Oh eff it...Happy Holidays...

12.26.10
San Francisco

I'm always in my head and as such had plenty of time to reflect, especially about the holiday season...I have so much to be thankful for this year and for the first time, I truly believe that the new year is going to be better than ever.

On December 23rd, I rode the rails back in time to my often haunting past, yet this time with more confidence and virtually no anxiety to be felt at all. I almost began to feel anxious due to the lack of anxiety but calmed myself reminding my brain that I was leaving for warmth and good company instead of leaving out of fear or a desire for an escape.

I chatted it up with the conductor for most of the ride as if he was an old friend and gazed out at rolling and now green hills as well as a turbulent coastline...a storm was said to be on its way.

I felt zen.

O...and the other surprise to me was the amount of love I felt once in the town that haunts me so...it was confusing to me but I let it envelope me,

Strange...it...
Didn't feel like ghosts anymore.

I heard stories of healing, of growth and ones about falling.
Multiple stories about the big “C” and really?
At this age?
Poopy diapers, first steps, questions about when I,
Nathan,
Might decide to “grow up”
But I didn't care and enjoyed the pure act of observation without judgement.

I did lose my favorite sunglasses though

I slept like a baby, I smelled cinnamon and sometimes rosemary,
I found treasures from years ago and devoured them.
I hugged and I was hugged back.
I felt lonely even though I wasn't alone but deduct from this emotion that this is natural.
I read, more than I have read since the last time that I can remember.
I stared at the wall.
I did manly-man things.
I longed.
I played games with an almost four year old.
I thought of an old friend who is restrained.
I had food coma and when I arose, I preceded to inflict the same trauma upon my body once again
I never learn.
I researched information about Kwanzaa and I liked it
I hummed Bing Crosby tunes and some pop ones as well.
I told Sissy that she was beautiful and she really is.
Harrison Towne and I spoke about uneasy feelings and love and hate and
Connections after connection after construction of a new and better
Life.
Ginsberg spoke to me while I slept and I asked him to show me the way but there was
No Answer.
I was told that I needed a haircut at least sixteen times but have never been known to do what I am told.
I found out that Murkami wrote about my life in 1969 and as a tribute, I sang
“Here Comes the Sun”

Do, do, doo doooo

I feel...I feel...I feel content

A year ago, my home was a bench...and now today I am alive...
Whilst I don't care much for holidays or celebrating anything for that matter...today I will make an exception.

I am home.

Dive Into...

Neon sign nestled between high class coffee and
High class hookers or masseuse or whatever it is that's best to
Tell your friends is your
Beacon.
Jimmy fought Irish Joe and Johnny got punched in the head,
And Tommy suffered from a fractured shoulder at one time but doesn't
remember.

51 years ago I used to drink here...there was a redhead before but she's
Dead now. I feel more regret now than passion and I can taste
Copper.
I wish life was still and calm and peaceful, like that of a Boddhisatva,
But alas...warm fire, warm memories...how I hate them so, they make my skin feel like
Black.
When at sunrise and when the windows are closed to keep out the cold, all I hear
Is destruction after destruction after distraction and it all smells like
Piss.

Rinse and repeat.

I haven't seen Jimmy in awhile and wonder if he is okay. “Who? Presidio Jimmy or Pepsi Jimmy?”
“I don't know,” I say...”Jimmy” as I can't remember who is whom and which is which. “Jimmy, you know, Jimmy...sauza and lime Jimmy...drove a taxi for De Soto Jimmy.”

“He got into another fight over a woman...one of them Koreans...sent him to General for a week.”
I didn't bother to inquire whether he was okay or would be okay because soon he would be a memory like a dollar bill stuck to the wall of a dive bar with a signature or a brassiere nailed to the top of another to commemorate debauchery and drunkenness.

I ordered a shot and paid ten dollars to the thieves.

A few weeks later I saw Jimmy at the laundry mat, he was on the wagon with his head stitched up and his clothes wrinkled like that of a lazy teenager who's mother would no longer wash his clothes. His eyes were wide, clear and I wouldn't have normally recognized him, however, I was in a
Haze.

I pretended that I didn't know him and left in haste.

Life went by and weeks later I saw him again behind that pestering neon sign...

51 years ago I used to drink here...there was a redhead before but she's
Dead now. I feel more regret now than passion and I can taste
Copper.