Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Fog City

Today was hot. How hot was it? I haven't seen the news but I would guess a record was set. But now, sitting here with the windows open, can you believe it, the golden sun is setting. Not before it reflects the soft twilight off the alabaster apartments, tiered on the adjacent hillside. I want to continue but I've had an urge to add a music video, just to see if it's possible. It sounds like a good idea to me. Boom- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvSqWvLenlU&feature=related. Now let's see if it is live or memorex, an old jingle, I'm sure no one will get it. Actually as nightfall descends I may have to turn on a light. I really don't want to disturb the mauve hues coating the Eastern sky, but I'm counting on another day to remain awashed in this natural pleasure.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Fog City

My mind is reeling. It's late in the day and the sun has unceasingly radiated my cold gray world since dawn. I'm sure if this change persists the natives will be hysterically complaining about the intolerable heat. I never do. Just when the uninitiated dig their short sleeve shirts from the bottom of the drawers, the cool sea breeze forewarns of the imminent fog. Hallelujah!
    I visited the Studio Gallery to see if my auction bid was successful, but it wasn't even close. Greg Gandy the painter has a large and devout following who were willing to pay quite handsomely. I have three of his paintings anyway and frankly no money. It was an invigorating social gathering. I talked to other artists I knew, and have purchased their works. The auction was a success and the proceeds went to a worthy cause indeed.
    The Polk Street Fair was happening also. It was in direct competition with the Folsom Fair which draws the flamboyant. Polk was dead, no crowds, but the music was extremely good. Especially Kaye Bohler, a soul and blues diva who rocked. http://www.kayebohler.com/index.php All ye of young hearts check her out. Now I'm out

Monday, September 26, 2011

Fog City

It was dark. The fog lingered, moving slowly, thick like a shroud. I was leaning against the lamppost in a pool of light. No sound, not even a dog's bark. I was chilled from the moisture, searching, waiting. Waiting for what? Certainly not Godot. Anticipation, then in the penetrating fog emerged my Muse. Obviously I yearned for inspiration and guidance.
    Ah the night time is the right time, if only I could clear my mind for sleep. But alas with eyes closed, in bed, my mind is most fecund. It sorts, files, congeals, coagulates, separates, adheres, creates, reminisces, wishes, formulates, stratigizes, connives, hopes and eventually dreams. Yet to my utter chagrin upon awakening, I have no recollection of my great plans, capturing at most a rare nugget here and there.
    Sunday morning was typical. It began like so many, in the mist at Lincoln Park. Our golf club was holding one of it's championships. Contesting a golf competition at Lincoln has the disturbing affect of, not only vying for supremacy over fellow members, but vying to out battle the decrepit course conditions and inclement weather. Needless to say a fine golf shot is extremely satisfying faced with these adverse factors. Trying to maintain poise and conviviality throughout is our noble cause. Sometimes it works. I finished third, hurrah!