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.

The time change
Has me worried that I
Didn't vote correctly in this
Election
I forgot to see who had won and who had lost so I deduct from this that it doesn't really matter too much to me.

Opinions are commonplace
And everyone has one
But...did I feel any different
Or feel my life affected in a negative or positive way the next day?
I forgot.

Regret and mistakes I've made
haunt me
and I repeat
I miss the color purple

I want what I cannot and will not ever have.
Saphron shades of textiles bring me comfort
But shades of green remind me that there is no
meeting of the minds and
this

is all that this can ever be.
Like a child I am told not to touch even
though I have no intention of doing so
I somewhat know my place regardless.

Regret and mistakes I've made
haunt me
and I repeat
I miss the color purple

Twenty-three year old dreams
and letters will be stuffed in a box
for you or someone, god, I hope someone will

read

so that they might know
even if it doesn't tug at heart strings or
some other cliche that was written before
and some times randomness is order and

Things that aren't completely understood or
that hurt
have explanation

Regret and mistakes I've made
haunt me
and I repeat
I miss the color purple

Taking the Time

It has been awhile since I have last entered anything here and sent it out into the universe or cyberspace for that matter. But I needed a break to re-evaluate my life and whether or not this path that I have been on was really the right thing to do. I'll admit it, I was beginning to have my doubts.

I wasn't feeling inspired any longer and I was only feeling the toll that this lifestyle of not having much was impacting my body and my soul. For the most part I was happy though, just not sure if this writing path was going to actually lead to any road that I would be content to travel further. Luckily, however, with the strength of a few close friends who also call themselves writers, helped me through this temporary funk that I was in.

With a new sense of purpose, I began to think about stories that I had written partially before and revisited them, looking for more inspiration in hopes of completing them. I even looked at going back into the travel writing business and while it didn't pay much, at least it was writing and I could feel confident in calling myself a writer again.

Meanwhile, I had been hanging windows for a glass and sash shop in North Beach to try and make ends meet while the writing gigs slowly trickled in. I actually surprised myself at how much I liked the physical work that I was doing and all that I was learning. For any of my close friends, they know that I am pretty much useless when it comes to being handy or knowing which tools to use for a project at any given moment. However, to those same friends, I know that they would be proud to see me hanging out of a sixth floor window in downtown San Francisco, precariously trying to re-sash a window that most likely hadn't been touched since the 1920's. I'm actually getting pretty damn good at it.

...feeling pretty good about the work one day and comfortable about my writing and my new, "if it comes, it comes" mentality...I finally got a break.

On a Saturday morning, I walked across the street to get my usual cup of coffee before heading down to the park to watch the ball game with a friend. Luckily, I ran into a neighbor friend who is also a graphic designer and he came running towards me frantically as he had been trying to get a hold of me for a few weeks but didn't have my number. Long story short...he needed some writing done for a client and he needed it done fast. Without hesitation, I said yes and have been writing for him ever since. It hasn't been easy and I was surprised at some of the complications that would arise when working with a large client, and of course I have made my share of mistakes as well...but I am learning a lot...and most importantly finally getting paid enough to do this work.

So with that, my ambitions as a writer have been restored....I will do my best to keep more current here from now on as things progress....Cheers.

VALUE = VOICE @ The Box Factory San Francisco

A few years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting *Bernadette*, a musician and artist who has dedicated her life to creating...not just creating for the sake of doing so, but to spark conversation and to invoke a sense of duty and purpose in her work. Whether it be sculpture-new genre, painting or sound, she is constantly developing her work while collaborating with other like-minded artists and designers to promote social awareness and change.

*Bernadette* is also the founder of The Box Factory, an amazing live-in studio/workspace/gallery/concert venue right in the heart of the Mission Distric of San Francisco. This place is special and there is nothing else like it in the SFC...it's a must see for those in the City who are not only "in-the-know," but for those who wish to see work from passionate people who care.

So here's the deal...for all of you who live in or near the City...I want to formally invite you to The Box Factory's next gallery opening for two reasons...1) because I would love to see you there and 2)because it is going to be amazing. And this next one is going to be big!

Here's the info:

VALUE = VOICE
Opening Night Reception
WHEN: Saturday, July 24th, 2010 (7:00PM - 11:00PM)
WHERE: THE BOX FACTORY
865 Florida Street #1,
San Francisco, CA 94110.

Presented by: The National Organization of Women (NOW); The Box Factory; and Visionary Artist Management

Curated by Dr. Wendy Clupper, President of Visionary Artist Management

“Value = Voice,” three women’s embodied perspectives of the eco/socio free fall of the 2008-10 “Recession”/Depression. In this playfully edgy, three-woman, post-post-modern show, we are examining themes of value & risk, and throwaway objects & people. Each woman’s art works relate to their embodied experience of the socio-economic free-fall; the Recession/Depression. As we share our individual voices (exploring unemployment, housing, and isolation) through female lenses and symbols of domesticity (implied body, sex, food, etc.) a chorus forms. Choosing our own materials we are using both found objects (rusty metal and broken glass), and things which are precious (a lock of hair, personal photos, and rubies). We invite the public to share in this exploration of private and public issues and join in the conversation as we examine the concepts of value, risk & opening ourselves, and create our own sense of value through our art.

Please come and check this amazing opening event/reception out and I hope to see you all there!

Adlevo Media Launched!

Finally...I'm getting it together and have started my own writing business! For communication purposes, I have created a Facebook Fan Page so please visit here for more information, services and summer specials! If you know of anyone who has writing needs from web copy, brochures, print, press releases or anything creative in general...please pass this info on!

Portfolio to come soon.

Thanks in advance!

Just Nathan.

Open

For whomever reads this...

I'm open. Sometimes for good and sometimes for naught...and sometimes my openness is my detriment but I don't really care...I can't hide forever and nor do I want to. I'm waiting for greatness, to write the next great American novel, screenplay, television show, fuck...I might be interested in writing the next great American toothpaste commercial as long as it helps me keep the lights on. As long as I am not stuck in a cubical hell-hole of an office where I have to pretend that I am someone I am not, cover my tattoos, cover my mouth when I wish to swear, and pretend that I care about what my colleauges did on the weekend, then I will be just fine.

It's clear to me that what I am doing these days and what I have been up to in the last few years have caused some eyebrows to be raised and for that I am happy. It's good to mix things up a bit and keep people wondering. But for the most part, I am still open.

Walking down my street, Post Street in San Francisco, I stopped by the used book store and bought a copy of Jack London's 1936 edition of Martin Eden, arguablly his most autobiagraphical novel (It was only 3 bucks)...and stopped at the first page...meditated on it and tried to commit it to memory.

"Let me live out my years in the heat of blood!
Let me lie drunken with the dreamer's wine!
Let me not see this soul-house built of mud
Go toppling to the dust a vacant shrine!"

After reading this, I read more about Mr. London...he died at about the same age as my hero Kerouac (47) and I wondered if I would have the same fate. I sure hope not but if I could tell my stories and still have a roof over my head, even a moon lit roof of sorts, then I would die happy. Oh...and bread, cheese and a huge jug of wine would be nice as well. I still dream.

My married friends are jealous of me because of freedom and I am jealous of them because of their lack of such a thing. But, having said that...I know that they are not built for this kind of life as much as they say that they are envious. I slept on the streets of San Francisco for a few nights and wandered around for days staying in hotels when I could afford it and on friend's couches when they offered. At the time it wasn't fun but looking back now, it was simple and I was actually happy not knowing where I would go next.

I didn't really realize how unhappy I was though, until I had my first shower in this dingy hotel on Market Street...the Aida Hotel. I didn't care how dirty it was at the time because this anomoly would actually replenish me and make me feel like a whole person again. I had to cut away my shoes from my feet and throw them away...the shirts that I was wearing as well as they were so soiled and crusty that they would be of no use to me again. The good thing was that I was alive and for that I was greatful. The warm water was enough to revitalize.

Now...in the present moment as I am always and only living in the present moment (often to my detriment as well) I find myself observing, consistently and constantly watching life...

From time to time I walk the streets of San Francisco with my good friend Harrison Towne, high as kites on marijuana butter, admiring old buildings, missing baseball games at the park because the people and the sights are just too interesting to miss, running around the Mission and the Castro and trying to do anything and everything that our corporate friends with real jobs and families cannot do. We feel like kings in these moments...kings of San Francisco and the world for that matter. And...there is nothing better than having a slice of pie from a San Francisco, wannabe, New York style pizza joint while wandering with no intended destination in mind. We would even sit cross-legged on steps in Union Square, smoking cigs, sipping luke warm coffee and pretend throw found objects at tourists as we shout at them...telling them that we are better than them! We never say it outloud though, and we never actually throw anything...but Harrison Towne and I both know and think the same thing from time to time without actually speaking. We're just that 'money'...that's all.

So for the time being I am going to travel this path because I can't think of anything else that I would rather do. I don't want to own a car, a house (fuck mortgages), a chia pet or anything resembling a pet, and shit...I'm often ashamed that I even own and I-pod but I gotta have tunes so we'll let that one slide.

I'm flowing with the wind and wherever that takes me...This is me and more openness to follow as I continue to find myself on this journey.

Oh...and I know that you don't care Mom...but sorry for saying fuck so many times.

Fuck...I said it again...