San Francisco III

My last night, hah. San Francisco excersised it's (un)holy hold over me and I stayed two more days. The day following the previous entry was eaten quickly in the visiting the Golden Gate Bridge (which wins the prize for Most Foggiest Tourist Attraction, and actually the fog was the most amazing thing about it - Downtown Frisco was sunny but two miles away the fog and wind waas so intense, at no point was it possible to see the top of the bridge - suspension wires stretching from apparently nowhere. From the middle of the bridge neither end could be seen, and even the waves breaking hundreds of feet below were pretty dim. It was pretty exultant, I'd say).



Afterwards I found my way to the 'Palace Of The Fine Arts' (awesome name, awesome idea, and it really is a palace) for the poetry reading of aforementioned International Poetry Festival. After sitting down (theatre like setting) and appreciating totally the little poems left on every arm-rest, I happened to glance down the row I was sitting on and, staggeringly, five seats down were Wallace and Jacky (See Asheville III in case youdon't remember. Which you won't). This was a wonderful suprise and we watched the poetry together and wined and had good times, before making our way to their flat in Oakland, singing along the streets (not drunkenly, we had a guitar and everything) and Jacky read me her poetry (beautiful), Walt Whitman's poetry (stunning), and and I returned some Ginsberg laaate into the night. Everybody in San Francisco is a poet or an artist of some kind. Wallace demonstrated this the next morning by playing me some actually erally good songs of his, then we returned into Frisco for mooore poetry.

We crammed into Cafe Trieste (beat hangout) but at some point Wallace left to make a phonecall, and then Jacky to see where he was. I, with my guitar and backpack and stuff actually couldn't leave, due to overcrowding. It became clear W+J weren't coming back, but some kind woman said I could come and sit with her, so I followed her through the throng irritating people with all my stuff. Then she discovered someone had taken her seats - anyway blah blah long story but I somehow ended up sitting with the poets, a yard from Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Jack Hirschmann asked me about Sheffield... crazy stuff. Anyhow running out of internet time so more later...