local legends get no respect. (i am not a huge hendrix fan and i use the term very loosely.) last year hendrix's "childhood home", a ramshackle crack den in the CD, was put on the market for a collosal sum by his half-brother. i don't know if it ever sold. it was probably bought for the land only, to be transformed into a luscious am/pm or similar.
the variety of garbage is sociologically entrancing. note the old-school safeway cart (and note that the nearest safeway is multiple blocks away.)
it reminded me of a picture i took on 30 december of a downtown trashbin. fucking starbucks jenga.
and then i thought of a few weeks ago, when i was wandering around the sculpture park- home of "don't touch the (HUGE METAL OUTDOOR EXTREMELY DURABLE) art" signs- and saw a man scrubbing the calder "eagle". did i already post this? it is colorful and ridiculous enough that i shall do it again.
municipal priorities are woefully misguided here. i passed at least a dozen people sleeping in doorways whilst walking around today. last night, post-hendrix, i was accosted in front of a hotel by a very classily-dressed older woman who resembled an asian anna wintour. she started on a convoluted diatribe about her abusive boyfriend and her 15yr old son who had to be up for school in the morning- and it became apparent as she babbled that something was amiss. a security guard suddenly materialized as i was saying "no, i don't have any money, i'm so sorry." she darted off after a man at the corner. "i was trying to save you" the guard said. "she's a heroin addict. what story did she tell you?" i reiterated, lamely adding "she's dressed very nicely." "she was out here all day yesterday too, coming into the lobby to puke in the bathroom" he said scornfully. "she's a damn addict." he asked me where i was going, if i needed to have a cab called, if i wanted any hot chocolate. "be careful out here" he said. "you're walking like you know where you're going, and that's good, but there's some crazy people around."
"my naive vibe will keep them at bay" i said cheerily. and yes, like a douchebag, i really fucking said that. he laughed, i laughed. i thanked him and walked off, clutching my bag, feeling grateful for random kindness and horribly sad about the shit that lurks everywhere else.
today i went to v's. her physical therapist was there when i arrived (carrying 12# of apples, among other things). i was cleaning her bathroom mirror and trying to not listen to their conversation in the other room. she was being asked about her depression, incontinence, pain- and i was inwardly panicking. not only for her, but for myself, wondering what i'll be like 5 years from now. i am currently very pleased to be strutting around the city, up and down hills, carrying heinous bags of fruit, capably (albeit apathetically) remaining employed- but she was probably like that once too. and i cannot help but feel like a fucking asshole to have the same diagnosis but a very different manifestation.
and i cannot stand her kid. today he shat in the bathroom with the door wide open, making dramatic groaning noises as i sat in plain view in the living room. i went into another room out of mortification and revulsion, hearing him flush the toilet repeatedly. his grandmother began yelling at him in serbian; he was yelling back. he probably clogged the fucking thing. the apartment stank of crap. i was scrubbing the mirrors and windows with cleaner that left horrid streaks, inching around piles of adult diapers and medications as v continued to answer questions in increasingly frustrated yet strainedly polite broken english, and i thought: i fucking hate every bit of this situation- for everyone involved.
'tis a fine time for a happy image:
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