(no subject)
it has been one week since i moved to the little condo in san francisco.
i've seen alot of "crazies" so far and always find it interesting that whenever one of these people demonstrate a little "tantrum" or however you would describe it, passersby always seem to chuckle a bit.
like they were thinking, "and i thought i had it bad."
the other night i "talked" to a homeless man on polk street for about thirty minutes. he told me his name was sparky anderson and that he hated his dad for naming him after a dog. then he proceeded to ask me my name and how to spell it out at least five times. i didn't exactly know of the right time to leave, since he would begin telling me some strange polish lightbulb jokes and then start mumbling to himself while staring off into the distance, never finishing them.
while waiting for a bus out of the mission, i saw a decrepit looking creature of a woman walking across 18th street while skillfully twirling a long unidentifiable metal object behind her in the same fashion as a twelve year old cheerleader wielding her baton. she wore baggy overalls and seemed to be holding a great deal of valuables inside those overalls. her hair was sort of shaved on the sides and wore what was left of it in a tight pony-tail. this puffy looking woman wobbled to a corner garbage can and found a half eaten burger in a styrofoam container. using the lid of the garbage can as her plate, she carefully savored every little bite. as if she were unsatisfied by this little morsel, she walked down mission street, tearing off all paper advertisements from telephone poles while shouting obscenities. she then used her baton-esque instrument as a baseball bat, hitting her home runs into every parking meter she passed. after she was just out of my sight, i heard her shout "I didn't spend twelve years in the mental hospital for this."
every once in a while, when i'm walking down the street, trying to catch a bus home after having dinner by myself, i'd find myself talking to myself for no real reason. i'd discuss the weather, or read the names of certain stores to myself, laughing. after a while i would realize what i was doing and stop. i never really felt that concerned. i would tell myself out loud how one time i heard that isolation causes insanity, or something. as i was saying this i would watch as passersby quietly chuckled to themselves.
i've seen alot of "crazies" so far and always find it interesting that whenever one of these people demonstrate a little "tantrum" or however you would describe it, passersby always seem to chuckle a bit.
like they were thinking, "and i thought i had it bad."
the other night i "talked" to a homeless man on polk street for about thirty minutes. he told me his name was sparky anderson and that he hated his dad for naming him after a dog. then he proceeded to ask me my name and how to spell it out at least five times. i didn't exactly know of the right time to leave, since he would begin telling me some strange polish lightbulb jokes and then start mumbling to himself while staring off into the distance, never finishing them.
while waiting for a bus out of the mission, i saw a decrepit looking creature of a woman walking across 18th street while skillfully twirling a long unidentifiable metal object behind her in the same fashion as a twelve year old cheerleader wielding her baton. she wore baggy overalls and seemed to be holding a great deal of valuables inside those overalls. her hair was sort of shaved on the sides and wore what was left of it in a tight pony-tail. this puffy looking woman wobbled to a corner garbage can and found a half eaten burger in a styrofoam container. using the lid of the garbage can as her plate, she carefully savored every little bite. as if she were unsatisfied by this little morsel, she walked down mission street, tearing off all paper advertisements from telephone poles while shouting obscenities. she then used her baton-esque instrument as a baseball bat, hitting her home runs into every parking meter she passed. after she was just out of my sight, i heard her shout "I didn't spend twelve years in the mental hospital for this."
every once in a while, when i'm walking down the street, trying to catch a bus home after having dinner by myself, i'd find myself talking to myself for no real reason. i'd discuss the weather, or read the names of certain stores to myself, laughing. after a while i would realize what i was doing and stop. i never really felt that concerned. i would tell myself out loud how one time i heard that isolation causes insanity, or something. as i was saying this i would watch as passersby quietly chuckled to themselves.