Sutro Majast

San Francisco, CA - Marc - Thursday, April 6th, 2006 : goo

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Finally! Clear skies today to save us from the rainiest March on record. The entire town is sick and wet. People are staying in and cuddling, listening to cuddling music. The planet is sick and punishing SF like a drunken stepfather- all month long, just for having different DNA! But today, Gaia the Fake Dad slept it off all day long.

If SF were a roof town.. musicians would play in the habitrails connecting our skies with perfect tunnel acoustics. Colored lucite could turn our streets into stained glass-- every day would be flip flop weather. Like the Chicago Loop tunnels in reverse-- maybe the sky tunnels would get flooded by clouds, heavy moist emergencies rolling in off the ocean. Fluffy cataclysms that soak your spare change bag and make your titties show through your hip tissue shirt.

Look there's gilded City Hall flaunting its flautas at the sky. Palatine Hill of New Rome, I can see the Symphony, the Opera House from this high up-- and the skyscratching kranes helping to assemble yet another federal building. Glass monstrosities many stories high- in earthquake country! Normally there's a 40 foot building limit, but the Federal Government gets around that and is almost done with their second Target HQ Objective. Outposts of Empire that create their own little microclimates- wind tunnels to knock your kids over, no more fresh-squozen Cali sun for their lil punkin skin..

My hill is blocked by that tall piece of shit there. The hill that is normally brown this time of year but still feels like green muppet fur. I wonder which of my roommates is sitting on that hill right now, playing SimCity with our tiny little burg that families are fleeing?? It seems more honest to climb the sky via a dog-shit covered hill- better for my feet. Climbing stairs and fire escapes and walls-- I will feel those hard falls like a deep-rotting disease- even after I have gone over to the dark side and foresaken the urban zone for the boring sustainable sameness of the countryside. Sure I can jog on dirt trails in Austin- but where is the nonstop deluge of radiation, evolving signals and languages I can't hope to decipher but that knock electrons off my knee cartilage?? I think I might be addicted to... high and mighty overlordscapes of poor lil punkins living on top of each other. Will humanity always smell this foul? Thanks wind, thanks rain, thanks sun baking the fresh layer of clean car emissions-

This old guy here has used the same teapot for years, drinking ever cleaner and fresher octane levels of dinosaur corpse jamba juices-- SF supplies the spirulina shot, the sourdough bacteria shot-- maybe i shouldn't be drinking so much black tea. the monkey-picked stuff tastes like intra-species slavery. pu-erh costs 50$ a pot, but we all have unsustainable dotcom jobs anyway, might as well filter as much foul fermented refuse as my bottomless ATM card can dish out. a fleeting shot of opium warmth and SF cuddles me again in fog.

costs are forever going up- the sky is our limit..

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jack: marc, you really love that place, don't you.

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