(Photo dump at the bottom of the this entry)
The sound of racing paws soared from kitchen tile to thin carpet, and a chattering among two cats forced to be best friends, unlike the owners who became so naturally, are a reminder that I'm waking up in Oakland, and that it's early as hell. My face is smashed into the comfort of a single pillow on the cushions of a sofa whose back is often used as a window-gazing perch for these curious cats. I'm here again. I visited in April and then returned in June. I'm in the home of Rambo, Andrew, and Kelsey. Three best friends who started living together roughly when I visited the first time. The initial trip was to finally meet Rambo, a model and photographer with whom I conversed mostly through online correspondence. The second, a vacation. There wasn't much on the books, though I did have a few shoots lined up.
The Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) ended up being the fastest and most convenient way to experience San Francisco. It dragged me in from the airport into Oakland and shot me underneath the water back into the Bay area. As I waited in the tunnels, I couldn't help but think of my travels through Western Europe. Though I had the comfort of knowing those around me mostly spoke English, there were particular times when the diversity really made me unsure. The BART's entrance into the tunnel brought forth a strong, cool wind, calming the temperature in my body, momentarily affected by the California underground.
I made conversation with a local on one of the cars, asking the best spots for sushi, or things to see, but as she talked to me, I glanced over her shoulder. There was a woman trying to take engaging, moody portraits of the man she was with. She donned a dusty, thin black leather jacket, and wore purple streaks throughout her black hair. She was unaffected by the silence of ipad-browsing headset-wearing locals who never left the light of their electronic devices. The man leaned forward in his seat, trying to stage an emotion for the photograph. He looked like a well-dressed homeless man, perhaps even the day a man becomes homeless, before all his clothes become worn, yet still knows he must keep warm.
Such is the trend of fashion, in a hipper sense, I suppose.
"I'm just a little tired, I guess, not really in the mood," the man said to her.
"Oh, maybe later, then," she responded.
He looked away from her to a cigarette in his hand and then to me. I returned my eyes to the woman originally speaking to me. She recommended a few places, and after we departed the transit, we went up the escalator together. In front of us, there was an elderly lady gazing up and into an old building, the only sight upon exiting the darkness of the transit tunnels. People had gathered all around the Powell exit, where trollies were full of tourists, and street musicians played one or even up to 4 instruments at a time. I made my way past the crowds to Union Square. Paintings were on display in the center of the square, surrounded by outdoor cafes, and lounging couples enjoying the sun and a brisk wind. I had made my rounds of the main streets in the area and then headed off to the Chinatown district. My tour was brief, as the sun was setting, but all the while I noticed men and women alike looking my direction, perhaps in a search of something familiar.
I found myself sitting alone at the sushi bar in a popular sushi joint near the Chinatown district. One couple sat next to me, and some conversation revealed they had lived in Boulder for a year. I'm never surprised to hear that most people have either lived in, or heard of, Boulder, Colorado. I was in a mall in Barcelona once, in 2006, and someone working at the random vendor was very familiar with the city, too.
I ordered a light snack of tuna and salmon sushi, then headed on my way. It felt nice to be alone in a new city, having no one to worry about, not even myself.
For years, I've been on an endless quest for meaning to nearly everything. Life. Work. Money. Wealth. Women. Friendships. For four days, this search stopped, and I just 'was' without question. From car-hopping through the underground of the Bay area to Oakland, partying at a warehouse converted into a home, or lying in the sun at a pond surrounded by freeways, I felt no pressure. Every interaction was just a moment and I was just a person. I didn't have to worry about the confusing awkwardness that is human social behavior.
The last night of my journey, I stayed up until I had to leave for my flight at 5 a.m. I recall a moment around 3:00 a.m. sitting in the corner of Rambo's bed, chatting with her. The most lucid, real, and honest moment of my life. I poured out a series of confessional thoughts, but in no way did I feel judgement in return. In the span of a half-hour, the partying, always friendly woman who I had only known for a few brief vacation trips, had this endearing, mother-like quality, and in her I could feel a connection -- a bond being formed.
"The world is strange how it works," she said to me, "whatever events up unto this point had let us to be friends."
And I just appreciated it, no questioning.
This train of thought and these series of moments kept me awake into my flight, despite being up for 24 hours. Flipping through a copy of the American Vogue with Emma Watson on the cover revealed an advertisement of Stacy London (from TLC's What Not to Wear) and the lady next to me muttered something.
"What?" I groggily asked while removing my glasses.
"I was on that show once," she said.
"Oh, I've always had a crush on Stacy London. Did the show work?" I inquired.
"She's sweet, and no, it didn't. Katrina ended up taking everything away."
We conversed about her lesbian daughter and gay brother. Katrina. Living in Montana. What Not to Wear.
Normally I just sleep on the plane.
San Francisco opened a door in my consciousness. Events with friends and other experiences matured me in a way I can't quite identify. It's as if I'm solidifying how I feel about my contribution to the world, realizing it's not about the meaning, but being the meaning. Making moments. Being.
This realization has been a long time coming.
Rambo and her roommate Andrew, along with a sunny park and other friends.
The sound of racing paws soared from kitchen tile to thin carpet, and a chattering among two cats forced to be best friends, unlike the owners who became so naturally, are a reminder that I'm waking up in Oakland, and that it's early as hell. My face is smashed into the comfort of a single pillow on the cushions of a sofa whose back is often used as a window-gazing perch for these curious cats. I'm here again. I visited in April and then returned in June. I'm in the home of Rambo, Andrew, and Kelsey. Three best friends who started living together roughly when I visited the first time. The initial trip was to finally meet Rambo, a model and photographer with whom I conversed mostly through online correspondence. The second, a vacation. There wasn't much on the books, though I did have a few shoots lined up.
The Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) ended up being the fastest and most convenient way to experience San Francisco. It dragged me in from the airport into Oakland and shot me underneath the water back into the Bay area. As I waited in the tunnels, I couldn't help but think of my travels through Western Europe. Though I had the comfort of knowing those around me mostly spoke English, there were particular times when the diversity really made me unsure. The BART's entrance into the tunnel brought forth a strong, cool wind, calming the temperature in my body, momentarily affected by the California underground.
I made conversation with a local on one of the cars, asking the best spots for sushi, or things to see, but as she talked to me, I glanced over her shoulder. There was a woman trying to take engaging, moody portraits of the man she was with. She donned a dusty, thin black leather jacket, and wore purple streaks throughout her black hair. She was unaffected by the silence of ipad-browsing headset-wearing locals who never left the light of their electronic devices. The man leaned forward in his seat, trying to stage an emotion for the photograph. He looked like a well-dressed homeless man, perhaps even the day a man becomes homeless, before all his clothes become worn, yet still knows he must keep warm.
Such is the trend of fashion, in a hipper sense, I suppose.
"I'm just a little tired, I guess, not really in the mood," the man said to her.
"Oh, maybe later, then," she responded.
He looked away from her to a cigarette in his hand and then to me. I returned my eyes to the woman originally speaking to me. She recommended a few places, and after we departed the transit, we went up the escalator together. In front of us, there was an elderly lady gazing up and into an old building, the only sight upon exiting the darkness of the transit tunnels. People had gathered all around the Powell exit, where trollies were full of tourists, and street musicians played one or even up to 4 instruments at a time. I made my way past the crowds to Union Square. Paintings were on display in the center of the square, surrounded by outdoor cafes, and lounging couples enjoying the sun and a brisk wind. I had made my rounds of the main streets in the area and then headed off to the Chinatown district. My tour was brief, as the sun was setting, but all the while I noticed men and women alike looking my direction, perhaps in a search of something familiar.
I found myself sitting alone at the sushi bar in a popular sushi joint near the Chinatown district. One couple sat next to me, and some conversation revealed they had lived in Boulder for a year. I'm never surprised to hear that most people have either lived in, or heard of, Boulder, Colorado. I was in a mall in Barcelona once, in 2006, and someone working at the random vendor was very familiar with the city, too.
I ordered a light snack of tuna and salmon sushi, then headed on my way. It felt nice to be alone in a new city, having no one to worry about, not even myself.
For years, I've been on an endless quest for meaning to nearly everything. Life. Work. Money. Wealth. Women. Friendships. For four days, this search stopped, and I just 'was' without question. From car-hopping through the underground of the Bay area to Oakland, partying at a warehouse converted into a home, or lying in the sun at a pond surrounded by freeways, I felt no pressure. Every interaction was just a moment and I was just a person. I didn't have to worry about the confusing awkwardness that is human social behavior.
The last night of my journey, I stayed up until I had to leave for my flight at 5 a.m. I recall a moment around 3:00 a.m. sitting in the corner of Rambo's bed, chatting with her. The most lucid, real, and honest moment of my life. I poured out a series of confessional thoughts, but in no way did I feel judgement in return. In the span of a half-hour, the partying, always friendly woman who I had only known for a few brief vacation trips, had this endearing, mother-like quality, and in her I could feel a connection -- a bond being formed.
"The world is strange how it works," she said to me, "whatever events up unto this point had let us to be friends."
And I just appreciated it, no questioning.
This train of thought and these series of moments kept me awake into my flight, despite being up for 24 hours. Flipping through a copy of the American Vogue with Emma Watson on the cover revealed an advertisement of Stacy London (from TLC's What Not to Wear) and the lady next to me muttered something.
"What?" I groggily asked while removing my glasses.
"I was on that show once," she said.
"Oh, I've always had a crush on Stacy London. Did the show work?" I inquired.
"She's sweet, and no, it didn't. Katrina ended up taking everything away."
We conversed about her lesbian daughter and gay brother. Katrina. Living in Montana. What Not to Wear.
Normally I just sleep on the plane.
San Francisco opened a door in my consciousness. Events with friends and other experiences matured me in a way I can't quite identify. It's as if I'm solidifying how I feel about my contribution to the world, realizing it's not about the meaning, but being the meaning. Making moments. Being.
This realization has been a long time coming.
Rambo and her roommate Andrew, along with a sunny park and other friends.
Awkward prom pic:
Rambo and I.
Set information:
Vyro's Vanity Affair is still in review:
Sid's Little Black Dress is coming June 30th:
AiliFaye's Sweet Ember is coming July 8th:
vaudevillelust's first Hopeful set is being submitted this week:
Saint and I shot a few sets that will go into review a bit later in the year:
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
Butttttt, I especially love this one because it reminds me of the first time I rode bart in 5th grade! All of the people you describe remind me of people I've seen myself. I grew up in the valley (I know Andrew from high school, haha) so I love making visits to the bay area/hearing about other people taking trips there