stories from the haight

Craziness. One day, Nov.22 2000 it was really cold. I went to school to drop off a project and then began to walk to my friends house to chill for the day. I had no idea what was in store. I go tover there and everyone was awake. Keep in mind its like 7:30 a.m. and we're teens. "Hey Brad! Whats up? Come in!" I was suprised by the excitement of my friends to see me. I mean I'm Brad. We shot the shit and then another guy showed up. "Guess what?" he says. "I have all sorts of crazy adventures in my pocket." I'm thinking, okay thats nasty. Brother is playin pocket pool and telling abotu it. But i was wrong. He pulls out this little vile of that breath stuff "Sweet Breath" and tells us that its acid. I had tripped once before and figured what the hell. So i took some. And then took some more. 8 hits to be exact. 8-10 was the usual dose. I was kinda ticked becuse it took a little while to kick in. But when it did, oh my. I was sitting on the couch next to my boy and his girlfriend came over. SHe sat next to him and they were talking. Then the acid kicked in. Looking at her face with this stare of confusion/amazement, I was in awwww as her face began changing colors. From green to purple to blue to whatever. It was fuckin crazy. Then it started to melt and that was fukin weird. Then some friends showed up. Like 4 of them. And they dropped too. In fact, everyone (literally) who came into that room that day dropped. We turned on a movie (X-men. You haven't seen this movie until you see it on acid). They stopped it for a bit and the news was on. Starting my peek and feeling out of my mind, I sugessted a walk. Only 2 others joined me. I walked outside and it was like an altered world. The roads were narrow, uneven, and moving. We go tabout halfway around the block before we stopped becasue we couldn't stop laughing. This dog was barking at us and the words "Ruff" were literally coming out of his mouth. Then this guy came out and yelled at the dog. and we laughed even harder. We come back home and I'm just so fuckin gone at this point. I started to watch TV and I'm thinking this is still the news but its X-men. Adn Wolverine is thrown from a car and is all kinds of bloody. "OH MY GOD! THAT POOR MAN IS DEAD!" I scream. But he gets back up....and he heals....instantly!!! "WHAT THE FUCK!~!!" I yell. "No way, No way in hell. Taht did not jsut happen. WHat news channel is this?" I asked. "Its not the news guy, I think its a movie." I watched it and cried at the end. Don't remember why though. After that we got a munchie attack. Hardcore. But only one problem. Who is going to order? So we pick my boy Mike. He calls the Chinese place and in one the most remarkable events i have ever seen ordered everything everyone wanted without once sounding "Influenced". I swear it was awesome. While waiting we turned on Pink Floyd's the wall CD. That shit is nuts!! I watched as little Chinese men chased dragons across the ceiling and we found thsi book. God knows what the book was about but it had this picture of this guy who looked like he was looking at you. WE jsut opened and closed it and laughed each time. "Bluhhh" we said when we opened it. We were on the floor laughing at thsi book. Adn then we tripped the rest of the day and smoked the bong that night. It was One Helluva Day and is now known as that.

BradFo

chris

I'm 36 years old and my first visit to The Haight was during this past weekend, December 27th, 2003.

"Back in the day" when I was trying to find myself, I toyed with joining the alternative (New Wave) lifestyle. In Seattle, this meant techno dance clubs with an undercurrent of homosexuality. My hair was right, my clothes were right, and I even tried drugs a few times to round out the experience. When all was said and done, I couldn't bring myself to throw away all of my religious beliefs and become part of a world which I saw as self-destructive and surface on so many levels.

Some of the people that I met during those years could be classified as "hippies." I became somewhat familiar with the Haight Ashbury district through hearing their stories an in books. I was perplexed by the thought of a group of people who lived for a common cause of peace, love, and harmony with nature. Everything around me was harsh, beat-driven, and chrome-edgy.

But in the end, the years passed and I gradually joined the ranks of wife and mother to 4 lovely children. I am now what you would describe as a pretty average stay at home mom. I love raising my kids and being with my husband.

As my oldest daughter hit her teen years, she made some decisions that took her down the path of drug use and sexual activity. Being the parent this time, I was deeply grieved and scared for my daughter. It's different when your child is doing what you did... suddenly the consequences and effects of choices become very clear to you, whereas they didn't matter back when you were the one doing it.

So, my middle-class self decided to visit Haight Ashbury when I was touring SF a few days ago. I dragged my younger sister there, explaining that I just wanted to see it. She didn't understand. She never strayed as a teen.

The street is dirty and the homeless/panhandlers are everywhere. I have the feeling that many of the stores selling "hippie" stuff aren't authentic, they are tourist traps only. I had a ball in the vintage/resale/consignment shops but I was sickened by the "alternative" bookstores which carried garbage that should never be printed. I have always considered myself pretty streetwise but I am still finding out that there are perversions and fetishes out there that I wish I had never heard of.

As the evening wore on and it got dark, the "freaks" started to appear. The kids who express their "individuality" by poking, piercing, stretching, tattooing, and mutilating their bodies strolled the sidewalks, several asking if my sister and I wanted to score some drugs. Funny thing is, each of these kids looked just like all of the other black bondage and zipper wearing goths on the block. It got to be quite humorous.

I enjoyed looking at the architecture of the area, especially the homes and apartments. I can't imagine living in such a small area (especially with kids) with neighbors so close but the aesthetics of the buildings are lovely.

As we made our way towards the bus, we passed a guy who was probably 30, but looked 50, sitting against a wall, bent over his guitar, making soft noises. Beside him were two kids, and I mean kids, these boys could not have been any older than 11 or 12, obviously asserting their independence and hanging out with their older/wiser mentor. My heart sunk. I have a son their age. Where are their mothers? Do their families know where they are, or care? My maternal instincts went into overdrive and I was bothered all night by them. I wanted to bring them home, wash them, feed them, and love them, give them a real home off of the cold street. I wonder where they are now. I wonder where they will be in 10 years.

Back in our warm room on the 28th floor of the downtown Marriot hotel, my sister commented that she felt dirty and needed to shower after being on that street. I had to agree.

I can't imagine that the Haight area felt like that back during its heyday. I wonder where the hippies are now. Did they morph into regular citizens, become parents and eventually normal grandparents? Are they still long-haired with ethereal visions of the world, enhanced by drug use? Did they give up their utopian dream and end up in the cookie-cutter corporate world that they hated so much?

I did't have any deep revelations or answers on the street that day. Except for the fact that my view of the "drop out, tune in...etc" existence is mostly surface and dead end.

I'll keep parenting my children to stay away from drugs and become contributing members of society. In my book that means showing love and care to others, even the misguided souls on the Haight.

Kim

Re: A dream that confuses me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My dreams tend not to confuse me any longer.

When I choose to dream, that is.

Here is the dream I just woke up from:

Thursday, July 8th, 2004

I just dreamt I attended a secret meeting that everyone was invited to.

Only Bill Clinton was brave enough to face me. I asked to shake his hand but, as I did, it seemed his arm was made of rubber....or full of Jello or something.

I was immediately, then, chased by a murderer.. out a door into the most beautiful Masonic Garden I have ever seen... one in which no one could ever touch me again and I was free to pray with my eyes open.

And I suddenly realized........I was in Scotland.

I woke up. Just now. Crying my eyes out. Cause....I just have no tears left to cry.

Ali Karehndiujo Mohmid

I've got a few: San Francisco, California, 6:30 pm, July 1999. The west bound 22 Fillmore at Market.

"Oh shit! Who was that? Fes' up! Now! Hell, someone open up a friggin' window!" "It wasn't me! If I'd have farted, I would have blown the roof off of this bus!" "No, me either. My farts smell pretty." "You want to bet?" "DAMN! SOMEONE OPEN UP A WINDOW!" "What was you eatin' for lunch today? Road kill? Dawg..."

San Francisco, California, 4:30 pm, August 1999. The west bound Fillmore near Rhode Island. This happens all the time in San Francisco, and Seattle, where many of public transit's busses run on a combination of diesel and electricity. The busses have a set of couplers that extend upward from the back of the bus and connect to an electric cable overhead. The bus makes a turn a bit too sharply, or tree branches block the couplers from making contact with the cable, and the bus stops cold. The bus stopped cold. "Oh, what is it now?" "Damn MUNI. I don't know why they even bother with printing a schedule. It's all friggin' fantasy." "This is the third time today that I've been on a bus that's gone dead..." "Everyone off the bus!" The driver, who didn't appear to be even 21 years of age, stood up and face the irate passengers. One by one, the passengers got off of the bus, leaving with the bus driver a list of unique and graphically explicit adjectives. I was the last one to get off of the bus. I didn't say anything to the poor driver. "So, he asked me. "Can you tell me how to fix this bus?" What do I look like to you? Your mother? A MUNI driver? Why are you asking me?

San Francisco, California, 8:30 pm, August 2000. The "M San Francisco State University" train, MUNI subway at Montgomery. The train is functioning, it is still in operation. But the lights in the train don't appear to be working. It is a crowded train. I fumble around in the dark for a place to stand until my knees go flush against a vacant seat. I can smell beer in the train, but this is a Friday night in San Francisco. To top it off, it was a warm day. I'll live. So, I sit down in the only vacant seat and immediately I am made privy to the reason why it is the only vacant seat in an otherwise crowded train. I plop my fanny into an ice cold puddle of beer. Need I say more?

Theresa Allen