finders keepers

List of things we rescued from the studio next door where the artist woman passed away

Two fake palm trees
A fire pit
A barbecue grill
Several fancy ass plants in huge pots
Enormous ancient shells
A strange bird-like sculpture made of various materials
A bull skull with horns
Several silver pitchers/pouring devices
A kerosene lamp
Several bird houses
Etc

SF

san francisco, you are good to me.
i don't care if i'm homeless, jobless,
burning through my savings. it doesn't matter.
you are fine in my book.

happy birthday

it's been years

the middle chapters

mexicans at the laundromat in tall hats
holding guitars
hipsters man the coffee shops and the
sweet scent of weed sticks to the dewy air
a thick white fog crawls over the hill
and i would love the chance to be where you are

how many years can the flesh ache
a dull rapping on the heartbox
i keep waiting for someone to throw a blanket
over the whole room
to put out the light and scoop my heart off
the stained carpet
but my future is all bareboned empty rooms
an occasional visitor helps me forget that
there is nothing to hang on the walls

these are the middle chapters
every night it gets harder to give up

The City That Knows How

I arrived in San Francisco. one week ago.

One of the great things about living here is I can call a friend up on the phone and say "hey I can't figure out this guitar tab, why don't you come over, we'll drink some whiskey and play some music." 10 minutes later my friend is here, drinks in hand. I haven't really been able to do that for four years. I cannot emphasize enough what a privilege that is.

I've gone for my first run. I found myself kind of running in weird zig-zag patterns around the Mission due to the prominence of 45 degree angled hills in every direction.

By the 3rd day of running my legs are lead-heavy. I can barely make it through 3 miles. A slow heavy pony gallop. Jesse takes me down to the water where the boats sit like candy soldiers. I am so grateful for this new-found friendship. These old friendships that are now rekindled in the city where the air is crisp with wintery fog and the old heart-pangs have vanished. Re-born into this bi-lingual playground of a city. I think I will make it a home for a while. I've already met some characters and laughed some laughs.

Pushkin hangover

ЭЛЕГИЯ

Безумных лет угасшее веселье
Мне тяжело, как смутное похмелье.
Но, как вино - печаль минувших дней
В моей душе чем старе, тем сильней.
Мой путь уныл. Сулит мне труд и горе
Грядущего волнуемое море.

Но не хочу, о други, умирать;
Я жить хочу, чтоб мыслить и страдать;
И ведаю, мне будут наслажденья
Меж горестей, забот и треволненья:
Порой опять гармонией упьюсь,
Над вымыслом слезами обольюсь,
И может быть - на мой закат печальный
Блеснёт любовь улыбкою прощальной.

this is it

the door to your soul is off the hinges again

Yo Mama