It's a rainy day here in Sad Frank's Disco. Strange dreams last night, of people I haven't seen or talked to it years. In one of them there may have been a death, and weird frogs, and in another there were scorpions and cat paws. All night my brain simmered in a curious hoodoo gumbo. I dreamt so much I felt tired when waking.
Yesterday I finished my taxes and squeezed in a morning workout before much of the day had gotten away from me. With what was left, I rented a car, packed in my camera gear and took a ride up to Mt. Tam. Once I entered the park I realized I'd never actually been inside it before. I'd only ever skirted around the edges while meandering through Muir woods on the way to Stinson Beach. The park is a gorgeous little oddity; vast and sprawling with thin trails that crest upwards over the spines of hills and mountains, the bay perched in the background looking like a miniature model of San Francisco, Mt. Tam owns a quiet peculiarity. It reminded me of giant sand dunes covered in grass and decorated with little orange flowers. When the wind would blow the grass would ripple in waves, like the fur of a long haired dog. As I drove into the park I was greeted by two people waving at me conspicuously, so I did what any rational thinking person would do: I slowed and rolled down the window.
They were hitchhikers. One of them asked me if I could give them a ride just up the mountain, the other just stared. How far up is it, I asked. Just about 5 minutes. Okay. They got in the backseat and we began our ascent. Bob Dylan was singing "Poor Lazarus" on the car stereo and I found it oddly comforting if I were to be killed by these two strangers while listening to a song about death and murder. They saw my camera and asked if I was a photographer. Of sorts. One of the voices behind me told me he was a dancer from New York, an old choreographer and costume designer, that he'd moved here 35 years ago. The other voice kept muttering something about a wild turkey, but I didn't see one. We listened to Bob sing and continued winding up the mountain. They were older gentlemen, maybe lovers maybe not, and they were grateful for my kindness. It would've been quite a walk for them. They thanked me as they got out of the car and into their own graffiti-covered mini winnebago. Before I drove off they recommended I drive west for some stunning views. So I did.
I hiked around the hills and enjoyed the quiet and the color. Clouds quickly blanketed the sky and veiled the sun. I was completely alone. Behind me a cold wind howled as it got tangled in the shaking branches of a shivering tree. Soon my hands were numb and I couldn't feel my face. Setting up my tripod became more arduous a task than it was worth, so I had to take most of the shots handheld. With a 70-200mm lens, this meant most of my shots would be useless. But I was there primarily as an explorer, photographer second. I heard a rustling in a bush beside me and a bunch of pheasants flew out like buckshot. They scattered and took flight, reassembled tightly in mid air, and then landed in unison 20 yards away startling a wild turkey. Holy fuck, there was a wild turkey. How did it find me all the way up here? It just stood there looking at me, unafraid, unconcerned, yet curious. I took my cock out and shook it. Cock a doodle doooo. The grass took its interest and it wandered away. I called it a faggot lesbian cunt bitch and zipped my pants.
I saw the sun set fire to a few trees on a distant hill. I saw the small shadows of young people stretched out and silhouetted by a gooey light which drooped below the clouds. I drove further and saw spears of light pierce a thick cherub's cushion and stab at the rippling skin of the sea. Further still and I saw the sky's blue canvas covered in pretty purples and soft pinks, smooth creams and electric flesh tones that haunted the sky like neon phantoms. It was a good day.
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