Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Strange tales of San Francisco

I was moving some stuff around the other day and came across my old Journal from when I first moved here. It's a few pages of drawings, prose and songs. Hopefully it will be a cool read.

Sitting in a rented by the week hotel room in North Beach, scared to open the desk drawer for fear of what I might find. Blood? Used condoms, syringes and bed bugs? Burns in the carpets paint the room with a colorful display of despair. Thinking about buying a bottle of vodka to cheer the place up - but afraid someone will break in and steal it.
Like the fact that you can smoke in the room, don't like the fact that I don't smoke.
Our adventure has begun in earnest and in true beat fashion we are broke and indignant.
Booze-hands of the most severe degree but its hapiness that finds us at the endo of the bottle and not misery.,
Lost in a city where no one knows my name
and not even the roaches fear me.
Gold Eagle Hotel
San Francisco, California


Late Saturday and my head hurt. Lying in a ditch in the Presidio on the side of the road missing my pants. Ran way from a catering gig that went bad after Eric got his'self fired. Walked back to the safety of North Beach with its humming neon lights and buzzing prostitutes, strippers and cockroaches. Life is good but I sure miss those pants.
Sunday was spent playing video games in the Metreon and watching 'Open Season' in Imax completely stoned on Humboldt counties worst. The stark skyline of the city subdued by the soft electric crooning of Sonys multi million dollar blow job. An edifice dedicatged to both the salvation and destruction of modern man. Outside while smoking we saw a man shit himself while walking in the MLK, JR memorial gardens. .

North Beach, Polk Gulch, the Mission, bars of Union Square are filled to the brim with guidos, frat boys with their hats backwards and all levels of high end douche baggery.
Yet we can't have drinks in China Town, every order of Tsing Tao is met by a scowl.
They don't like it when the round eyes come around.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I love it when I find old journals! I remember when my family moved to Utah from Texas, I unpacked everything and found a lot of old journals. I found some pretty angry ones... what can I say I was a frustrated teenager at 14. Stupidly, I threw that particular one away afraid that my mom would find it. I can't believe I did that now, although I probably saved a lot of family problems by doing that (mom liked to go through my things).

I don't write like you, you're very good; but I do enjoy reading my musings from before. Good job! I like your blog. Whatever happened to Belly Up? I don't drink, but I like reading what you write.