Friday, July 31, 2015

Heat Wave Birth Day


Batman was first
But my abiding comic book hero was Doctor Strange
Doctor Stephen Strange

Midnight has landed in Massachusetts where the Flaneur was born,
A warm night so he's out walking 

Time Zones

 Decalcomania of the mind

 A strange place

Dragon carving

 Hallucinatory skull

Leaving the Hotel Carles,
Anywhere out of this world

Strange portal,
Ambiguous time signature

Moon in a butterfly
Veils of mystery in Chinatown

 Little Mr Precious

Date of Birth,
28 July

 Spuds and vodka all wrapped-up in the flag,
Could it be Alameda?

 Mr Know-it-all,
Mr Seen-it-all, Done-it-all
Mr Done with all the fol-de-rol

 Apparently all is transience,
Green reeds of Summer

Turn dead in the Fall

 In the wavering heat,
The trees were like the tears of blind lions

Bull goose
I ran the tap to give the geese a chance to drink,
These traditional geese held off the Canada geese
Look at those ankle, that neck, that beak,
Mother-... hush-your-mouth... goose

 I ran the faucet several more times,
The water lingered long enough for all to drink,
It's only maybe 80 degrees, 
But the SF Bay Area melts at that temperature

 Look how far out those kids are,
At low tide it's bizarrely shallow here,
Planes from Oakland airport fly over low

 Rad pad, young dude couple with baby

Sun assassins deflect off the Pandora building
Space Burger is left unaffected,
As the moon sneaks up behind
I did a run all the way to Berkeley afterward,
To restock at the herb shop, OG Kush, y'all

The bus dropped me off here,
Walking distance from home

27-28 July 2015

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Double-O Oakland

Random recordings of miscellaneous behavior

Me too,
 When I walk in gardens
My movements help flowers to pollinate

 Bright and cool day on the Oakland estuary
The inlet known as Lake Merritt

 A passing vendor stopped his bead cart for photo

 A egret propels himself up from the sea bed,
 I devour the world with a hunger born of love

 Reflections on Marble cross

 The Cathedral of the Diocese of Oakland
Viewed from the shade of a bus shelter

 Reminds me of "Mr Brown"
An early garage song by the Wailers,
"Who is Mr Brown?
Mr Brown is a clown 
Who drives around town in a coffin"

 The Silk Road

 Exit a bus in the urban center
You just stepped over into the Oakland zone

A fleet of unmarked police trucks,
Plutocracy needs a police state
To maintain the inequity of inequality

 Truck double-parked in Temescal
Through the dystopian window of a 1R bus
Cars and trucks, sins against nature

July 2015

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Bay Cruise, Wharf Life

The old sailors called it Frisco

A long day's voyage into evening,
Into the Flaneur's astrological sun sign of Leo
 Come along as we get right underway

Heading Over

Just another technicolor day

Cinematic in its way

The extraordinary waters

We going up around the bend

Welcome to Fisherman's Wharf

Jacket for a child

The Wharf attracts some of
 San Francisco's most discerning visitors


And no one ever went broke
Underestimating their taste
Or overestimating their patriotic pride

Very reluctant to refer to anyone as an a--hole,
The Wookie smelled like it rolled in dead fish

I told this old sea dog
If I wanted a Bay cruise
It's his funky boat I'd choose

San Francisco has a long-held welcome
For sea-faring eccentrics

The National Park

At the Visitor's center desk,
Joey Know says I'm like Weegee lately
Weegee, Diane Arbus, Robert Frank, Charles Gatewood
I covers the waterfront

Kinetic sand-painting
Each waves creates a different work,
I had my lunch out of the wind again
On the Hyde Street Pier niche beach

No shredding

Did you know that the Pier
Has the home of an old sea captain
That some believe is haunted?

Seance on a Summer Afternoon

The Captain's table

The priapic Captain Endicott,
He kept nine wives,
The eye is the window to his lost soul

Said to be something of a strange bedfellow
He provided well for his wives
And he expected their faithful service
When he was on land

After many an hour spent smoking a black pipe
His lions came back to life

The wives slept two to a bed
Only one at a time shared his chamber
In a sort of domestic tag team

The spectral shower,
As Mr Hitchcock once said, "it happened in here,"
Early one morning the insatiable goat
Was found murdered in his bath,
An intruder was mentioned,
No one was ever charged with the crime

People say his gory corpse
Haunted the place for many years,
Some say he is haunting here still

5. Outdoor Life

Ship-building takes place here

Not some dusty moribund exhibit
Rather a productive workshop

Its products represent
Fine works of an ancient art

Time for me to get on my pony and ride,
Dig the sturdy motorcycle flag,
Aren't you glad to be in America?

Peaking at the Beach

A sparkling high tide meets the Leo sun

I rejoiced to relax in lush green grass,
So precious in our water-short Summer

If I happen to run into a Dungeness
Taking a stroll on the municipal pier,
He's going in my backpack, sorry

Do you know the way to blue?
Looking back the way I came
Mr Wind dancing on the water

Onward, up hill, to Fort Mason

Leaving sea level behind,
Reading the fractal-like designs
Of God and man

Flanked by a precipitous plunge

Reaching the wild parts of the Bay

The ineffable vista,
Mists suffused with sunlight,
The bridge evanescent and rematerial

Return Trip

Did somebody get a new logo
With funds from Homeland Security?

Something fishy about this enhanced Asian,
Like he hulked-up at Balco lab

All the way back through yonder slot

Shadows have now overtaken,
My lush green spot

Bikes border on nuisance
This time of the year

The crowd calls out for more

Tourists don't expect our chilly Summer
Apparel and alcohol sell themselves

Name your poison, really,
This place vends candy dresses and poopy pop

Evening arrives like a sudden street car,
Other people are other worlds

Take for example a Negro painted silver,
He muscle spots me
Tells him to go "get the money"
A demand I firmly decline

Fortunately some people hold themselves to a higher standard

Pier 39

Surfer Joe, product
Of European migratory adaptive strategy

They're attempting to control my mind,
The difference between high kitsch,

And low kitsch
Is arbitrary and insignificent,
As post-modernism has taught us

The ethereal East bay is calling me,
Every swell reminds me of a leonine shoulder.
A steely tide of lions

20 July 2015