103024
today feels like the first day of winter. the chill in the air; the early, poignant sunset; the crisp pale blue and a light gold. the beauty of sf in relief, impasto. the city shines in the winter - everything feels clear, bathed in a quality of light so delicate, so precise, tenuous like porcelain. tell me you don't feel it, too, walking along in a shin-length coat, staring up at the old Victorians.on Saturday I went to squish at monument. I had a deja vu moment as soon as I walked in, remembering some art/tech event I went to many summers ago (2017?) when it was a co-working space. crazy to walk back into these places (secret alley, monument) 5, 6, 7 years later in a completely different context. as an adult instead of an awe-struck teenager, gaping at the creativity and freedom of adult life.
as I waited for my friend to come down from her too-high dose of ketamine, I watched the strobe lights flicker above the DJ — hot pink stalactites, like a clubby cave. in line for the bathroom, fake clowns surrounded me, men in full body suits of red spandex, lesbians with elf ears who were too cool for the dyke rave. later, I contemplated e-biking to the dogpatch, but decided against it due to my level of intoxication. instead, I ubered.
at müll, the lights may have been better than the music. I realized for the first time how much lighting has an effect on vibes. the strobe – a spark, a little tease of what it looks like after the bass show ends, they turn on the floodlights and everyone is sparkly, tripping, and a little weird. then darkness - then again, a flash. caught in the headlights, everyone, like the scientists in night country, mouth mid-word, agape. when the lights turn purple, I feel the cuteness inside.
The Hand - I think about how much it's seen. with DJing, the heavier the hand, the more fun. mix it up, everyone goes 'wooo!' but the more invisible the hand, the more ominous, the more control, the more the listener sinks into the music, the more it becomes a part of you. both seem special - both have their time. likely the same with lights.
shirtless Kyle from Bellarmine to my left, a couple with their necks chained together to my right, I fiddle with Trevor's spice dispenser/ketamine contraption. I feel embarrassed when I don't understand how to use it, and over the din of the music, he yells, 'I'll explain later.' I thought I was fancy with my brass Ghanaian spoon and a mini ziploc, but clearly there is improvement to be had.
I've got that 'adderall pep in my step,' says my notes. they also say, 'IM CRAZY I DO ALL THE DRUGS!! but just a little tiny bit of them.' zooming, I took an adderall at 3am, after confirming with several people the music would go on til morning and no one was planning to leave. at 4am, the lights abruptly turned on and the music stopped. we came back to my house and DJ'ed until 7am, Trevor, me, a Floridian guy? with long hair named Georgia and a 38-year-old wearing a Harvard sweatshirt who coincidentally did the lights (yes, he went there.)
I think, at müll, how disparate the scenes are. how crazy it would be to see someone from a different part of my life here - like a family friend, or a colleague, or someone from the DIY scene. as I feverishly type my notes, I feel gratitude towards the solace and anonymity of using your phone at the club: you could be texting, calling an uber, whatever. no one knows. 'he's on his phone, so I can be.' on the other hand, if I pulled out a notebook on the dance floor, people would begin to get suspicious...
"Julian is mother earth," I wrote, when seeing him brought me great joy, grounded me to the land, to the place that I was in, possibly during a ketamine come-up. he emanated a real plant mother, a shining light in the darkness. I miss my rave friends - Amy, Lukas. I think about how much we would enjoy dancing together, sharing our observations.
102524
running madly after the 33 in three inch curb stomping boots, its night on Haight street, a hippie lies prostrate in the street. at oasis, born-again Hibiscus, from the Cockettes, plays the narrator in rocky horror, steals the show. a cute boy in the taco truck is sallow, with an earring, probably 19. at the ICA launch in the nebulous 'Cube,' an elderly man falls down the stairs, blood spills everywhere. rich onlookers stand around, mouth agape, ambulance-chasing. an elderly woman falls down at the olive Hyde art gala - we swarm around the tables to the side, make a path for the firemen. we ponder when feels right to resume the function. (I think both of them are probably ok.)100524
I make it back to San Francisco in the middle of a heat wave. At midnight, I unload my SUV of its myriad baggage: Ghanaian baobab, eight pairs of loose shoes, a 4inch mattress pad from Craigslist. Foreign currency floats around the cupholders and seat compartments; the engine light blinks ominously. Under cover of darkness, loaded with baggage, I finagle with the key, hoping no one lies in wait. As I move things inside, inside this home that has laid vacant for months, I imagine an alternate timeline where a stranger emerges from downstairs, where he has set up residence. He will crawl quietly up the stairs, making nary a sound, until reaching me, knife in hand, where he stabs me unmercifully. Somehow, in this story, I feel like the intruder; it is I who does not belong. He merely defends his property rights; I am alien to this home. When I lock the front door, I lock us both in: my estranged persona and the ghost of this house, my former life. I fall asleep with my bedroom door closed, not locked, so as not to tempt fate.My first morning back in San Francisco is hot. I hurry out the door to the Arts Roundtable, a quarterly meeting of the arts Illuminati, where everyone tries to one-up each other for the most interesting thing happening in the city. An opera in a planetarium; the 100th birthday of a museum built on an immigrant cemetery; free tickets (and stickers) for the opening of an exhibition on Korean soft power. On the way out I run into a girl who I always run into, at the bus stop on Van Ness waiting for the 5. I mistake her briefly for a girl from my high school soccer team that gave me trauma, but am relieved when I realize my mistake. I catch her at a chaotic moment: she’s heading to her apartment she shares with her now-ex to pick up her passport to fly to Vegas tonight with her friend-with-benefits and that friend's sugar daddy.
then:
Asian art museum
Michael and walid come over
Hayward for double bdays
Jons for party
Farmers market
Worworkwor
Dinner w kaesha
House of nanking
Workworkwork
Walk nyla with megha
Hardly striclty peoplewatching
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