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selections from Of Walking in Ice by Werner Herzog

Our Eisner mustn’t die, she will not die, I won’t permit it. She is not dying now because she isn’t dying. Not now, no, she is not allowed to. My steps are firm. And now the earth trembles. When I move, a buffalo moves. When I rest, a mountain reposes. She wouldn’t dare! She mustn’t. She won’t. When I’m in Paris she will be alive. She must not die. Later, perhaps, when we allow it. Continue reading

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selections from Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit

Feminism, as writer Marie Sheer remarked in 1986, “is the radical notion that women are people.” (122) Continue reading

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selections from The San Francisco Poets by David Meltzer

The DNA molecule is the memory. It is the memory of the meat. Four billion years of memory telling you to be a mammal. (274) Continue reading

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simply

one might walk
a hundred thousand miles

away from the city, crowded to heaven with utter coolness…
away from civilization, progress, perfection, circus…
away from people, apes playing dress-up…
away from places, familiar, unforgettable…
on and on…
over bridges, plastered with sludgy, crusted snow…
thru tunnels, a mile dark, dripping, creeping, damp…
thru forests, creaking ancient wisdom in the wind…
thru meadows, rolling plains unassuming…
thru mines of blasted, plundered earth…
thru thunderstorms, the wrath of gods unnamed, unnumbered…
up mountains, natural castles guarding nothing…
down valleys, humble paradises in plain sight…
across flooded rivers, our ancient agricultural blessing…
across a sea of green, daytime sight of sublime…
on and on and on…
under the scorching sun, death glare of the cosmos…
under the pouring rain, a million buckets overturned at once…
under the sleet and snow, flurries of tasteless confection…
amid the blustery wind, a reminder that all is in motion…
on and on and on…
where people shoot guns all night, the distant violent crack…
where deer scamper in all directions, unhesitating clairvoyant fear…
where automobiles passing provide cool breeze, how nice…
where churches dot every corner, clever bait and tackle for lost souls…
where sounds sometimes don’t make sense, alien lands neverending…
where light can please and frighten, the precipice of death and delight…
on and on and on…
through cottages and campsites, feasting in the lap of luxury…
through mud and leaves, wet hair, wet face, wet everything…
cross country, paved roads, rattled heart, steady mind…
again and again… on and on and on…
up mountains…
down valleys…
thru tunnels…
thru everything…
west always west…

simply

for a chance to be
alive and breathing. Continue reading

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winter solstice party

in the evening, we stood amidst the bright kitchen and living room lights, sipping on brandy-spiked punch and catching up on all the mediocre unchanged past and infinite, unpredictable future. experiencing slight hunger pangs, many of us slathered fancy spreads on crackers, wrapped up cheeses in smoked salmon, and scarfed down open-face salami sandwiches smeared w dijon mustard. ’twas a veritable banquet!

the middle-aged and beyond were out in full force, making polite conversation and liking each others’ pages on facebook and roping me in to make sure they’d done so correctly. yeah yeah looks fine, i said, not very politely.

as midnight approached, the old people got sleepy and began to slip out.

midnight past, Adam, Cameron, and i stripped down to nothing and hopped in the hot tub. suddenly everything felt more real. Cameron let flee a shriek, and then immediately apologized to Adam for disrupting the suburban peace. it was okay.

over the next hour or two, the three of us bobbed like choice cutlets in the soup, sipping on our brandy punch, puffing on Cameron’s gift of a spliff, and waxing poetic about life, the evolution of humanity, and the universe. past and future worlds swirled through our minds, whirled and twirled through our half-articulate gesticulations. Cameron’s clouds of Venus encapsulated my interstellar agriculture to the point where Adam’s hands grew thick with the soil of the probability of intelligent life forming out of the nothingness that Cameron considered himself when he thought about how he’d lost his job even though i was going to do the exact same thing except intentionally and maybe we should shut up and learn or thing or two about intention from Adam who had unknowingly convinced Morgan to return to school to learn graphic design at the ripe old age of, what are we, 26? golden.

with the night getting late, Cameron and i cruised down the freeway without a care in the world. the only thing he cared about was making his 0600 flight and, quite frankly, it didn’t look like sleep was part of that plan. so at the last minute i veered toward 280 instead of 101, opting for the slower, scenic route. little did i know about the fog’s return. the fog, my old and familiar friend, slunk its heavy wet body across the entire width and length of 280, putting a quiet damper on my desire to be a speed demon. but that was fine; as i said, we were in no rush.

thinking along those same lines, i turned and asked Cameron if he’d like to go to the beach. affirmative.

so once again, at the last moment, i veered toward Skyline Blvd. the speed limit dropped 15 MPH, but the fog grew thicker. thick, thick, thicker still. every mile we advanced, the blank white sheet pulled closer to the windshield… until i couldn’t see more than a few feet of line dividers in front of the car. rain had threatened and teased and attempted, until finally it teamed up with the fog to make the worst possible driving conditions. it was definitely one of those moments where you’re too scared to keep driving but too scared to stop so you just slow down a bit because that feels like a happy medium.

eventually, we arrived at Fort Funston. i quickly confessed to Cameron that it had been my makeout spot since high school. just needed to get that out of the way. also, i needed an excuse to make homoerotic jokes. obviously.

the rain had stopped for the time being, so we only strolled through heavy fog as we mounted the Fort. at the top, unfortunately, we discovered Battery Davis completely flooded. damn shame, because right behind the flood was the entry to my favorite spot in the universe, a precarious little shelf of sand right on the precipitous of the cliff, overlooking the vast and beautiful Pacific Ocean. no matter. we ventured south, briefly encountering some “mizzle,” or what Cameron was calling mist and drizzle and orgasming all over about. the crashes of the sea grew louder and louder until, at last, we gazed at its infinite body. in the mizzle, it truly looked infinite: its waves whitening into sandy banks while its southern, western, and northern extremities faded into black fog, grey night. and yet, we perceived through our peripheral vision tiny dots of light poking through the hazy sheet. as the fog gradually lightened, we became increasingly aware that the bright light to the south was a lighthouse, while the line of lights to the west and north were a highway of shipping vessels separated by inconceivable distances on the vast sea’s surface. it was truly sublime.

we breathed in deep many, many times in silence, staring.

when it was time to go, we went. back the way we came, back to the car, the short ride back to my place, up the stairs, kettle on. i cooked up some buttery popcorn and served us a couple honey-dipped black teas. cozy. before the sun could threaten to rise, i drove Cameron to the airport, tried (and failed) to wake up Natalie for early morning snuggles, and returned to my own bed to pass… the fuck… out.

bless the solstice. Continue reading

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it is

it was a beautiful, lovely, deep day. Continue reading

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selections from The Confidence-Man by Herman Melville

‘True; but look, now, what my doubt is. I am one who thinks well of man. I love man. I have confidence in man. But what was told me not a half-hour since? I was told that I would find it written — “Believe not his many words — an enemy speaketh sweetly with his lips” — and also I was told that I would find a good deal more to the same effect, and all in this book. I could not think it; and, coming here to look for myself, what do I read? Not only just what was quoted, but also, as was engaged, more to the same purpose, such as this: “With much communication he will tempt thee; he will smile upon thee, and speak thee fair, and say What wantest thou? If thou be for his profit he will use thee; he will make thee bear, and will not be sorry for it. Observe and take good heed. When thou hearest these things, awake in thy sleep.”‘

‘Who’s that describing the confidence-man?’ here came from the berth again. (286) Continue reading

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selections from Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

If a pistol appears in a story, eventually it’s got to be fired. Continue reading

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montaña

the trip: https://maps.google.com/maps?saddr=San+Francisco,+CA&daddr=reno,+nv+to:Twin+Falls,+ID+to:bozeman,+mt+to:Livingston,+Mt+to:Yellowstone+National+Park,+Mammoth+Hot+Springs,+Park,+WY+to:Madison+Campground,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+WY+to:Grand+Prismatic+Spring,+Grand+Loop+Rd,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+WY+to:Bridge+Bay+to:Black+Dragons+Caldron+to:Grand+Canyon+of+the+Yellowstone+to:Tower+Falls,+Yellowstone+National+Park,+Park,+WY+to:Yellowstone+National+Park,+Mammoth+Hot+Springs,+Park,+WY+to:Silver+Gate,+Cooke+City-Silver+Gate,+Mt+to:Lily+Lake,+wyoming+to:Red+Lodge,+Mt+to:East+Rosebud+Lake+to:Bozeman,+Mt+to:Salt+Lake+City,+UT+to:Cottonwood+Heights,+UT+to:San+Francisco,+CA&hl=en&ll=45.135555,-109.660034&spn=2.332783,4.927368&sll=44.085612,-111.346436&sspn=1.187668,2.463684&geocode=FVJmQAIdKAe0-CkhAGkAbZqFgDH_rXbwZxNQSg%3BFaEsWwIdVcnb-CmdoJKSrkCZgDGH9zh0zsXFQA%3BFZd1iQIdOXct-SmvbrLFpKOsVDGqwfgs7HfLJA%3BFQQTuQId_YBh-SkTiLpPTERFUzGqYDv3ZND1Yw%3BFeK8uAIdLP1o-SkjR6AnvhNFUzFMjIRaJjKWRQ%3BFWdJrgIdn9pm-SmTip7xDdRPUzEivO2MPaFCKg%3BFaw7qQIdLWRk-SHBkZCfc_PzXylp4V9GjMNRUzHBkZCfc_PzXw%3BFSlmpwId_b1k-SFEDigKVP2Vkyn1R8IPvOtRUzFEDigKVP2Vkw%3BFWGNpwIdhCNr-SkDg3iVAx1OUzEd4aKdP0elCw%3BFbrZqAIdaONq-Sk54oy7KB9OUzE57x-bctnMHg%3BFdX9rAIdtsxr-SmLJZWTozZOUzFW-0sS9T6UWA%3BFaAFrQIdAKBr-SnZG8ZgqDZOUzE6nzHh-HWx9Q%3BFWdJrgIdn9pm-SmTip7xDdRPUzEivO2MPaFCKg%3BFSTArgIdA7Fx-SnXSLRtWFROUzEXWfq8dJ9Jhw%3BFZnWrQIdkPB1-Sn7L_MIfPpOUzE4M1PUmK_Vrw%3BFfJ6sQIdmwZ9-Sn1_Eb3GSpPUzEL1yB19jWKtQ%3BFcGosQIdGvp2-SnBGDBmxRhPUzFD9bOX3UlzNA%3BFQQTuQId_YBh-SkTiLpPTERFUzGqYDv3ZND1Yw%3BFcv1bQIdma1U-SntMdGIlD1ShzHKMU1IoLdTWw%3BFUzJawIdm9FV-SknMety2mJShzFAIhqeYpUiBw%3BFVJmQAIdKAe0-CkhAGkAbZqFgDH_rXbwZxNQSg&oq=san+fr&t=h&mra=ls&z=8 Continue reading

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Sexing. Dean Martin

the cure to writer’s block is wine, whiskey and amplified bass frequencies. and fucked pixels. birthday wishes in a world post-facefuck: a god among birds in Echo Park: meanwhile: alas, la is not for me. sf is. i much prefer … Continue reading

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