My Poetry!

She flits back and forth between worlds,

this felicitous fliss,
faerie of unseen streams,
sprite plagued by early night,
pixie of sharp-toothed dreams,

she alights like a cat on a windowsill
locked-gaze tail-tip flips,
voice sipping from the english well,
words tripping out like bells

tinny but firm, warm and canny,
collected, minted, sprinted
trading tacts as needs require,
trading lute for sword, shield for lyre,

self-assurance sings proud harmony
from gold glint of red hair
from freckles on face fair
and from behind the shadows of her eyes.

from hiding it sings out
so all the world can hear,
all but the singer's bearer
the nimble wide-eyed faerie

her own warmth flees her body
lest it scorch her,
her own light bends around her eyes
lest it blind her,
her own voice sounds to her a stranger
lest it shake her,

and so she taps foot impetuous
for new stories to anticipate and to remember

---

Seeking out another daemon
for her collection,
the sort that coos
struts preens her
perched on shoulder
one to whisper secrets in the dark,

another portal to prism worlds
another funhouse mirror mask
another voice in the chromatic chorus

another tendril stretching out
another tap root reaching down
another bond to warm strong earth

compelled to tease and to console,
grinning daemon in her bag
delighting in my daemon role,

peeking out in furtive looks
shyly out up upon her face
then flee to hidden darkness
to daemon desires sate
and whether it ended win or fail
back to tell the winking tale

told to bleed the liquid out
told for mischief or for moral
told with pride or with chagrin
told for a chide or for a grin
told to stretch time or remember
told to feed the burning ember.

---

Whimsy haired harrowed-eyed
fire faerie fliss
curses falcon with delight when missed,

falcon, cat, ferret, bat unseen
blight her light air temperament
stalk her real day, and night dream.

she fashions from firs crude effigies,
kisses them misses them
worships their blazing agonies

dances bold spite in beloved ashes,
mask incomplete against outward sorrow
still ever watchful of shadow's morrow

ever on jaded bleary-eyed alert
ever preyed by sharp-toothed jaws
out-stretched claws
hooked beak maws,
she flees her world, takes flight
to seek sun amidst her night

reaches out to heat-kissed climes
to glowing worlds of ease and limes
shiny new with scarce the scars of time
and there arrives still weary still alert,
to sound and memory pointed ears still perk,
worlds apart, yet finds there too shadows lurk

the sun unsheathed reaches ever higher,
shadows the deeper for sun the brighter.
vivid reminders of the great unlit fire

pyre towering in separated minds
pyre ensconced by distance and time
pyre unlit by burning ember mine

---

Here we sit on toadstools,
looking out across
the wide white ring,
scrunched-face tongues out
:P :P

threads twin the old dance
in the new strange flying way,
separated by glass,
lost across worlds
am i not a sufficient muse, you ask

winked guiles, ambiguous smiles,
when heart's at cross with mind
noon-time lightning dreams drift by
red-haired white pixie fury-lit sky

wind paves, hair waves
baby cries, hair flies
lip bears, hair tears
baby lies, tree sighs

rain-washed time lingers,
kind familiar aches
dry mineral taste
(stone ever flakes),

threads twin the old dance
in the new strange flying way,
separated by glass,
lost across worlds
am i not a sufficient muse, you ask

and here yet we remain on toadstools,
looking out across
the wide blazing magic ring,
scrunched-face tongues out
:P :P

it is the mirthful squint of eyes unseen
that urges me write to the english dawn,
it is the pink of our outstretched tongues
that makes me smile that wry smile

how I came to my felicity
how sprites sprint spinningly
why pixies sip the bitterblossom
why faeries flit between worlds,

if I have an inkling
it's above us winking,

trees still sighing
hair ever flying
bells ever ringing
plump pink raspberries ever singing

Guest Poetry!

The following was written for me by the most excellent Fliss Davies, to whom I owe my humblest thanks for flattering my delusions of self-importance:

Through the mists of your ever expanding ego
the ship of vulnerability slowly navigates
sometimes disappearing behind rising waves of bravado
but ever present
it traces a course that leaves doubts in its wake

The ship has sails of silver
and an unmanned tiller
and a mast that rises to the sky
other ships sail with the wind
but your boat is cast adrift
its compass spinning and its sails hanging
limp and dry

reaching the top of a wave
the husk of the hull tilts, uneasy
it might capsize
turn turtle in the sea
until there is nothing left but keel
a solitary monument to possibility
surrounded by the mist
rising out of the ocean

there is a dawning comprehension

the sheets groan
the sails pulled in tight
the course upwind
a beam reach of free air
under the moon's glare
and the questioning quiet

the ship breaks free
sails away from the mist
but now what will protect it?
There are monsters here not fond of mist nor fog
but fond of teasing small ships
playing with planks until they are pulled apart

you revel in destruction
seek the monsters out
hand your ship to the cruellest
to keep as a toy
it clutches the fragile frame within its gnarled and twisted fingers
and crushes wood beneath their weight

what happens now?
your boat is gone
the canvas floats with salt
there will be more ships
you are building one now
this one has blue sails and a golden mast

maybe this one will travel further

Mystery on Haight Street

The following is a bizarre bit of city life not for the faint of heart. It dates to this past spring, while I was still living in Upper Haight:

I was walking to Haight (at my usual double-time) and unconsciously stepped over something (like a seasoned San Fransican). Out of the corner of my eye, I noted that it wasn't the usual pee stain, turd or bar puke. Indeed, it was about a two foot long strip of ambiguous brown goo, and right next to it was a dead baby bird. I've passed this apparition a few more times in the course of the last couple days, and a certain morbid curiosity has gnawed at the back of my mind. What could have possibly made such a singular assemblage? Perhaps Sherlock Holmes has finally gone to my head.

In any case, when passing it this evening something clicked and I think I finally have an explanation for it. I'd assumed the strip to be diarrhea and couldn't place the bird into any kind of narrative and certainly I couldn't think of a plausible way that diarrhea could be laid out so evenly and in such a straight line. The bird did suggest one of the crusties' dogs was somehow involved, though.The bird was at the age that it probably had fallen out of the nest while testing its wings. My epiphany was that the goo wasn't diarrhea-- it was vomit!

One of the crusties' dogs must have swallowed the marooned baby bird whole in its eagerness. Then, the bird, whether through struggling or just because it was pointy and feathery, caused the dog to vomit. But not just any vomit-- projectile vomit. The unusually dark color and smooth consistency of the vomit can be explained by an atypical, homeless-person's-dog diet. I'm not sure what would cause this though, maybe pure meat? Or kale, perhaps?

Touring San Francisco: Some Recommendations

I love to show people around my city, but I can't always be there to do it. In one such case, I wrote up a quick list of recommendations of things to do and places to go in SF. I hope this will be useful for readers coming to The Dilettante via the googles, but for people who know me please don't use this as an excuse not to avail yourselves of my tour-guiding skillz. Without further ado:

-Burma Superstar on Clement St has great food. They'll have a long wait but you can give them your cell number and tool around the neat Clement St neighborhood while you wait. Make sure somebody orders the tea leaf salad.

-Mission Chinese (at Mission and 18th st) is some of the best asian fusion in the city. Go very early in the evening to avoid too long of a wait and definitely order the Ma Po Tofu.

-Make sure to get a burrito at some point. El Farolito is the "classic" one, but a lot of taquerias around Mission St are better, including Taqueria Cancun (mission and 19th) and Taqueria Vallarta (Balmy and 24th st near mission).

-Make sure to visit Chinatown (it's way bigger than the one in Montreal), and go during the day because a lot of it closes early. The main street is Grant, but you should also swing up to Stockton to see all of the markets. Chinatown turns into little Italy at Grant and Broadway which is pretty cute.

-If you happen to be in SF on a sunny weekend day, hang out at Dolores Park and people watch and maybe get an ice cream at the nearby Bi-Rite (its worth waiting in line for). The park is between the Mission (the hipster-type neighborhood) and the Castro (the gay epicenter of N America).

-Get coffee at either Sightglass, FourBarrel (first two have cool ambiance-- they roast the beans in the back), Ritual or Blue Bottle. You have never had coffee like this.

-Hike to the top of one of SF's scenic hills. Bernal Heights is good and it's near the Mission, Corona Heights is great and above the Castro, and Telegraph Hill is above little Italy. Telegraph doesn't have as broad a view of the city, but it is very pretty and still has great views.

-If you have some time, hiking around Lands End park (great view of the GG bridge) to the Sutro baths (crazy ruins) and ending at the Cliffhouse for a drink is a rad afternoon.

-There are plenty of museums if you're interested. The de Young is our big art museum and it's in the lovely Golden Gate Park.

-Cafe Flore in the Castro is a good place to get brunch at and people-watch. Thorough Bread bakery is a cheaper (less scenic but extremely delicious) way to brunch in the same area.

Playlists: Sarah 3

I don't remember exactly when I made this, the third playlist for Sarah, but it was somewhere in the middle of things, while we were living in Excelsior. The music is also perhaps the most rounded, rocking, and generally conducive to a good time and it's the one I've most frequently used to provide people with an introduction to my musical taste, partly because the lyrical content is less explicitly romantic.

Of course, elements still recall that relationship, with the immortal song title "What Do You Want Me To Say?" (Mad Men, anyone?) and the gentle sincerity of "Balancing Act" and "He's My Star". "Nod Scene" and "Rebel Girl" were both homages to the sense of "fuck you" hipsterism that Sarah can evoke and the sense of cool that the two of us constructed together.

Sarah particularly enjoyed the tempered idealism of the original Mommyheads track that unfortunately had to be substituted on the Grooveshark listing, "Tension", which can be sampled here and whose lyrics I hope capture the spirit that pervades this very blog:  "I believe in cream puffs and apple pies/ I believe in nectarines and tangerines/ I believe in peace and love and understanding/ I believe in loving you eternally/ I believe in everything that you believe in/ but I also believe in tension/ I also believe in tension."

If you only have time to listen to one song, I encourage you to listen to the epic closer, "Tales of Endurance", because it is just incredible. Whatever the case, please enjoy this small slice of my musical world.

Playable playlist
http://grooveshark.com/playlist/For+Sarah+3/81911208

Original tracklist
https://www.dropbox.com/s/ycpxxix6vxllgkp/Sarah3playlist.xls