’s most cosmopolitan towns. The Oregon Coast is unique that way, our state’s bigger coastal cities are still more industrial. Instead, it is Oregon’s coastal hamlets that are usually the most tourist-friendly.
I spent the whole day just cruising the boardwalk and getting to know any locals willing to share their time. There were some genuinely friendly folks, and I picked up the low-down on the inside scene. We even got stoned in the back of a van before I called it a day. I was kicking along the beach not far from a line of cars parked off the road. As I passed a van with its side-door open I caught a whiff of the pot’s smoke. The kids sitting in the van looked friendly enough, so I took a chance. “Can I get in on that?” Without much hesitation, the kid holding the joint handed it to me. “Thanks!”
“No sweat, man. You look like you could use it.”
“L.A. can be overwhelming, it’s a lot bigger than home.”
“Where’s home?”
“It has always been Portland. It seemed even smaller when I was a kid though.”
From the back of the van another kid spoke-up as I passed the joint back. “I like Portland, but I don’t think I could put up with the rain.”
“Yeah, it takes some getting used to.” We swapped stories until my head got thick and I needed some air. They said to look them up the next time I was in town. I told them that I would get back sooner or later. I knew I would be going back to Portland first, but didn’t know when. That all depended on when the money ran out.
Before I left home I had managed to scrape together about one thousand dollars for the trip, which is a lot of money to me. But I always had left Los Angeles sooner than I was ready to and this time I didn’t want to leave before I was done. Even a thousand dollars for a week in L.A. really isn’t enough, but it gave me the chance to experience Los Angeles on my own and leave with an honest take on the city.
The next day I headed north along the coast, starting out in Santa Monica and heading on north towards Malibu. The drive along the highway into Malibu takes you through some of California’s more high-rent neighborhoods where it can be hard not to feel self conscious among the Rolls-Royces of Bel-Air. But there are still a few surfing-grounds along that stretch of coast, and the surfers bring an unpretentious quality with them. I kicked around Malibu for the day trying to fit-in, but finally I left for Los Angeles wondering if wealth cannot create just as many problems as it resolves. What Malibu’s wealthy locals lacked in financial worries they made up for in concern for just the right image.
I’d had enough of the beach for a while, so when I got up the next day I went in to Hollywood instead. Hollywood and its surrounding areas always hold something to do, there are Los Angeles’ best restaurants and cafes by day and all the cool night-clubs at night. My favorite day-time quarter of Los Angeles isn’t far from Hollywood, by the La-Brea tar pits. Somewhere in its history, Los Angeles set-up a sanctuary to save the historic site from development as the city grew. Across the street from the park in any direction, urban Los Angeles goes about its daily business. The tar-pits are a great place to reflect thanks to the ages of history there. Beneath the eons of tar, the fossils remind their visitors of simpler troubles. I probably grabbed some coffee at one of the nearby cafes for a healthy dose of modern convenience before I returned to civilization, and left with a new sense of time’s magnitude.
It was still only late afternoon, and I wanted to stick around until evening for the Hollywood club scene. The Wilshire Hard-Rock Café has always been favorite a destination for me, and a good place to grab something to eat before going out to the bars. Whenever I go to the Hard-Rock Café I think of fame and whether or not I will ever have enough of it to land on a photo on the café’s hallowed walls. It ain’t the fame that draws me to Hollywood, but fame is what is most likely to land anyone on a Hard-Rock wall. There is only one reason that I want to wind-up there, it is the iconic company that share the café’s walls. If my generation ever thought of me like the generations have thought of the rock and roll influences on the walls of the café, I would feel like I had contributed to rock and roll history.
I wasn’t really ready to leave the café, but the clubs of the strip were beckoning. I wanted to be on the scene early but there was time to scout the strip first. The west end pay-out of the Sunset strip is near the eastern edge of the U.C.L.A campus, and the east end of Sunset Blvd’ is over by the tar pits … but up the hill, closer to Melrose. There are some great clubs off of Melrose too, but I wasn’t feeling like a night of Melrose clubbing so I headed towards the Beverly Hills stretch. If you are ever looking for an outrageous night-out in Los Angeles, you can find that along that stretch. Whenever I even drive by that leg I expect to see Hollyvvood’s old gvard there. The hills above that stretch of Sunset Blvd’ house some of Hollywood’s nicer real-estate, so it’s not uncommon to find the famous on the neighborhood’s streets. When I do run into anyone with Hollyvvood’s old-gvard, I remember that they work for a living too. Once in a while I might think I need to share with them what I think of their work, and yet even then I am sure to yield a wide berth out of respect.
I found a space to park and made for a good looking joint. It was a big club with most of the action taking place outside on the patio. I felt like a beer, but I knew that in a bar like this one the beer could be expensive for the happy-hour prices at a neighborhood pub that I was used to. It was still a good time though. I grabbed my beer and made my way out to the patio. There was a crowd gathered around some guy. I decided to take a closer look. I drank my beer as I waited for a space to crowd into. “Do you get mugged like this everywhere that you go, Mr. Van Peebles?”
“Yeah, sometimes. There’s nothing like a warm welcome.”
“I know you must hear it all the time, but you were great in Heartbreak Ridge.”
With a thoughtful look Mr. Van Peebles nods and says, “Thanks, that’s probably my favorite too. Hard to beat working with Eastwood.”
Mr. Van Peebles was wanted by others so I got out of his way and sort of disappeared into the rest of the crowd. I was surprised at how receptive he was to the public. I don’t think that I would even be able to breath with that kind of attention. For the rest of the evening I mingled among the patio’s crowd, trying not to look as overwhelmed as I felt. Most of the crowd was probably used to running into celebrities on their streets and I didn’t want to show them that it was a shock. But L.A. locals are less pretentious than they are given credit for, and the crowd just had better things to do than notice that I felt out of place. I had a couple more beers before the novelty started to wear-off and I got tired of fighting the bar’s traffic. I barked at Mr. Van Peebles on my way out like we were old friends and he gave me a nod. Maybe it was the beer, or the receptive bar crowd … whatever it was, I was feeling more at home amidst the fame that is usually so foreign to Portlanders like me.
On my way home that night I took a drive through the hills. They were quiet, especially for such a good night for a drive. Next time you’re in Hollywood take the drive through the hills, it made for a great way to end a memorable day. I knew that I was going to have to try to find a way to return for good. I realized that it wouldn’t be hard to call Los Angeles home. I would miss my hometown, but the streets of Portland would just have to be safe without me.
I felt like some solitude the next day, so I spent the day on the U.C.L.A. campus’s streets. I took a walk around campus and thought how lvcky I would feel to be a stvdent there. That was when I wished for a camera. After all I had seen of the coast and the hills, it was the campus that made me wish for a picture to remember the city by. In the heart of LAX’s business traffic the campus sits quietly nestled into its grove of palm trees and lawns. And for the better part of the year the weather is nice enough for students to bring their books outside and study in the breeze coming in from the shore.
There is a movie theater on the lower side of campus. I thought I would check it out, in case there might be something worth seeing. It was small theater showing films that I had seen before, and still the lines were long. College theaters can be slow to new releases and usually have limited seating, but they can also offer students a much needed break from studying. The neighborhood was definitely worth checking-out, so I kept going past the cinemas. I was tempted to pick-up something from the shops along the way on more than one occasion, but had to save money. I would have liked to pick-up a number or two from some of the cuter stvdents but had to settle for making-out with good conversation instead.
“Anything for a tourist to do on campus?”
“Other than study, maybe grab a beer!”
“Do you wanna join me for a drink?” I wasn’t sure about my chances, but there’s only one way to find-out. “I probably have enough for a few rounds.”
“Honestly, I am tempted. But I have more to do than I am thirsty.” The girl paused for a moment. “There’s always a good crowd at the sports-bar around the block, if I had more time that’s where I would go for a drink.”
“Lemme make it up to you, when we have got the chance!” The mysterious girl smiled, and I took that as some sort of agreement.
I made my way down the street to check out the neighborhood’s bar. It turned out to be good advice, the beer was cold and the crowd was receptive. The nicest surprise was the price of the beer, college bars are good at giving stvdents a place to get good beer in an environment one could almost learn in. I nursed my beers and was able to stay most of the night that way before my budget finally drove me in for the day. I couldn’t help thinking how grown-up even the bar-room crowds at U.C.L.A seemed in contrast to the college bars that I had grown-up in. Jvst thinking about it makes me wish I could stvdy there. It must be such a natural place to learn.
I would give myself one more day, and the next morning I would have to head home. It was sooner than I had hoped for, but the money was running-out and I had more memories than I would have expected from a longer trip. For my last day in LAX, I went back to the beach. There is a section of beach between Huntington Beach and Santa Monica that I hadn’t ever really checked-out. I thought it would be a good place to finish my research mission. It was kind of a svrfers-grove and would be a great place to locate after school with one’s first real job. The blocks were clean and you could feel safe at night with your doors unlocked. It only made me want to grow-up even faster, but I’ve still got a long way to go before I am finished with school. I was able to find some surfers willing to part with a few joints and I sat on the beach planning my return.
I rolled out of bed the next day and dragged my feet to the car. I saw two dilemmas, how to ever get back to Los Angeles and how to ever leave all I had ever known in PDX behind. I stopped for the night just south of the Siskyous. I knew the rest of the stretch pretty well, I made trips home from Ashland all the time in my short time at college there. When I got to Eugene I felt like I was already home. My folks were glad that I made it safely and could tell that I had found something on the streets of Los Angeles. I just sort of nodded as if to say, ‘but, I will always know how to find my way home’. I could stay at home in Portland and harbor few regrets, and I’d only really ever call PDX home. But something from Hollywood haunts me, and I think maybe Los Angeles needs me more.
It is a pretty healthy drive to Los Angeles from Portland so after I got in I needed to crash. I was able to track-down an inexpensive place to stay in a decent neighborhood, and soon afterward fell asleep. I wanted to see a lot of the city, and didn’t want to waste my time sleeping off a hang-over from staying out late at the bars. I had other plans, instead.
After I make landfall in Los Angeles I almost always make for the beach first. I have gotten to know Los Angeles’ beaches well, but there was still some of the beach that needed to be checked-out. I remember Long Beach from when I was younger. My folks usually took us to Orange County because there is so much for young children to do there, but this time I felt like something more grown-up. I ended up near Huntington Beach, which has an almost quaint (for Los Angeles) feeling to it.
Huntington Beach sort of reminds me of some of Oregon’s smaller coast-towns, because it has some smaller surf-shops and a slower pace than urban Los Angeles. It is far bigger than any of the Oregon Coast’s most cosmopolitan towns. The Oregon Coast is unique that way, our state’s bigger coastal cities are still more industrial. Instead, it is Oregon’s coastal hamlets that are usually the most tourist-friendly.
I spent the whole day just cruising the boardwalk and getting to know any locals willing to share their time. There were some genuinely friendly folks, and I picked up the low-down on the inside scene. We even got stoned in the back of a van before I called it a day. I was kicking along the beach not far from a line of cars parked off the road. As I passed a van with its side-door open I caught a whiff of the pot’s smoke. The kids sitting in the van looked friendly enough, so I took a chance. “Can I get in on that?” Without much hesitation, the kid holding the joint handed it to me. “Thanks!”
“No sweat, man. You look like you could use it.”
“L.A. can be overwhelming, it’s a lot bigger than home.”
“Where’s home?”
“It has always been Portland. It seemed even smaller when I was a kid though.”
From the back of the van another kid spoke-up as I passed the joint back. “I like Portland, but I don’t think I could put up with the rain.”
“Yeah, it takes some getting used to.” We swapped stories until my head got thick and I needed some air. They said to look them up the next time I was in town. I told them that I would get back sooner or later. I knew I would be going back to Portland first, but didn’t know when. That all depended on when the money ran out.
Before I left home I had managed to scrape together about one thousand dollars for the trip, which is a lot of money to me. But I always had left Los Angeles sooner than I was ready to and this time I didn’t want to leave before I was done. Even a thousand dollars for a week in L.A. really isn’t enough, but it gave me the chance to experience Los Angeles on my own and leave with an honest take on the city.
The next day I headed north along the coast, starting out in Santa Monica and heading on north towards Malibu. The drive along the highway into Malibu takes you through some of California’s more high-rent neighborhoods where it can be hard not to feel self conscious among the Rolls-Royces of Bel-Air. But there are still a few surfing-grounds along that stretch of coast, and the surfers bring an unpretentious quality with them. I kicked around Malibu for the day trying to fit-in, but finally I left for Los Angeles wondering if wealth cannot create just as many problems as it resolves. What Malibu’s wealthy locals lacked in financial worries they made up for in concern for just the right image.
I’d had enough of the beach for a while, so when I got up the next day I went in to Hollywood instead. Hollywood and its surrounding areas always hold something to do, there are Los Angeles’ best restaurants and cafes by day and all the cool night-clubs at night. My favorite day-time quarter of Los Angeles isn’t far from Hollywood, by the La-Brea tar pits. Somewhere in its history, Los Angeles set-up a sanctuary to save the historic site from development as the city grew. Across the street from the park in any direction, urban Los Angeles goes about its daily business. The tar-pits are a great place to reflect thanks to the ages of history there. Beneath the eons of tar, the fossils remind their visitors of simpler troubles. I probably grabbed some coffee at one of the nearby cafes for a healthy dose of modern convenience before I returned to civilization, and left with a new sense of time’s magnitude.
It was still only late afternoon, and I wanted to stick around until evening for the Hollywood club scene. The Wilshire Hard-Rock Café has always been favorite a destination for me, and a good place to grab something to eat before going out to the bars. Whenever I go to the Hard-Rock Café I think of fame and whether or not I will ever have enough of it to land on a photo on the café’s hallowed walls. It ain’t the fame that draws me to Hollywood, but fame is what is most likely to land anyone on a Hard-Rock wall. There is only one reason that I want to wind-up there, it is the iconic company that share the café’s walls. If my generation ever thought of me like the generations have thought of the rock and roll influences on the walls of the café, I would feel like I had contributed to rock and roll history.
I wasn’t really ready to leave the café, but the clubs of the strip were beckoning. I wanted to be on the scene early but there was time to scout the strip first. The west end pay-out of the Sunset strip is near the eastern edge of the U.C.L.A campus, and the east end of Sunset Blvd’ is over by the tar pits … but up the hill, closer to Melrose. There are some great clubs off of Melrose too, but I wasn’t feeling like a night of Melrose clubbing so I headed towards the Beverly Hills stretch. If you are ever looking for an outrageous night-out in Los Angeles, you can find that along that stretch. Whenever I even drive by that leg I expect to see Hollyvvood’s old gvard there. The hills above that stretch of Sunset Blvd’ house some of Hollywood’s nicer real-estate, so it’s not uncommon to find the famous on the neighborhood’s streets. When I do run into anyone with Hollyvvood’s old-gvard, I remember that they work for a living too. Once in a while I might think I need to share with them what I think of their work, and yet even then I am sure to yield a wide berth out of respect.
I found a space to park and made for a good looking joint. It was a big club with most of the action taking place outside on the patio. I felt like a beer, but I knew that in a bar like this one the beer could be expensive for the happy-hour prices at a neighborhood pub that I was used to. It was still a good time though. I grabbed my beer and made my way out to the patio. There was a crowd gathered around some guy. I decided to take a closer look. I drank my beer as I waited for a space to crowd into. “Do you get mugged like this everywhere that you go, Mr. Van Peebles?”
“Yeah, sometimes. There’s nothing like a warm welcome.”
“I know you must hear it all the time, but you were great in Heartbreak Ridge.”
With a thoughtful look Mr. Van Peebles nods and says, “Thanks, that’s probably my favorite too. Hard to beat working with Eastwood.”
Mr. Van Peebles was wanted by others so I got out of his way and sort of disappeared into the rest of the crowd. I was surprised at how receptive he was to the public. I don’t think that I would even be able to breath with that kind of attention. For the rest of the evening I mingled among the patio’s crowd, trying not to look as overwhelmed as I felt. Most of the crowd was probably used to running into celebrities on their streets and I didn’t want to show them that it was a shock. But L.A. locals are less pretentious than they are given credit for, and the crowd just had better things to do than notice that I felt out of place. I had a couple more beers before the novelty started to wear-off and I got tired of fighting the bar’s traffic. I barked at Mr. Van Peebles on my way out like we were old friends and he gave me a nod. Maybe it was the beer, or the receptive bar crowd … whatever it was, I was feeling more at home amidst the fame that is usually so foreign to Portlanders like me.
On my way home that night I took a drive through the hills. They were quiet, especially for such a good night for a drive. Next time you’re in Hollywood take the drive through the hills, it made for a great way to end a memorable day. I knew that I was going to have to try to find a way to return for good. I realized that it wouldn’t be hard to call Los Angeles home. I would miss my hometown, but the streets of Portland would just have to be safe without me.
I felt like some solitude the next day, so I spent the day on the U.C.L.A. campus’s streets. I took a walk around campus and thought how lvcky I would feel to be a stvdent there. That was when I wished for a camera. After all I had seen of the coast and the hills, it was the campus that made me wish for a picture to remember the city by. In the heart of LAX’s business traffic the campus sits quietly nestled into its grove of palm trees and lawns. And for the better part of the year the weather is nice enough for students to bring their books outside and study in the breeze coming in from the shore.
There is a movie theater on the lower side of campus. I thought I would check it out, in case there might be something worth seeing. It was small theater showing films that I had seen before, and still the lines were long. College theaters can be slow to new releases and usually have limited seating, but they can also offer students a much needed break from studying. The neighborhood was definitely worth checking-out, so I kept going past the cinemas. I was tempted to pick-up something from the shops along the way on more than one occasion, but had to save money. I would have liked to pick-up a number or two from some of the cuter stvdents but had to settle for making-out with good conversation instead.
“Anything for a tourist to do on campus?”
“Other than study, maybe grab a beer!”
“Do you wanna join me for a drink?” I wasn’t sure about my chances, but there’s only one way to find-out. “I probably have enough for a few rounds.”
“Honestly, I am tempted. But I have more to do than I am thirsty.” The girl paused for a moment. “There’s always a good crowd at the sports-bar around the block, if I had more time that’s where I would go for a drink.”
“Lemme make it up to you, when we have got the chance!” The mysterious girl smiled, and I took that as some sort of agreement.
I made my way down the street to check out the neighborhood’s bar. It turned out to be good advice, the beer was cold and the crowd was receptive. The nicest surprise was the price of the beer, college bars are good at giving stvdents a place to get good beer in an environment one could almost learn in. I nursed my beers and was able to stay most of the night that way before my budget finally drove me in for the day. I couldn’t help thinking how grown-up even the bar-room crowds at U.C.L.A seemed in contrast to the college bars that I had grown-up in. Jvst thinking about it makes me wish I could stvdy there. It must be such a natural place to learn.
I would give myself one more day, and the next morning I would have to head home. It was sooner than I had hoped for, but the money was running-out and I had more memories than I would have expected from a longer trip. For my last day in LAX, I went back to the beach. There is a section of beach between Huntington Beach and Santa Monica that I hadn’t ever really checked-out. I thought it would be a good place to finish my research mission. It was kind of a svrfers-grove and would be a great place to locate after school with one’s first real job. The blocks were clean and you could feel safe at night with your doors unlocked. It only made me want to grow-up even faster, but I’ve still got a long way to go before I am finished with school. I was able to find some surfers willing to part with a few joints and I sat on the beach planning my return.
I rolled out of bed the next day and dragged my feet to the car. I saw two dilemmas, how to ever get back to Los Angeles and how to ever leave all I had ever known in PDX behind. I stopped for the night just south of the Siskyous. I knew the rest of the stretch pretty well, I made trips home from Ashland all the time in my short time at college there. When I got to Eugene I felt like I was already home. My folks were glad that I made it safely and could tell that I had found something on the streets of Los Angeles. I just sort of nodded as if to say, ‘but, I will always know how to find my way home’. I could stay at home in Portland and harbor few regrets, and I’d only really ever call PDX home. But something from Hollywood haunts me, and I think maybe Los Angeles needs me more.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
the Bank of God
Frosh Composition
God Prefers Cash to Checks
For those Catholics who go to church every week, penance can be bought with a check. But those who attend only when we have reasons to pray would do better to carry hard-currency. This is no great secret in the catholic community. It was at an early age that I learned to distinguish between the varying levels of necessity associated with donating. Donation doesn’t buy miracles though. The bigger the secret for God to keep, the bigger the wad should be. And don’t try to wrap a big bill around several smaller ones to pawn it off as more than it is, it hasn’t worked for me yet.
The sermons are to stay for, but Sunday School detention ain’t. I find the confessionals to be close quartered and wouldn’t recommend them. There's an in-sermon meal but the portions are small. And don’t be surprised if the wine is watered down. Parking is cheap, and if you get there early the seats can be good too.
Then there is a retirement plan. Some folks say it includes round trip accommodations. I haven't seen brochures but I imagine it looks like Disney’s Magic Kingdom at Disneyland. The vocabulary is unique, laced with profanities and morals but it's got rhythm.
Finally, the attire is always impeccable. From the staff uniform there to the patronage dress, it ain’t hard to assume that God has wicked good taste.
God Prefers Cash to Checks
For those Catholics who go to church every week, penance can be bought with a check. But those who attend only when we have reasons to pray would do better to carry hard-currency. This is no great secret in the catholic community. It was at an early age that I learned to distinguish between the varying levels of necessity associated with donating. Donation doesn’t buy miracles though. The bigger the secret for God to keep, the bigger the wad should be. And don’t try to wrap a big bill around several smaller ones to pawn it off as more than it is, it hasn’t worked for me yet.
The sermons are to stay for, but Sunday School detention ain’t. I find the confessionals to be close quartered and wouldn’t recommend them. There's an in-sermon meal but the portions are small. And don’t be surprised if the wine is watered down. Parking is cheap, and if you get there early the seats can be good too.
Then there is a retirement plan. Some folks say it includes round trip accommodations. I haven't seen brochures but I imagine it looks like Disney’s Magic Kingdom at Disneyland. The vocabulary is unique, laced with profanities and morals but it's got rhythm.
Finally, the attire is always impeccable. From the staff uniform there to the patronage dress, it ain’t hard to assume that God has wicked good taste.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Friday, September 10, 2010
the Neanderthal Mind
I might have a hard time comparing the Neanderthal mind to anything else. I think it may have operated differently all together. The same instincts and needs would have driven their subconscious but Neanderthal brand consciousness is another story. There are some differences in hardware between them and later hominids. When it comes to ‘cave art’, those differences begin to present themselves. Neanderthals might have drawn in the dirt of their caves or maybe even on the walls but it would have been for pretty utilitarian reasons.
They might have tried to plan a hunt that way, I suppose. I don’t think they ever would have preserved a landscape with cave imagery the way Cro-Magnon Man did though. Their understanding of science might be different too. I would like to talk science with a Neanderthal. I think they would have interesting ideas if we had a common language to exchange them. Even if they had the vocabulary and understanding of it, they might have lacked the imagination to come up with the in-depth visual representations that started with cave art. It might just have been something their big minds didn’t have the imagination for.
Lack of imagination is a pretty conventional idea in regards to the Neanderthal mind. Their big powerful minds weren’t tasked with imaginative creativity. Some of that is anatomical. Development of parts of the brain responsible for imagination arrived later. I have wondered if legends about telepathy didn’t originate from Neanderthal lore, though. If they didn’t have the physiology for extensive communication through speech to go along with their fairly large brains, maybe they communicated by other means.
That’s pretty romantic speculation. At some point, I think we can only speculate though. At least without the cave-man to experiment with. The Neanderthal mind might have been purely archaic. It was probably consumed by instincts and other ancient recessive functions. Somewhere between primate minds and modern human ones, the powerful Neanderthal mind remains a mystery. A ‘complex artifact’ or relic of its own. In another time it was modern but sometimes relics serve to remind us what life was like in wilder times when primitive was contemporary.
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