Skip to content

ARCHIVES ARE OFTEN THUMBNAILS: prose

the curve of skylines closest to my heart.

 

Hi.

I made a graph. Usually I post photo-graphs & such.

A few things…
Last nite I had ice cream for supper at midnite. I’m working on a novel very slowly because I’ve never written one before & I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s fantastic. Lately my left eyelid has been fluttering like the heart of a hummingbird & I can’t decide if it’s from too much coffee or too little sleep. Selah.

My mantra is cursive buildings. They exist & I love them… I see such beauty in the invisible line that draws & redraws the city anew each moment. We do make them up, you know. Your city is what you believe it to be, influenced by what those before you believed it to be & so on. Eventually someone else will come build upon your conceptions & capture your fantasies in concrete.

 

BUILDINGS ABOVE 100 FEET, ARRANGED BY HEIGHT (IN FEET)

HORIZONTAL AXIS REPRESENTS 190 BUILDINGS IN FULL
(I’ve erased individual building points to emphasis the line)
The data I used couldn’t be complete, but it’s accurate &, more importantly, completely rad… thank you Emporis.

the sound of summer.

thumbnail | click to enlarge

I stumbled on these two while on my way home from Sunday wanderings. I turned a corner & there it was.. the sound of summer. Ferocious & run through a car-battery amplifier on a sunny street downtown. I danced in place while being sunburnt on one side of my face for a long time. These two were so perfectly loud, w/a drumbeat that overran your heartbeat.

In between songs, Francisco & I smoked & spoke about music, the city & all its lovely kids w/out any money. He said they’d forgone a day of jamming in Dolores Park to come downtown w/the deep-pocket shoppers. It seemed to be working. Many people came & went, danced & went, paid & went. At one point, a guy went apeshit dancing all over the sidewalk & then threw his crackpipe into the busking box! What a gesture.

This nice girl Lynzi & I stayed for the whole set.. by which time the sun had disappeared.

Unless you go as deep as possible, I do not see the point of anything. Selah.

euro-k.

thumbnail | click to enlarge

That was Venice. That was an Italian sunset overpowering the fragile camera. That was absolute peace by the water, the still-echoed lapping of eleven centuries on the stone steps.

I went weeks w/out thinking about the internet or telephones. I brought three plastic cameras across the atlantic. We flew over greenland, its glaciers slipping into the sea & splitting like white constellations in the blue. Our small flight to Rome suffered a lightning strike on takeoff. Trains were dreamboats in the rail rivers of Italy, between ancient hill towns & landscapes you could recognize from old Florentine paintings.

Then, back home, we woke to the sound of gunshots ripping through the early AM. America. Someone screaming for help in the still city night.. no more than a hundred yards away. I called 911, was put on hold. The agonized screams ceased before the paramedics arrived. There’s a hospital a block away. It didn’t make any of the papers.

Other things, too. Unsure of many pieces. Summertime.

You know how, when a friend dies, you can only cover your life in a blanket & wait numbly for the funeral?

No?

Well… that’s how the world feels. Thankfully, my friends are still out there somewhere.

empty espionage.

I’m into the idea of pointless points.

In the world (at least in America), there’s a thick drum of paranoia over everything. Even I feel it. Last nite I was driven to the roof by fireworks &, while studying the reflections of individual blasts in the glass facade of an office building, I envisioned enemy bombs & gunfire. The sounds of a thousand city cars seemed panicked. Meanwhile, ribbons of celebration white & party red jumped up & down in plain view on the glass. Even so. This isn’t the first or second, third or fourth time either. Once I was in an outdoor pool in SoMa while Bonds hit some fabled home run, & then civilization seemed to be ending all at once.

Maybe this happens because of my years working in the newspaper business… watching bad news stream over the wires every nite until a 1 am deadline. Strangely, I have no conception of the enemy. I do not consider anyone or any country to be such a weird thing. My reactions are almost involuntary, like an eye twitch, to an atmosphere dumbstruck w/fear. In the end, I don’t believe in it. Gut reactions are so little about choice, though.

Anyway. My own unfounded paranoias expanded tenfold after moving to San Francisco last summer. This city is a collective hallucination. At any given time, there are a half-dozen people on bad trips in every direction, down each alleyway. The fog reinforces the illusion of place. I still don’t know what San Francisco means.

I pretend that all the secrets are hidden, tucked into plush rooms & hallways in the heady peaks of the financial district. I work there, in a valley. Sometimes during lunch or on the way into work in the morning, I’ll walk straight into the tallest building I can find & bullshit my way to the top. It’s good… gets the heart pumping. When terrorism became our communism, buildings were remade as castles. You can count levels of security like rings in a tree. The highest reaches produce the most concern. I don’t know. Something about constructing a civic monolith & then keeping me out just assures I’ll find a way in.

Skyscrapers will be the American pyramid. I’m deep on them. Often I find myself in upper floors… leaning on a window, looking at the bay, the Golden Gate, the Pacific Ocean. The forbidden view. Just for me, & it feels so calming. Usually I go just for those quiet moments at the window alone, w/out a camera.

But sometimes I get inside & rob the tomb.

god machine.

mirror imagesegami rorrim

thumbnail | click to enlarge

some human hand
designed a machine that
mass produced a camera lense
to see better than my own eyes
which were made by god
(but so long ago)