The Fourth of July

Independence Day inspires the Flaneur to board subterranean trains to ride out to the San Francisco Zoo then to hike ocean beach back to the N-Judah line and ride downtown by nightfall to see the pyrotechnics from a pier

I have never entered the Zoo again after a couple of visits thirty years ago. I love animals too much to enjoy seeing them in captivity. I do however walk by the entrance area for random sightings from the Serengeti.

The entrance to the seashore where animals do range freely. Unfortunately many of them are dogs.

Not as cold as it looks but a certain heartiness does one well.

A wind-sheltered spot where I reclined a while and had my lunch.

A traveler's repast consists of raw cauliflower, carrot, olives, wild california sardines, whole wheat bagel with neufchatel, hard-boiled organic egg, ryvita crax, dried fruit and chocolate.

An impromtu throne where I bided quite a while as the sun at last burned through the clouds.

A ritual pit alongside.

Into the mystic.

Sunlight on turbulent waters.

The marbleized waves.

As nights falls...

Twilight on the Bay

Moon over San Francisco

People light up in anticipation.

Then the incarnadine fireworks of the fourth of July

Coit Tower presides over parallel festivities

Double image capture.

San Francisco on July fourth.

4 July 2011

The Story Behind the Fourth of July

Despite my mile long walk to BART and my beach hike of several miles more with side trips climbing in the dunes, I was slightly weary but not worn-out. The long train ride on the N-Judah was restful and once I disembarked downtown I immediately ducked into a coffee shop and tucked into a coffee laced with enhanced brandy. The brandy was enhanced by being ported in a jar that had held an eighth of an ounce of very robust cannabis. The potent resin had coated the inside of the jar then had been dissolved in the brandy.

I stayed there an hour or so as the place got crowded with people recharging in anticipation of the fireworks display fast approaching. Then as the twilight thickened I ventured out to Market street, the main drag.

Though no traffic occupied the block I was on I could see cars waiting at a light. Sensing I had the time I leapt into the street to dash across while I had the chance. But they build the curbs quite high along there as a disincentive for people to jaywalk as I was attempting to do. As I landed my right leg got wobbly and I knew I was probably going down. In an act of sheer will I pumped my legs like the roadrunner to try to maintain an upright posture and at the very least not to hit the pavement head-first.

I was unable to avoid the fall entirely and down I went. Shaken I looked up from the surface to see if the cars were approaching with the lethal mindlessness of a cattle stampede. Stunned but determined to survive, I managed to get up and make it across. Slightly embarrassed, I made a hands up gesture of what-can-you-do? A young man loitering nearby watched it happen intently and impassively. No one made the slightest movement toward offering help. What can you do?

Stunned I continued south of Market passing two patrolling cops on an otherwise deserted sidewalk as I flexed my hand. Perhaps my face showed the pain I was in. I was still wearing my black beret and sunglasses--a look that occasionally inspires dogs to bark at me and their spitting-image owners to suggest, "must be the hat." In this case it may have inspired one of these canine cops to attempt to rattle me by turning abruptly to glare at me a second at the moment we passed each other. It takes real courage to walk down the street under the cover of authority, armed and accompanied by another armed goon, to show you are not intimidated by a possible terrorist in a French hat.

Well, fuck all cops forever and ever. I waited until they were around the corner and publicly urinated (behind a wall actually). My middle finger showed a weird swelling on the lobe at the tip and certainly hurt but I could still bend the joints and there was not spot that caused excruciating pain so I figured I would carry on.

My favorite pier had lowered it's gate so I followed along and settled on the pier behind the Ferry building. A small crowd milled around there while a disco upstairs provided the bass heavy soundtrack and an eerie purple glow. A slender moon hung over the Pyramid building and an exquisite crepuscule spread over the Bay.

I chatted with a gal my age and them with two younger girls I helped claim a spot on the railing. Overall I felt better than one would expect someone with a sprained finger to feel--the brandy and cannabis helped.

Then just as darkness prevailed, the show began. There are two launch sites both considerably down the waterfront from my position. I shifted to a better angle only to find myself behind very tall blonde nordic young men with no space between them. So I hopped up on a bench usually populated by alcoholic street denizens and this night was no exception. In front of me was a short hispanic guy and underfoot was his nervous chiuaua.

As things went on in the usual manner a small contretemps began brewing between the short fellow standing directly in front of me and one of the aryan supermen next to him. Short guy was making a video of it and apparently the young man bumped him once or twice. Short guy warned him not to bump him in a rather threatening manner. The young man laughed at him. In truth he and his friends could launch the little guy about ten feet away from the edge of the pier without a lot of effort. Short guys wino buddies would be of little to no help to him. But then he may have had a machete stashed nearby as well.

Before things could escalate I reached over with my priestly hand of kindness to touch each man's arm and say. "peace, peace, please fellows." It diffused the stand-off. I helped the little guy save face despite his short-fused machismo. He decided I was his friend and went into a nearby shopping carriage and got me a can of beer which I accepted. The cold can brought some relief to my inflamed finger.

The pyrotechnical exhibition was rather brief and soon people were moving everywhere in all directions. I caught a fast train to Berkeley and walked on home. The emergency room could wait until the morning.

A Day of Two Bridges

On the cusp of the Summer Solstice the Flaneur journeys out to see the ocean breakers and then comes back to the Bay.

The Geary bus all the way from downtown came to an unfamiliar end of the line. I found myself walking down Seal Rocks lane.

The remains of Sutro baths once a Victorian pavilion arching over heated sea water pools.

Seal Rocks just beyond the location of the old Cliff House here at the very Western coast of the continent.

The Pacific with the dim headlands of Marin.

The glittering sea and the wind-swept trees of land's end.

Cargo ships and sailboats pass by and do not collide.

Away from the beaten by-ways, this weathered log affords me a chaise on which to recline and smoke a bit. I dream of a far-off land, the here and now.

The rocks at land's end.

Standing in the surf for eons perhaps underwater again someday.

The Golden Gate bridge comes into view.

The Golden Gate before the bridge.

Rock sculpture

Up the silent hillside trail

A cliff-side hideaway, visited over thirty years.

A traveler's repast consists of carrot, organic hard-boiled egg, whole wheat bagel with neufchatel & a packet of hot sauce, dried fruit & chocolate.

With companions or in solitude, ever a place of peaceful enjoyment.

A last grand view of the bridge.

Up past the august Museum of the Legion of Honor

Closed for deep thought. Some of us are doers.

Equestrian statues ride off over the hills.

At this hour in six months time the lion will stare out into darkest night.

Evening thoughts like lengthening shadows. A golf course built on old burial grounds.

Must return to the urban center

To the palaver downtown.

For an evening pilsner out on a pedestrian pier.

The nimbus of time

The Bay Bridge towers nearby

A vast expanse

Yerba Buena island anchors the bridge facing East.

Tile boat and golden gate.

A vintage streetcar faces East, as does my BART train, back home under the Bay to Berkeley.

18 June 2011

Solstice Twilight

The Flaneur had been asleep and went out into the pearlescent crepuscule to spend an hour with a small smoke.

As I walked north on Jefferson past Bancroft I left behind what traces of everyday blues ever existed. I entered the shallows of peace and continued on.

Above me amid the densely flowering spheric trees, a bird caught my attention by perching on a cable across the street. I could see only it detailed silhouette. It appeared to address me with a series of cheeps. It seemed friendly towards me like a house pet bird, a parakeet though it was not.

I cheeped back mimetically and we had a brief rapport. After a moment its mate flew up onto the cable. The first left to a close-by rooftop chimney. The second took its place with me volleying chirps. I began repeating phrases in a human voice sort of cooing to it. I might have said "aren't you nice?" in the kind of a voice I would use if I was doing drag (which I have not done nor hold any interest in whatsoever). As I moved on I immediately passed by the bush where I'd been standing and noticed a young girl who must have heard all this. She was standing on the top step of her front walk with wet hair, barefoot, wearing only an oversized T-shirt and talking on a cell phone. In fact she was softly cooing or whimpering into it. Oblivious to me yet not completely. Relaxed and at peace with me perhaps even comforted by my presence subconsciously. She looked up demurely through her lashes. The dual consciousness of both telephonic scene and the scene at hand has become her second nature.

I thought of the love for young people I feel yet conceal. How they need my love just as I need their love even if only for an fleeting moment. The osmosis of love for other people obtains. Benign people who walk past and could be of help when the parents are late from work, overwhelmed, or any number of other excuses for absence. People feel safer in their homes when the passing strangers appear to be kindly.

She looked alright maybe over-coddled on the whole for all I know. As with most young people, she's enthralled by today's wild ride. And she's none the wiser for not having had the old-fashioned way of life that never really was but is only imagined in nostalgia.

Returning back by rounding Saint Joseph the Worker church, I thought of a little boy I encountered on McGee street a few weeks ago. I passed him by on my twilight walk as he got out of a car. He looked up at me and said "whoa." I laughed and said "what"?

Was it the way I looked? My semi-unearthly vibe, what? He just stood smiling and looking at me like I was the fireworks on July fourth. "You're gonna make me self-conscious," I jested as if he would know what that meant. I continued off with a smile. Was it my black beret, my ray bans and my stealthy hearing aid? To him I was a fantastic character apparently-- I imagine a cartoon version of myself.

Well, that's right my boy. We can be kindred spirits for an instant or as long as need be. Think of me like a grandfather, like the hippest grandfather there is.

As I write it of course dawns on me that, in their mild way, the two birds were most likely expressing dissatisfaction that I was walking too close to their nestlings. The peaceable kingdom being one thing, and trusting an adult male human around one's offspring being another.