…Sitting on a bench, facing this exquisite city from the top of Dolores Park. It’s 9:00pm, and I look towards downtown, towards the bay bridge, and absorb the shimmering of the lights. They dance for us when we sit still enough. They dance *with* us…
Still a few hours to enjoy this before Bobzilla picks me up and takes me to his home in Berkeley – a saviour of sleep, and this isn’ t the first time he has brought me in. I think it was two years ago. Gods, what I want to do for people, what I owe that they keep telling me I don’t….
It’s 9:00 pm, and I sit at the top of Dolores Park, looking out over this beautiful city, and blessed with a wonderfully mild evening, barely a breeze and just enough chilll in the air to remind me that it is night time. This type of weather is rare for this city, and sitting here on the bench, I am actually comfortable. The Great and supergroovy OoohAhh that the Universe is is smiling big on me this evening – and my gratitude flows back to it and floods the whirrled all around. (I think it’s good to just let it go it’s own direction – it knows where it is needed…)
…It’s amazing what you see when the walk is slow and directionless, and I find myself relishing these times. I do my best to push away the reason of why, because this is a wander, a walkabout, a meditation in motion. This is an evening to observe and take the time to appreciate.
I smile to myself and walk slower, I smile to myself and try to see everything. I do my best to ignore the weight of the bags on my back, and they’re almost forgotten as I drink deeply of the things that usually go unnoticed…
… an untamed rosebush wrapping itself around the ancient iron fence of a cornerhouse, the few flowers it has proclaiming their love to the world in all the glory they can muster. Stop, see. Wipe the silly tear from your cheek and feed it to the rose, feed it to the flowers. They are all of us, simple, beautiful, just waiting for someone to slow down and see…
…The strange heiroglyphs that the roots of the nearby tree gives as they energe halfway from the dirt. There is a message there, somehow. I have no idea what it is, but if there is anything said, anything even implied – then that thing is pure love.
…The way that guy I saw reminded me of Puppy, an old friend from San Diego, and one of the craziest and most backwardsly beautiful people I have met. He had a heart as big as his 400 pounds, and every cop in Ocean Beach knew him by name. He has been picked up by all of them, and he really doesn’t give a damn. He is the son of the owner of my leather shop when I used to do that stuff. He talked a lot, too much. He had a lot to give, probably still does. I need to find him. Why did I write this in past tense? Another life, a previous one. Perhaps that is why. Gotta check in on Puppy…
Then, then. Slowly walking by El Toro Taqueria. Slowing, and almost stopping.
Stopping, and letting everything wash over me.
This was where I met Alllison the last time we hung out together, just a couple weeks before she left us. We had a beautiful evening wit each other, passing out fliers for Bohemian Carnival and hitting all the Mission bars. We took our picture together in a photo booth at Pops. They were great shots, and I gave them to her to keep.
She left us just couple of weeks after that.
I miss her. I see her everywhere.
I see the trees that shed their shadowbones on the small paned windows, and I see the faded grafitti falling from the locked gates of the closed and unknown to me.
On 26th & Portrero I pause, breathe, and look up and down the empty street. I listen to the shadows.
On 26th & Portrero I think of short days agowhen again I was here, and a wonderful benefit for a friend.
On 26th and Portrero I write these silly words on top of a trash can, and wait for my friend Bobzilla.