(no subject)
16 April
Back across the bay for a day in San Francisco. I began by walking up to the City Lights bookstore, and saw a few things that I might order from Amazon when I get home, but -- again, mindful of the space and weight in my luggage -- nothing that warranted an immediate purchase. I then went along Market Street and up Haight Street as far as the park. And "up" Haight Street is definitely the right word for it: I had forgotten just how hilly it is. And I spent about an hour and a half in Amoeba: I had also forgotten just how mind-bogglingly enormous that place is. It's a record shop like no other record shop on the planet (aside from their other branches in Berkeley and LA). And I really had to discipline myself, to prevent myself from buying a load of 78s: but, unfortunately, shellac really is prohibitively heavy (and fragile) for lugging about. But I did come away with a stack of CDs. Mostly Japanese ones, oddly enough, but with various others thrown into the mix too.
And then, in the evening, I went to see John Giorno. You're probably never heard of John Giorno, and I guess that's fair enough. In the early '60s, he was the subject of Andy Warhol's movie, 'Sleep' (not to mention also being Warhol's boyfriend): but, more to the point, he is a performance poet. And I realise that those two words probably fill your heart with dread. Ordinarily, they do mine: but he's the exception, the one worthwhile proponent of what is, more generally, a pretty vile genre. And I am rather fond of him. I got him to autograph a book for me some fourteen years ago, and I got him to autograph another one tonight. And he read -- or, I should say, performed -- some of his poems, including one that reflected on being with William Burroughs when he died. Funny that I should get to hear about that, just a matter of days after hearing Patti Smith's reflections on being with Allen Ginsberg when he died.
Back across the bay for a day in San Francisco. I began by walking up to the City Lights bookstore, and saw a few things that I might order from Amazon when I get home, but -- again, mindful of the space and weight in my luggage -- nothing that warranted an immediate purchase. I then went along Market Street and up Haight Street as far as the park. And "up" Haight Street is definitely the right word for it: I had forgotten just how hilly it is. And I spent about an hour and a half in Amoeba: I had also forgotten just how mind-bogglingly enormous that place is. It's a record shop like no other record shop on the planet (aside from their other branches in Berkeley and LA). And I really had to discipline myself, to prevent myself from buying a load of 78s: but, unfortunately, shellac really is prohibitively heavy (and fragile) for lugging about. But I did come away with a stack of CDs. Mostly Japanese ones, oddly enough, but with various others thrown into the mix too.
And then, in the evening, I went to see John Giorno. You're probably never heard of John Giorno, and I guess that's fair enough. In the early '60s, he was the subject of Andy Warhol's movie, 'Sleep' (not to mention also being Warhol's boyfriend): but, more to the point, he is a performance poet. And I realise that those two words probably fill your heart with dread. Ordinarily, they do mine: but he's the exception, the one worthwhile proponent of what is, more generally, a pretty vile genre. And I am rather fond of him. I got him to autograph a book for me some fourteen years ago, and I got him to autograph another one tonight. And he read -- or, I should say, performed -- some of his poems, including one that reflected on being with William Burroughs when he died. Funny that I should get to hear about that, just a matter of days after hearing Patti Smith's reflections on being with Allen Ginsberg when he died.