One hundred freckles swept me up and kept me up
Now my chest is crashing under their hailstones
Restlessness gives way to sunshine
It rained everyday that I was in San Francisco on my holiday. I really didn’t care. I have a high tolerance for rain and grey. Also I’m not exactly a tourist there. I felt quite happy letting the puddles of water seep up my trousers. I like the blur that days like that create. I like how people fade under nature’s curtain call.
It’s hard for me to laud anymore praise or reverence for this place but everytime I’m there things seem very possible. Maybe it’s the heady recipe of positivity, insincerity, weed, startups, sunshine, self-righteousness, kindness, thinly veiled liberalism that borders on obnoxious self importance that makes for fun adventures – who knows.
From drag queen brunch on a Sunday to Mr Floppy’s Flophouse on a Tuesday it was a rapid succession of images and happenings that still hang suspended somewhere. Crawling through the dwarf sex rooms and wandering in the basement amongst blow up sex dolls were Madonna had a party was rather surreal, as was sitting in Liberace’s white Cadillac limo with the most beguiling 6ft something androgynous woman? The tour finished with me standing in the most amazing period piece bar that looks like a derelict building from the outside, they want to keep it hidden.
There was so much more that happened over the years but this blog post would not allow the images it requires… In time… What’s the rush… In other news this song from Sweden has captivated me unlike the dwarf sex rooms.