17 Elevens

Verbs win over nouns every time. Objects and events stand still as time travels over them, plows them under, leaves them behind, distorts and Dopplers whatever light they still cast.

There are no Gödelian absolutes, but time transcends space whenever it wants—often when we don’t want it to.

I didn’t want it to for the longest—yes, Time. My back to tomorrow and the light from yesterday still hitting my eyeballs, spectrumming towards red, both hotter and dimmer at the same time, then more vivid and bluer and cooler.

And seventeen years later, the Elevenses can be just an orange bottle or forever or today, an anniversary that is fully circumscribed by solemnity.

Time made it that. I made it that: you can only go so long with your back to the future before relentless time wins. Fear sometimes crawls over your front if you wait too long.

And so it goes Today, seventeen years ago.

To my Allen,

…and so it goes, and so it goes…and you’re the only one who knows…


29-June-1993 23:45 TMZ-700

The official date I became a San Francisan for “real” or for “good”. Of course I prefer “good”, because it’s a more real quantity and quality.

Yes, I know…I know.

After 19 years of being a San Franciscan after nine years of having this blog, after stabbing, swiping, scything, gliding, exalting, brooding, scarpering, tramping, soaring, winnowing, estivating, winterizing, springing, falling, down-inning, out-of-ing, and otherwise action-verbnikking and my way through the years here, this year seemed not to bring any inspiration to note but two things:

  1. Two days from now, 05-July-2012 at 10:25am, I will have been a San Franciscan for 10 million minutes exactly. I am a geek for all things calendrical.
  2. I have been noting my San Francisco anniversary in this blog every year except for one, where there was ohhh, let’s say way-too-much-by-half-again going on with me—and none of it good.

So in recognizing my tradition, here are the links back through God of Biscuits Time:

My San Francisco Me is old enough now to be of parenting age. I don’t know why that thought just occurred. Maybe there’s something to that, perhaps not. That’s what blogs are for, right?