Sunday, September 21, 2008

Predelictions for predictions

I always thought the weather forecast was the best part of the late newscast when I was growing up. Five day forecast. and has a ten day forecast. And then I check my horoscope fairly frequently, particularly when I am feeling sort of out of sorts for no specific reason. Like tonight. so I just checked that shit and the shit is freaky. I mean it is bringing up things like I have to not waste my energies now because I will need the strength in a few years and how I need to work diligently now to convince my employers and everyone that I am "worthwile" now, so that later when I am "challenged" things will go smoother for me. I mean I just want a regular horoscope. Just tell me something like: AM clouds, PM sun. Or 67% humidity or triple H's (hazy, hot, humid) or tell me about the wind chill, the bitter cold, the scorcher, the downpour, the t-storms, even the motherfucking wintry mix.

Thinking too far into the future has never gotten me very far, neither has concentrating on the minutia of the moment. Where is my present tense? It's in this headache and this vague feeling of wrongness and the 60 people who were bombed in Islamabad and I don't know what else.

I think I need to work out some interdimensional travel soon. Hopefully those hallucinogens will come through in time for my trip to the forest, or whatever's left of the forest. I will have to see the charred remains for the trees I suppose.

Saturday, September 13, 2008

I am I said

is what I'm listening to right now while I am typing this. Earlier I watched the fantastic Paul Mazurksy movie, An Unmarried Woman starring Jill Clayburgh and Alan Bates. That movie is so 70s, so laughably emotional, so emotionally engaging, and, in the end, for me, joyous. So good. I've only seen it once or twice before. It came in great handy today after a terrible telephone debacle with my father in the early afternoon. I won't go into details because it was pretty horrible, but at one point he said, "Now don't get emotional..."

But, basically, I am not even givin' a fuck about that. Not now, not while I'm killing this bottle of rum from Puerto Rico. I am prepping myself to go to my friend's karaoke birthday party. It's being held at an establishment in Japantown. The last time I went there it was six months ago. This time I will wear a hat.

I cannot change from the Neil Diamond pocket my mp3 player has landed in. I am prepared to walk to Japantown from here in the Noe Valley/Outer Mission hinterland. I am preparing myself mentally everyday of my life to go to Benihana Japanese steakhouse one of these days. Benihana is like Greece or Spain to me at this point. I can imagine going, I can taste it, but I will have to step through some real? imagined? perceptional or dimensional skein to actually make myself physically and mentally there. You know? Shilo is playing now. "Young child with dreams, dream every dream on your own. When children play, seems like you end up alone..."

Sunday, September 7, 2008

a weekend

It's been such nice weather in San Francisco - the summer, the indian summer, two months of pure delightfulness and then the cold backlash of damp rain that never pours just envelops. But later for that shit. I took a walk around Noe Valley on Saturday just to get out of the house. I considered heading to Ocean Beach, but didn't feel up to the bike ride that would've entailed and I didn't really want to take a streetcar all that way either. So I walked up Church St. to 24th and turned left and walked to Castro St. where I took another left and started climbing up into the hills. Around a corner after the first steep crest I saw these flowers. I've never seen anything like them. I continued on, getting winded from the hot still-winded day. It seemed to me that I was in one of those snow globes, except if the atmosphere shook, there'd be no kind of precipitation results, just the same blue bright stillness. I made it to a couple scenic vistas that were very satisfying. I called my grandmother from one of them and fielded her "so, when are you getting married?" questions for at least the twenty-thousandth time of my life. I let her know that I like my job now. She seemed satisfied with that and then started paying me a bunch of compliments, saying, "you come from a good background..." and so paying herself a compliment or two in the process. I love my grandmother. She's what they call formidable.

Eventually I made it to an art opening and then to Dolores Park for a bit before calling it a night.

Today I woke up late, made breakfast and had a coffee, rode my bike to the store to buy flour and nutritional yeast, went to Atlas Cafe and read some of Point Counter Point, the Aldous Huxley novel I'm reading, until these two ladies at the table next to mine on the sidewalk started raising their voices during the emotional squabble they were apparently having. Eventually, it became too much to endure, but not before I heard snippets of a quarrel about somebody's step-father and choosing not to continue friendships with people who one never got along with in the first place. To keep things short, it was a mess of third rate dross laid out by some typical-looking early-middle-aged ladies of the very tan, very much skin showing in mid-afternoon variety. I left to come back to the apartment and make Basil Pot gravy. I then feasted on 1 1/2 bowls of gravy, gomasio, red onion, tomato and shredded white cheddar cheese.

Full, satisfied, and fresh from reading an article about the mystery of who blew up the Los Angeles Times builing in 1910, I retired to my bedroom to make a mix tape for Mixing People is Meeting People - a monthly mix tape swap and dj nite that I think is an excellent idea. I'll head over there in about an hour I suppose. and that will be the end of the weekend. good night.