so this is san francisco...greenspun.com : LUSENET : Daily Tales : One Thread
Just landed. I want to catch the swirl of it while it's still fresh in my hair, and the road still hums in my arms.
It was a quick spin down, with a run straight into North Beach and Calzone's on Columbus where Shine works; then it's over to Cafe Trieste for a glass of wine to opera. Ferlinghetti's there and he winks at me while his eyes circle round and don't quite [shyly] land when I smile, and I think he's just another soft-listening fellow with an almost-freed grin, but I don't know it's him until after he's gone, when Fanny Renoir whispers sotto voce to Will Dodger who's pleasant and has joined us to laugh and toss hip wit about, that she's "just booked Ferlenghetti" for something - perhaps January, perhaps February, how can someone book someone for a month? - while she gathers up her brown paper bag stuffed full of books and disappears out into the rainy damp.
Ah, so this is San Francisco.
And then it's a drive here, and there, and no left turns are easy anywhere so I pretend I'm from India and just drive where I can, assuming that Karma is guiding everything and that no one will be hit who wasn't supposed to be, and sooner or later - after Chinese food that must be from a test kitchen for Asian bio-warfaire - we land at the Great American Music Hall to hear Kimock and lordy, I do miss Bobby Vega's sound - but it's low key and mellow and for some reason I'm hard to move this evening, and so the warp flows eventually to Shine's little apartment on Page by the Park and we all pile in a tiny San Franciso bedroom [goodness, my studio is now huge and there's plenty of room for a table saw] and disappear into sleep.
Morning ups me early to get coffee at her roommate Barak's coffee house around the corner, the Rockin' Java, packed at 10 with a line of men out the door, and there's an internet connection so I plug you one last note, and then it's off to find sun and a tree to lean on, for the vibe is pretty thick and I need something with a cambium layer and photosynthesis to tide me over, until walking along Haight begins, and eating, and running into bits and pieces of Ray's old history - his North Beach childhood, his mother-stories, and his Vision in this year he calls Ought Two - interspersed with human after human who recognizes him and gives him a warm hello.
The day careens toward evening, and it's curious to watch how the Universe sites us in the show, with passes not at the appointed place in the Will Call box, and our collective opening to the looseness of the Cosmic Weave until entree comes and I'm situated for the evening in the primo spot in the house with the Blessed Oregon Crew, place to stash coat, great chair, open space to dance, including a rolling elevated stage that I can play and dance upon til the last minute when Billy and Bobby and Micky come to our little secret spot dressed up as Warlocks and roll out onto the main stage for the big Reunion Set, and I feel guilty at the expanse of room I have to myself in this little cloistered box seat so I use it to the fullest and enjoy the music and throw some stardust your way, wherever you are. I felt you all around me, and so I know that you're not far.
I spend most of the evening with a new friend who did the Cheese stage last night and is doing this stage tonight, and we compare a bit of Cheese (whom he very much likes) with his experiences of this original-gang show here now, and I talk about the dopplering I see of artists, sharp, bright, blue-edged new when they come on and then fuzzing and blurring into red-shifted less individuated ambience as their collective refrain becomes something that came from a long distance and also - though resoundingly - recedes. He's tripping mightily, and I'm not so sure I'm the best person to meet when you're tripping, and so I just keep him in orange juice and water and hold his hand.
It's soon 4 am, and I'm on the road, headed North. The roads are clear. Dawn doesn't take too long. I've just pulled in..
I think I'll call you.
Call me anytime you want to talk. Evenings are good.
PLUR. Remember PLUR
-- Anonymous, January 01, 2002