SAN FRANCISCO POETS
420 AND A VISION
I took a puff and wrote this down today the day after 420.
Earlier I had told my Therapist that I was tripping on acid in about 1970, probably on Owsley's in Golden Gate Park and met a Stanford cheerleader with a group of others. I went with her to listen to a choir singing Jesus songs where a chunky blond was weeping. One of the Moonies said that an angel had come down to him. My Therapist used the word “vision”. I believe it was the next day I went for breakfast. There the Reverend Moon was with his immediate family at breakfast, at least one of his kids was in a high chair. We ate scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. This is where the house is located on Sacramento, across from Lafayette Park, two lions are in front and there is a plague stating that Conan Doyle had stayed there. The next week we went up to Boonville and boy did I work hard up there on his farm. A good friend who was a painter, poet, and diabetic Dennis Gasman was worried that I might need to be deprogrammed. And I told my Therapist/Doctor this the day after 420. He in jest said that if I had stuck around I'd be married to her(the Standford cheerleader). “Still crazy after all these years”. Thank you Mr. Paul Simon. I took a puff and I was gone on that blissful 420 day and now.
Gone on tea.
When a holiday cheer and magic burst forth last night as usual and not, like an uncommon and unfoggy Paris, where here a sea of orange and black, and a most popular Halloween was celebrated. S an Francisco was full of vampires, ghouls, ETs, ghosts, and thousands more. Gorgeously stunning women were out; some were hardly dressed, some a voyeur’s delight, some ladies were out for something like a Hollywood thrill, and there were feminists as well. Halloween was accorded with trick or treat and transgenders, too. “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks” –-Jack. On T.V. suddenly you are there in the top of the 7th of Game Five of the World Series. Posey gets on first. Uribe gets on base. Huff sacrifice bunts. The fans from all walks of life scream, clap and stomp. Then the fans put out the Voodoo, the prayers, the hopes, and the dreams for Texas or San Francisco team winning the game and Series. It’s one out then two outs as Burrell takes a strike three. From Columbia Edgar Renteria cracks a mighty home run over left center field fence. And that makes it 3-0 SF ahead. A roar then all pandemonium broke out. North Beach restaurants and bars go berserk, so do Lefty O’Doul’s and Tommy’s Joynt, they go wild. The Mission was beaming, Cow Hallow screaming, and on the Hill the Fairmont Hotel swooned. And in Hunter’s Point Shipyard the dogs barked. The former President George W. Bush stands in a Texas blue sports coat watching the Rangers defeat. The Golden Gate swayed, where Chinese Americans smiled and Hip-Hop revelers stay cool. Feliz pitches well. Baumgarner warms up. But you could just taste the victory from the misfits to hero Giants. The torture and grit began in 1962, then it went to 1989 and quake, then to 2002. Now it had been released. Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Cepeda, Marichal, the Alou brothers, and on to Bonds—They had talent, they built this franchise and they played in Candlestick Park and later the team played at AT&T Park. Maybe it was a transmigration of the souls into a jazz idiom? Or a Cecil Williams/Glide celebration? I don’t know. My Muslim friends say “Salaam” and something. Somewhere the song “White Rabbit” played. San Francisco had its mojo back. You could feel it. Then there was the parade where the heroes stood tall including the pitchers Lincecum, thinking about his dog Cy, and Wilson, Romo, The Beards. Sandoval kept coming back for each at bat. Latino hitters Torres and Sanchez were there with our heroes, where Huff pulled out his red rally thong to the crowd. Some 1 ½ million assembled on Montgomery, up to Market Street on to City Hall. Mayor Newsom was proud, manager Bochy was humble and gave respect to all the players and fans. In the crowd there were gay, young, Asian, and Asian-Pacific Islanders, old, straight, Proposition 19 supporters—(you could take a big whiff), mamas,daddies,children, and plenty of tears, hugs and laughter. Right after the win Ross may have said it best, “We are not superstars, we are ordinary men.” Even some homeless in S.F. were happy. And Ron Washington and the pitcher Lee, and home run hitter Cruz and all their great team had given their all. You could touch the sky. It was pure transcendence with balloons, clowns, and cheer as a Phoenix rose. “Root, root, root for the home team.” And Mudville not.
Mike Aguzin(Ag ga zin) believes in the immortality of the soul with some wit.
He has mystical tendencies is a romantic, realist and believes in science.
Mike has handled over 2000 911 calls at the Granada Hotel.
See him on YouTube or Google him.
He is a bit sponstaniously surrealistic about San Francisco.