Information Gladly Given But Safety Requires Avoiding Unnecessary Conversation *

My home page is http://sfbay.craigslist.org/ but that could change since I no longer need an apartment or a job.

Can this be true? I no longer need an apartment or a job. Repeating it doesn't make it true but might evoke in your mind the extent of my hesitance to credit my new reality. And it's a clue to my étât d'âme, or state of soul, bleery, ecstatic, inchoate.

As if words could ever express existence! See Lao Tzu. As if Occidental characters could ever express Oriental sounds. I know I'm not supposed to say Oriental but I'm not sure why. Because Occidentals objectified Orientals, I guess. But my offline, thin-crinkly-paper Webster's 2nd International reveals the etymology's based on the perceived action of the sun, that heavenly body, which "falls" in the west and "rises" in the east. So it's a matter of perspective.

Existence is beyond the power of words to express.—Lao Tzu

Today I rose in the west of San Francisco and am now sitting on an unfamiliar couch with a view of the ocean. Yes, I can see sea level from my livingroom. This is a lifelong dream, having been raised on the beach but having never lived 100 yards away. Just over the sand dune breaks the Pacific. In the other direction, the end of line for the streetcar.

Some enlightened being traced a mandala in the sand at Ocean Beach.

Wow. Out the window nothing but sky and a bland boxy beige apartment building blocking further consciousness of the great aquatic realms and beyond, the mysteries of the Orient. Or do I mean Occident?

Well, they're mysteries to me. Except tea, chopsticks, Lao Tse, Yukio Mishima, zazen.

Last night we had an impromptu dinner party, my new roommates and I and one of their young friends. I say "young" the way they said "old." I was startled by the abrupt yawning of the generation gap, startled to find myself on the other side. I kept silent because in their eyes I'm old and in mine.

Uh-oh. One of my roommates just woke up, or just made her existence audible, coming down the hall to pee. I said I wasn't going to blog about them because in a moment of desperation I included my Velvetpark url in responses to craigslist why-not-share-an-apartment-since-you-can't-afford-your-own-and-this-way-you-might-meet-some-cool-chicks listings, so I now cohabitate with a reader. She does have other fish to feed, in the newly minted vegan-approved idiom, but I have to watch it. People flip out when you write about them, unless they're hardcore narcissists.

The wavy-gravy logo of San Francisco's Municipal Railway.

I said "uh-oh" because I'm sitting in her spot by the window. No, I said "uh-oh" because I lost my train of thought. The awareness of this other human preparing to barge into the common area completely distracts me from the delicate task of typing whatever crosses my mind.

She didn't barge. She said she's starting to get nervous about her upcoming trip to China. She leaves tomorrow, she needs to pack. I told her to go with gifts and return with clothes. On our second morning of cohabitation, she's kind enough to welcome unsolicited advice.

I always took See's candy to France, I say, and California wine, which those from-the-cradle wine connaisseuses graciously appreciated. California wine, something we actually produce locally. And why not some of those hippy-dippy rainbow tie-dye t-shirts? She'd been thinking bongs. That's it! Take 'em a head trip, the ultimate San Francisco treat.

*sign on the MUNI operator's door