BART: Bay Area Rapid Transit. The subway system sewing the San Francisco Bay area patchwork of cities into one coherent easily accessible piece. While riding, one will find all sorts of people from business men, students, messenger boys, kids, schizos, tards, fringe elephants, slut puppies, patchwork pansies, and my favorite, the drunken vagrant.
I sat across the aisle from him on a San Francisco bound train from Daly City. He was a large fellow of 6'2", short curly hair, sunken red eyes, wearing a black Lakers jacket with purple sleeves. Yeah yeah, he shouldn't be wearing that in the Frisco Bay, but no one wanted anything to do with him and his drunken slurs, ramblings, philosophies on relaxation, sex, and fatherhood. Except me. I began to write discretely in my notebook. His feet were up, relaxin' on the seat across from him. Anything in brackets [] is my interpretation of his slurs.
Greetings, Relaxation & Money:
Man, I'm just gonna sit here and relax. I aint gonna sing, i aint gonna talk...just relax. If you can't relax man, life ain't worth living.
I don't care 'bout money. Money aint nothing. I just want to relax. Don't worry bout that money shit. I go to my sister...all she wants...Respect.
Philosophy sharing on love:
You [gotta] find someone who loves you man, [otherwise] you aint acting right.
If i want to make love to my woman...I eat her ass out. I go all out...shit i go all out. We be doin' that 69...[all night]"
She said "who you wanna sleep with." Go like this *begins to sing* "lovin' you..." And tell her that you love her.
You're a lover and a gentleman. You're a daddy. I wanna look like you.
Advice on fatherhood to a man with two kids:
Thats why they respect you...cuz you there daddy.
You know what big daddy, let me tell you something...i wanna be a daddy.
The children gonna bring the best out of you.
Go to my son's...tell the mother lets make it right. I'll bring him a blanket.
I never told him this here, "I need you." I never told him i need him.
My son want one thing. My son want me to be his father...father for real. I aint no father.
You know what man...I gotta tell you something. See how it got quiet...[yeah] you already know. You already know.
Relations with the old lady:
I'm gonna shut up...not gonna say nothing.*begins to sing*
She said I talk too much. I can't ride around and not talk to anybody. She be telling me to shut up.
She say, "all you gotta do is lay it out baby...and be quiet."
Ramblings on being a fighter to a businessman on his cellphone:
They got a boxing gloves...see my hand...see my hand *pointing to scars on his knuckles*. This hand is bigger than the other...this one hit harder. I was built for fighting man...I'm a slugger...I be knockin' niggas out with this one.
Big Daddy, we fight and then we kiss. Aint that right Big Daddy *gets up to try and kiss the businessman on the cellphone*.
See my face...SEE MY FACE! Knock yo ass way out!
Why he takes the train:
Its a Rolls Royce. I just chill. Let someone else drive for me. I go all the way to Daly City. Does yo mama do that? I go anywhere i want to go.
For young girls...
Hey young man. Big Daddy. Me and my woman make love. Doin'...sneakin... Know what i do on the back of the train? Why don't you come back and see. She come to back [with] me...she about to get fucked! Aint that right.
I can ride the train all night.
Cordiality:
Big Daddy...Sir...put your legs up here. You ain't doing nothing wrong. Nobody say nothin'...Come on, put em up here. *The business man reluctantly puts his legs up on the seat across from him*
Merry Christmas!
Sadly I had to transfer to the Richmond line at 12th St, Oakland. For all i know he's still riding the rails. Maybe that makes him a hobo...hmm. The characters on subways are the best. Much love to the bay!
Saturday, December 22, 2007
SF State on Winter Solstice
It is a lovely day. Even though i had lost my iPod the night before with 30 gigs of music, photos, recorded concerts, interviews and conversations, the day felt special.
I take the Daly City shuttle to SF state with a full-lipped, Edie Sedgwick haired, English grad student. Like a character from the old school arcade game, Rampage, she came to demolish her last final; a test on Will the Shake. I'm left to wander the campus for an hour and half before i'm suppose to meet her along the path between the student center, coy pond, and humanities building.
I stalk, follow, shadow an animated girl in a blue t-shirt over a long-sleeve Fubu orange undershirt. Her bright arms wave spastically as she talks to friends on either side. The sky is blue and clear but its still rather chilly.
She's excited, either because she finished her last final and is now on her way to the campus bar; or she finished her last final yesterday, nursed the bottle since this morning, and is now on her way to the campus bar. No matter, thoughts of finding this elusive watering hole intrigue me. Plus she has a cute doop, wrapped in faded blues.
After several more character chases across this seemingly dead commuter campus devoid of vendors/booths, i end up atop the Student Center.
Bustle tranquil
Diatribes of the wanderer
Hustle to and from
Wandering eyes of the searcher
Maniacal Fascination
Bastion for the lost
Hemostatic Elevation
Gaze below the glass to the mass of minds
Enthralling studious entrapment
I am transported to the fine arts department, critically looking upon black and white photographs in plexiglas display cases. Crap crap lovely pretentious college crap living behind a 35 mm lens.
Hallways adorned with oil paintings on canvas discarded upon the floor, some face down to hide the shame of a fledgling artist, others leaning against the wall in awkward display, try to solicit my eyes. "Look at me," they urge, "Appreciate meeeeeeee..."
Down a set of stairs, I come across a piece to my liking. I study the 1st floor evacuation plan, a collage of symbols, dungeons & dragons labyrinths, and green dashes. A fine piece of workmanship, beautiful and practical...as well as in brail. Walking along the secondary evacuation route, i exit to a winter afternoon sun beginning to bathe the damp ground in warmth. I seat myself on a wooden bench downstream of the coy pond.
Pathways of hope
Leading away from listlessness
Towards the salvation of education a new generation learns to march
Rank & File. Rank & File.
Between the paved cracks, splayed by roots
March On. March On.
Slipping in the dewy glen, brushed by grass
March On. March On.
Gazing, glancing, growing tall beneath the pines
Rank & File. Rank & File.
As soon as that last line is written, i am greeted by a joyous, bouncing beauty with a chest slightly bigger than what her petite frame would suggest. Our timing is impeccable.
"Lee, i kicked sooo much ass on that final. I even got all the ID's."
"Awesome baby doll. Do you want to hear what i've been up to?"
"No. I'm hungry. Lets eat."
"Ok. I can dig."
When am i not hungry? Post eating, and post physically dragging this girl away from the make up and shoe departments at Nordstrom's, her lithe frame wiggles free of my anti-consumerism grasp and dashes into the San Rio store at the mall. I sit below the escalator, whom i like. Because when he breaks down, he can only become stairs. The out-of-order sign would read: Temporarily Stairs - Sorry for the Convenience. I wait momentarily outside the store.
Colors of childhood
Blankets of gender
Molded & pinked into fashion
In route upon the bus away from campus and its nearby mall, i notice the date displayed on the LCD screen behind the drivers seat. "December 21, 2007. I don't know why, but today feels like a special day." "Ehh, what about your iPod?" she says in reply.
"Whoever has my iPod is one lucky ass bastard. Not only do they have a kick-ass collection of tunes, they have in their possession a lovely picture i attained when i first bought it. You know, that one with apple stickers?" "Oh my!" "They better appreciate all it has to offer."
If you find a black iPod with a picture on it that loosely resembles the drawing below, contact me.
I take the Daly City shuttle to SF state with a full-lipped, Edie Sedgwick haired, English grad student. Like a character from the old school arcade game, Rampage, she came to demolish her last final; a test on Will the Shake. I'm left to wander the campus for an hour and half before i'm suppose to meet her along the path between the student center, coy pond, and humanities building.
I stalk, follow, shadow an animated girl in a blue t-shirt over a long-sleeve Fubu orange undershirt. Her bright arms wave spastically as she talks to friends on either side. The sky is blue and clear but its still rather chilly.
She's excited, either because she finished her last final and is now on her way to the campus bar; or she finished her last final yesterday, nursed the bottle since this morning, and is now on her way to the campus bar. No matter, thoughts of finding this elusive watering hole intrigue me. Plus she has a cute doop, wrapped in faded blues.
After several more character chases across this seemingly dead commuter campus devoid of vendors/booths, i end up atop the Student Center.
Bustle tranquil
Diatribes of the wanderer
Hustle to and from
Wandering eyes of the searcher
Maniacal Fascination
Bastion for the lost
Hemostatic Elevation
Gaze below the glass to the mass of minds
Enthralling studious entrapment
I am transported to the fine arts department, critically looking upon black and white photographs in plexiglas display cases. Crap crap lovely pretentious college crap living behind a 35 mm lens.
Hallways adorned with oil paintings on canvas discarded upon the floor, some face down to hide the shame of a fledgling artist, others leaning against the wall in awkward display, try to solicit my eyes. "Look at me," they urge, "Appreciate meeeeeeee..."
Down a set of stairs, I come across a piece to my liking. I study the 1st floor evacuation plan, a collage of symbols, dungeons & dragons labyrinths, and green dashes. A fine piece of workmanship, beautiful and practical...as well as in brail. Walking along the secondary evacuation route, i exit to a winter afternoon sun beginning to bathe the damp ground in warmth. I seat myself on a wooden bench downstream of the coy pond.
Pathways of hope
Leading away from listlessness
Towards the salvation of education a new generation learns to march
Rank & File. Rank & File.
Between the paved cracks, splayed by roots
March On. March On.
Slipping in the dewy glen, brushed by grass
March On. March On.
Gazing, glancing, growing tall beneath the pines
Rank & File. Rank & File.
As soon as that last line is written, i am greeted by a joyous, bouncing beauty with a chest slightly bigger than what her petite frame would suggest. Our timing is impeccable.
"Lee, i kicked sooo much ass on that final. I even got all the ID's."
"Awesome baby doll. Do you want to hear what i've been up to?"
"No. I'm hungry. Lets eat."
"Ok. I can dig."
When am i not hungry? Post eating, and post physically dragging this girl away from the make up and shoe departments at Nordstrom's, her lithe frame wiggles free of my anti-consumerism grasp and dashes into the San Rio store at the mall. I sit below the escalator, whom i like. Because when he breaks down, he can only become stairs. The out-of-order sign would read: Temporarily Stairs - Sorry for the Convenience. I wait momentarily outside the store.
Colors of childhood
Blankets of gender
Molded & pinked into fashion
In route upon the bus away from campus and its nearby mall, i notice the date displayed on the LCD screen behind the drivers seat. "December 21, 2007. I don't know why, but today feels like a special day." "Ehh, what about your iPod?" she says in reply.
"Whoever has my iPod is one lucky ass bastard. Not only do they have a kick-ass collection of tunes, they have in their possession a lovely picture i attained when i first bought it. You know, that one with apple stickers?" "Oh my!" "They better appreciate all it has to offer."
If you find a black iPod with a picture on it that loosely resembles the drawing below, contact me.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Witchcraft: 11-10-07 @ Slim's in San Francisco
Since travels are over...here's a music concert review.
The first time I see the Swedish band, Witchcraft, they are sandwiched between the fire-breathing outfit, Rosemary’s Billygoat and the inanely dressed rockers, Green Jello. This is a Saturday night in Hollywood. I am one of only three fans positioned stage-front when the set starts. Seven songs later, I am one of 25.
A year goes by and Witchcraft has just released their third album, “The Alchemist” on Rise Above Records. In celebration of their rising flame in the aptly named stoner-rock genre, the band makes a stop at Slim’s in San Francisco as they travel north on their 2nd U.S. tour. I am not missing them.
This will be my second experience with Witchcraft. I realize I am now one of over a hundred fans. The show plays out like this.
Witchcraft: Four wart nosed ladies with ratty coarse black hair, streaked grey with the screams of their victims virginal countenance, gather 'round their cauldron of toil-trouble boil-bubble to pound doom-e psychedelic swirls upon my ears so subtle. I'm lost. Without the help of pearly stones to guide my way home I wander the paths of the occult between skeleton-branched trees and clinging fog shimmering beneath the wane of the yellow moon.
They reveal their origins to me in spine shivering warmth: "I was born past midnight, 'neath the gloom of the darkest moon-ah. Oh my mother was a burning wiiitch, and my father was a preacher-ooorr," as well as their intentions. "Chylde of fire burn the liar noooow!"
I stumble, unable to run. Upturned hands with spell-crooked fingers gather around me, as if the audience grasps an orb that foresees my doom. Other hands display the typical devil horns with pinky and index finger held up to mock the heavens and revel in the heavy majesty of sweltering blues-tinged guitar solos over 70's Sabbath drenched riffing. The thunderous drums impending thump chases one, as the Cream-laden bass tones engulf thee. The occult like lyrics delivered in sinewy Swedish accented charm, entrance and weave their magic (The 70’s band Pentagram comes to mind). Helpless I am to Witchcraft.
I knew coming here would spell the end for me. To travel to Slim's in San Francisco to see this 4-piece Swedish stoner-doom-metal outfit was not of my own volition after being enchanted by a listen from their 3rd release, "The Alchemist".
At first glance, you'd never suspect their dark background; the band consists of 4 guys, rather lanky & tall, with manes of long hair, in bell-bottom jeans and vintage t-shirts. The bassist Ola Hendrikkson looked exactly like David Gilmour from “Dark Side of the Moon” era Pink Floyd, while lead guitarist John Hoyles resembled a blond Jimmy Page. I couldn't help but notice the vocalist/guitarist, Magnus Pelander, was wearing a "TooL" t-shirt; when he wasn't playing guitar or singing, he was pointing to it.
At one rather light moment during the set, Hoyles rattles off a solo, while Pelander gives a shout, “Washing Machine!” The singer proceeds to swing his hips in circles as if trying to keep afloat an invisible hula-hoop.
With Fredrik Jansson on drums, Witchcraft worked the whole crowd into a beer-swilling, head-pounding frenzy.
Beer cups thrown on stage: 3
People kicked out: 1
Fellows completely and utterly possessed out of their minds and half naked: 1
Times Witchcraft came back out on stage to appease the screaming masses: 2
Times "WITCHCRAFT" was chanted, screamed, yelled and hollered: hundreds
Check out the band’s other albums "Witchcraft" (2004) and "Firewood" (2005) at Rise Above Records. Until they make their 3rd U.S. tour, I wait once again to be placed beneath the fiery spell of Witchcraft.
http://www.myspace.com/witchcraftswe
http://www.riseaboverecords.com
- Lucifer Sam
The first time I see the Swedish band, Witchcraft, they are sandwiched between the fire-breathing outfit, Rosemary’s Billygoat and the inanely dressed rockers, Green Jello. This is a Saturday night in Hollywood. I am one of only three fans positioned stage-front when the set starts. Seven songs later, I am one of 25.
A year goes by and Witchcraft has just released their third album, “The Alchemist” on Rise Above Records. In celebration of their rising flame in the aptly named stoner-rock genre, the band makes a stop at Slim’s in San Francisco as they travel north on their 2nd U.S. tour. I am not missing them.
This will be my second experience with Witchcraft. I realize I am now one of over a hundred fans. The show plays out like this.
Witchcraft: Four wart nosed ladies with ratty coarse black hair, streaked grey with the screams of their victims virginal countenance, gather 'round their cauldron of toil-trouble boil-bubble to pound doom-e psychedelic swirls upon my ears so subtle. I'm lost. Without the help of pearly stones to guide my way home I wander the paths of the occult between skeleton-branched trees and clinging fog shimmering beneath the wane of the yellow moon.
They reveal their origins to me in spine shivering warmth: "I was born past midnight, 'neath the gloom of the darkest moon-ah. Oh my mother was a burning wiiitch, and my father was a preacher-ooorr," as well as their intentions. "Chylde of fire burn the liar noooow!"
I stumble, unable to run. Upturned hands with spell-crooked fingers gather around me, as if the audience grasps an orb that foresees my doom. Other hands display the typical devil horns with pinky and index finger held up to mock the heavens and revel in the heavy majesty of sweltering blues-tinged guitar solos over 70's Sabbath drenched riffing. The thunderous drums impending thump chases one, as the Cream-laden bass tones engulf thee. The occult like lyrics delivered in sinewy Swedish accented charm, entrance and weave their magic (The 70’s band Pentagram comes to mind). Helpless I am to Witchcraft.
I knew coming here would spell the end for me. To travel to Slim's in San Francisco to see this 4-piece Swedish stoner-doom-metal outfit was not of my own volition after being enchanted by a listen from their 3rd release, "The Alchemist".
At first glance, you'd never suspect their dark background; the band consists of 4 guys, rather lanky & tall, with manes of long hair, in bell-bottom jeans and vintage t-shirts. The bassist Ola Hendrikkson looked exactly like David Gilmour from “Dark Side of the Moon” era Pink Floyd, while lead guitarist John Hoyles resembled a blond Jimmy Page. I couldn't help but notice the vocalist/guitarist, Magnus Pelander, was wearing a "TooL" t-shirt; when he wasn't playing guitar or singing, he was pointing to it.
At one rather light moment during the set, Hoyles rattles off a solo, while Pelander gives a shout, “Washing Machine!” The singer proceeds to swing his hips in circles as if trying to keep afloat an invisible hula-hoop.
With Fredrik Jansson on drums, Witchcraft worked the whole crowd into a beer-swilling, head-pounding frenzy.
Beer cups thrown on stage: 3
People kicked out: 1
Fellows completely and utterly possessed out of their minds and half naked: 1
Times Witchcraft came back out on stage to appease the screaming masses: 2
Times "WITCHCRAFT" was chanted, screamed, yelled and hollered: hundreds
Check out the band’s other albums "Witchcraft" (2004) and "Firewood" (2005) at Rise Above Records. Until they make their 3rd U.S. tour, I wait once again to be placed beneath the fiery spell of Witchcraft.
http://www.myspace.com/witchcraftswe
http://www.riseaboverecords.com
- Lucifer Sam
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