coyotegoth | (no subject)

The ceiling has stopped leaking (no thanks to the super); I'm alternating between jet lag-induced napping and watching the Danny Boyle film millions- which, for a movie whose plot reads as though someone ran Shallow Grave and Slumdog Millionaire through a telepod, is surprisingly sweet.

Mostly I'm thinking of San Francisco, and of my friend becca. becca used to live on East Houston street; I can't think of how many times I used to walk up toward her house, and would look up to see the statue of Lenin overlooking the city. She and I were both members of the New York City goth scene (well, I was always more observer than participant); far more often than not, I'd knock on her door, and find half a dozen or more gothlings stretched out on her floor, a welter of mascara and black fishnets, watching movies, playing video games, what have you. (One of my favorite memories of this trip was of sitting in Orphan Andy's with her at six in the morning, stopping off for breakfast on the way to the airport, laughing about how the drunk guy passed out at his table reminded us of late night/early mornings runs to Yaffa Cafe or Mooonstruck, after an earnest night of shoegazing and such.)(Also, it's one of the more bemusing ironies of life that I owe the fact that I met this wonderful person to someone who will always be associated in my memory with the phrase "squirrel rabies"... but that's another story.)

At first, I resented the fact that she wound up in San Francisco; she had become a part of the fabric of my life, with a thousand memories of watching Apocalypse Now after Brando died (and throwing the DVD in my bag after Dennis Hopper's passing); of watching her cat Loki lie on her back as she stretched out on the floor, kneading her back with his claws; of other things too numerous to mention. becca had become a part of my chosen family; she had become enough of a part of my own view of New York that it always seemed weirdly appropriate to me that her leaving New York was roughly synchronous with the last gasps of the real goth scene here (although most of the real clubs- Limelight; Downtime- had already fallen).

Eventually, as I heard how happy she was in San Francisco, and how much she had become a part of life out there, I came to accept that she wasn't here anymore; I'd hear how she was doing rides with Dykes With Bikes, or other stories of her life out there, and I'd smile, even as I missed her. Finally, I was able to come out to San Francisco, and to see for myself how content she is, how much she is a part of this new city (a feeling that, after several visits, I can well understand myself). I could sit across the table from her, and laugh about old times, and smile to myself, as I see how happy she is now. There are many other blessed associations I have with San Francisco already- seeing Metropolis at the Castro, and getting a look around the interior of that grand old lady, are memories I'll always treasure, but seeing my friend so fulfilled in her life is surely the most blessed.