Copping out
By blogging… I am a blogger. That might be the worst derogative I can think of.
It’s less an exercise in writing, maybe more in public image.
Trying to capture a scene in Berkeley, there is so much that goes on here, the little sister to San Francisco. Just one of the siblings in the Bay, full of sisters and brothers all trying to make it their way.
I was just up all night from before in the city, the same old business that keeps folks busy. I had a date with a pretty thing from the East Bay proper, she got away to Santa Cruz. Those mountains, forests, and beaches were enough California for her for a while. She had her style and I was into it, that second wind coming as the sun rose on my last night.
She wasn’t just my last night. She can be every night, she can fill my days, twilights dawns til dusk with her speaking and… it’s just a tangent.
When I say she I mean a royal we, the kind of she you aren’t too familiar with, who you really got to say sorry to after all your relationships. Some evil came upon us, maybe we like to think from the outside, that human we have to look at in the eye. Ragged and disheveled from those streets and smoke coated, city life that rang every hippie out to dry. Why so many of my idols committed some type of suicide.
Some day I’ll write something great, I tell myself. Someday, I’ll sit down and spend my hours writing and it will finally culminate into a thing, and I can say:
Hey! Look at that thing I did! Isn’t it great?
I am a nuclear engineer. Not a nuclear physicist, they are not about things so much as it. I make things all the time! I make stuff! It talks to other invisible bits and doo-hickeys and dee-daws, before I know it there is a thing in my hand that is a bunch of stuff and it’s talking to us!
I think Berkeley is full of these kind of queers, a whole city with generations of social in-breds and secret fags, too sheltered for the life in San Francisco, what it has turned into after the wave crashed. Multiple recessions hit city life hard, and people’s lives hang in the balance; do people really want to move here?
The price of parking tickets really add up, another unseen weapon of gentrification, neoliberal softening of words disguising war tactics on the poor and Black.
This spot in Berkeley was a mile down from my new place, Eureka! it’s called. I couldn’t quite get a vibe about its patrons or regulars, it was a Sunday evening, about 11 pm, I am trying to avoid smoking a cigarette.
The only thing on my mind after some pussy and some dick: a fucking burger. I needed a thick ass, messy fucking burger with cheese and jalapenos, and I found the spot in town that does just that until midnight. The price was outrageous, they served bourbon, whiskey, rye, anything else brown too. There was a healthy amount of people there for business, let that speak for whatever else in this economy, in this location, kept afloat by these locals. Ugh. I hate it here. The perfect thing to wash down my liquor with.
