part one: Presidents' Day
David and I had spent Valentine's Day sitting on a street corner on Claremont, drinking whiskey out of plastic cups and yelling things at people in cars; minds careening towards some kinda cataplexy as the day wore on. It was a delayed reaction to Saturday's events...i remember bands using a single-digit number of chords, some rickety stairs, skulls empty except for their teeth, and then yelling a doxology when the Urban Harvest Market in SoMa started giving away free corn bread. That place is weird. All it's missing is a long, condescending mural spanning the section of refrigerated goods, depicting workers, bent at the waist, tilling the orzo fields...
part two: PRESIDENTS' DAY.
Heather sounded the call for wine-tasting in Sonoma. "I'm stuck in Berkeley, waiting on some cash. Maybe next time." She offered me $20 and a ride. Ten minutes later she, Erika (see: Waste Band), Rebecca, and I were on some freeway.
Speaking of weird places: Sonoma wineries. A stretch of land inhabited by those who don't simply view the praxis of chemical alteration with inevitability or nonchalance--they bring an intimidating synthesis of high art, science, and style to the whole thing.
the environment, though...beautiful.
I need to move out of the city.
2 comments:
Skinny hip urchins as they are, their weight is too much for this relic from the post-war times to carry, electric forces are summoned from the motor and through a taut wire which pulls upwards, stops, keeps pulling, stops again in between floors, picture the master of the exalted drone vortex crammed against a streetgang of African Riddim kids, the creaking of the wire echoes in the elevator shaft, one heartbeat, *snap*
And down plunges the box with a rain of sparkles on its wake, like a Soviet bloc-manufactured delorean, inside the wormhole somewhere in between claustrophobic frustration and a legendary tragedy, and out…
…into a Brighton basement two months ago or less, where some crazy kids are contorting to Cold Pumas’ metronomic dance grind. Branca wipes some dust off his shoulders and lights up a cigarette with a smile of approval, the future is going to be all right.
I was there, I saw it.
I too enjoy XXJFG.
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