This last week in San Francisco has been wonderful. The weather, which can be grey, dull and damp in January, has been cheerful and sunny. Yesterday, it was warm enough to go outside in a t-shirt, wearing no jacket. Clear skies have presided - not a cloud in sight. When the winter chill mixes with warm sun at this time of year, it reminds me of fall in New York. Walking on the shady side of the street is slightly too cold and walking in the sun, if the wind isn’t blowing, is warm enough to work up a sweat. All around me there seems a stillness, a sort of calm which wraps itself around me during this semi-hectic transition. My last day in San Francisco is today. Everything has been surreal since I’ve returned from Australia, but today feels especially unreal. It started last night, when I left my apartment to empty a jar of loose change at the supermarket down the street. From where I live at Lone Mountain there is a lovely view of the skyline downtown, and because the street to the market faces east, at sunset the city shimmers gently as the sun sinks into Ocean Beach in the opposite direction. The air behind the skyscrapers had a chalk-dust quality, full of pale blues and soft lavender that haunted the spines of the buildings there. Incredibly, an enormous full moon had perched itself atop the almost fully constructed Salesforce Tower like a giant scoop of glowing ice-cream on a cone. The pairing of the colors and the size of the moon and the temperature of the air and the quiet of a usually busy street came together to create an overwhelmingly dreamy sensory experience. I stopped walking and just stared in awe as the lower crest of the moon kissed the top of the building while it withdrew and rose inertially to its proper place in the sky. Never had there been a more beautiful moonrise. It was only today that I discovered last night’s moon was a super blue blood moon; a parting gift from San Francisco.
I've spent the week seeing friends, saying goodbyes, shipping a few personal items across the globe, and selling things on Craigslist at painfully steep discounts. No matter how reasonably priced an item is listed on Craigslist, potential buyers will haggle relentlessly and make laughably insulting offers. Selling my valued possessions at severe losses has been an eye-opening experience. From now on everything I purchase will be stolen, or bought from a thrift store, or, better yet, stolen from a thrift store. I've learned my lesson.
Because today is my last day, there are some remaining loose ends to tie up. My couch will need to be cast out to the sidewalk, as will my bed. Some remaining items will undoubtedly be gifted to the gutter. The last of my bottles of wine will need to be transported to a friend’s house. Speaking of friends, The Profuser came by last night. We spent our time together talking of all the good times which inevitably led to the end of an era. He graciously took a bunch of miscellaneous paraphernalia, as well as my stash of illicit substances which I kindly asked him to use as suppositories if he was considering ingesting any of them in my absence. During dinner, he, like many of my friends, spread a liberal layer of guilt over me, citing my supreme selfishness for moving to Germany. We spoke of what the true motivator for such an expression is: sadness; at losing the company of a close friend. There is a unique quality to leaving San Francisco. It is qualitatively different than when I left New York, though I cannot easily explain why. Maybe because San Francisco has been the first place I've truly felt at home. It is where I've spent nearly all of my adult life - assuming one becomes an adult only at the ripe age of 25. I'd be lying if I didn't say there is some sadness associated with the move, but there isn't enough of it to deter me. In some ways leaving is like a little death; as though somehow able to attend my own funeral, I am privy to the eulogies of those who knew me best, getting to listen to the tender expressions of love and appreciation, mournful regrets, and the heartfelt devotion of true friendships. I will miss all of them.
But, fear not dear readers! I will rise from throes of death like our lord and savior Jesus Christ, much to the shock of my disbelieving disciples. I will write sordid tales of love and glory from Hitler’s bunker, hidden deep in the subterranean intestines of east Berlin. New words will pepper these pages, words like Schieße and ficken. This site will take on a far more cultured and cosmopolitan tone once I’m living as an expat in Europe. Perhaps a more fitting name is in order, to signify this crucial change in affect. From this day forward, the cite will be renamed große Fürze.
Until then, tschüss.
