a month or so ago, peter and i ran into a man i know at mission grounds in san francisco. we live here together in this hilly city, me, peter, this man, the people at mission grounds. we all live in this city together. we all know about the hills here.

sometimes i see this same man in my yoga class or in a cafe. i know some things about him. i know he writes, i know he's a sagittarius, i know he has an endearing stutter, i know sometimes he stops and knocks on the door of my other friend and asks her to come eat food with him. i have walked with him along the esplanade at burning man.

that morning i was eating a second breakfast, actually, i had just wolfed a dessert crepe and it was something of a behavioral anomaly for me. nutella and banana.

as we sat with this man we know, ( though peter would probably not say he knows this man, even though they had a lively discussion about comic books that morning

(
so lively that right after we left the mission grounds, we ended up at al's comics on guerrero, buying comics so as to retroactively fulfill the truth behind what we had been saying during that discussion, that we like alan moore, that we like mister mixilplikt.
)

), the sun was shining in on us, into the window of mission grounds. the man we know told us: my friend has spent some years working on this eva hesse exhibit at sfmoma, i am obliged to go to the opening of the exhibit, to honor the work she has done. i made a quizzical face because i don't know much about eva hesse. the man explained some things to me. i don't remember. except some words: german, emotional, lumped in with sylvia plath, female

later, much later, as late as last night, i spoke with another person i know about the eva hesse exhibit. some words from this person: it made me want to hurl and then the box full of tubes was amusing though.

and so i had all this input prior to this eva hesse exhibit at sf moma. someone else said to me: it is heralded as one of the best art exhibits in the country right now.

i must tell you now that i spent the last two days doing things surrounding one good spell of vomiting. i did things leading up to the vomiting (holding gut, moaning, being delerious) and then did things recovering from the vomiting (laying in bed, experimenting with food intake). today is my first day emancipated from doing service to the vomiting, so on a day like this, it's all art to me.

(
aside:
*le* hey yeti
*le* how do you spell mixilplikt
*yeti* MXYZPTLK!#@@!#$\~\~!@$$

)

(as an editor, i feel my article could end here. if you feel the same way, you can stop reading now)

so i spent my first free post-illness day perusing the bizarre sculptural formations of one miss eva "i'm such a german" hesse. i did this activity with someone i don't know very well but have known-of-known-not-really-known-liked-though for some time, who comes from boston (land of persecution). this person was very gentle with me in my post-sick state.

we wanted to touch the sculptures. there were lots of tactile-looking things, strings protruding out of canvas, fiberglass sculpture forests. organic shapes of inorganic materials. i thought of egg in moments, when i saw string sculptures and rope sculptures. oh i ached to know what egg would tell me about eva hesse.

eva hesse died of a brain tumor. do you think it was from spending many hours playing with molten fiberglass?

other insights from today: sixth street is really too much. both "ananda fuara" and "somaz cafe" are closed on sundays. sarah got her hair cut. nothing is the same once you decide it's different, and what your friends think about art may or may not apply to you. also, i'm not sure edward weston was meant to photograph people.

tonight, in an irish pub somewhere on the other side of the bay, i was momentarily lost completely to live music. as i looked down toward the floor, eyes as slits, last night's dream came to me. here it is.

i am with a large group of people. a party, or gathering. we are indoors, it is brightly lit. round glasses filled with red punch sit on a white table. someone is wearing a plaid shirt.

at some point, we all begin to walk outside into the night. we walk and walk. there is comradery and joy. it is festive. no one is dressed for the out of doors. no one carries a bag or backpack. this is not a journey, only a short walk. but it seems we walk for a long time.

the sky, rather than being a sky, is a field of drying molten lava. or perhaps it is the blackest clouds you can imagine with the reddest sun shining from behind. black clouds lined with bright red.

we reach our destination. there is a sculpture or monument here, in a field, made of orange lights arranged carefully in a pattern. they are fire, then they are electric lights, then they are fire again. it's a pillar of sorts, but wide and rounded. we gather around it.

an old man appears. he says to us: i knew you would all walk toward the sun. he laughs and is pleased with himself. but it's not because he doesn't care about us, or because he's tricked us. it's because he knows he was right.

fin.