Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Red’s Blog

Have to begin this goddamn Blog. I’m opening up my diary—and it’s kinda embarrassing.

Well here it is culled from the days madness, and the past too!

I remember the first time I was able to be alone w/myself & my accomplishments, & be happy, even tho no friends nor loved ones were there (besides the animals) in a house I’d bought by hard work, strung w/red, yellow, green, blue, Christmas tree lights; a dinner I’d cooked steaming. A full-on turkey w/stuffing’s, yams, marshmallows, corn-n-the-cob, biscuits; dinner worked-for @ a job. And felt, I don’t mind being alone. I don’t mind being here.

@ Café. Tonight they had talked abut fires, and how artists, performers, writers, many had lost all their worldly belongings in house fires, and receive absolutely no recompense from the landlord. We all looked up @ each other, each face set in an expression of innocence lost. For tho we all had thousands of dollars of our fine art in our studios, nobody among us had fire insurance.

A nice group: Red Jordan Arobateau, Megan Wolfe, Shaun Roberts, David Young V, D. B. & V, Chris McCreary, K. —the publisher of a popular ‘zine.
The familiar trio of Meg, Shaun & Red stayed together for the evening’s gab-fest. Red mentioned a person & said: s/he’s another one I worry about going over to the dark side. To which one of the trio responded: S/he’s too loopy to go anywhere. S/he's too loopy to go in any direction for any period of time. A few hardy laughs, analysis of others, wisdoms.

Do your best. Then keep doing it. As long as you can.--Upon seeing Igor Stravinsky

Headed down busy street what did he see! 4 canvases! Discards—their canvas slashed, but the frames in excellent to foul condition! Being in a hurry to Trans Space he went ahead, barely mumbling out a mental prayer that the canvases would still be there; grabbed a quick chicken then a girl who he so disliked (everybody hated her) who has turned face about and become sweet & helpful hands him a jacket—which he is wearing today, (turns out it is worth $300 according to somebody fashion conscious) a rain jacket, a perfect fit (a bit snug, he needs to diet) then consulting online discovers he has not received his funds.—The main purpose of his visit done. Dashing away down stairs he headed back to the curbside treasure trove— in the distance, the wood stretcher bars appeared and quite soon he was upon them! Hastily called Megan Wolfe and began binding smaller ones to his silver cart. Meg arrived, said she’d carry the largest one (4-feet X 5-feet), so back down the street they went, Transman w/his cart, two bags full of goodies and 3 canvases, Meg with the large canvas. What a find!

Contents of the old Man’s Cart:

One very expensive Halle Hanson brand coat-- yellow
4 semi-rotten, delicious peaches
Container of beans & salad
2-delicious pieces fried chicken
2 containers of coffee
4 canvases

It was quite humorous discussion at Miss B’s group in the upper room @ the clinic that night, discussing surgeries:

You got to pay for a sex change, that’s all there is to it. Health care, the government, disability, they ain’t gonna give it to you. If you want titties, a nose job, if you want your lower surgery, your dick, whatever—you got to pay for it. They’ll take lay-a-way. Put those titties, that nose job, that dick up on the shelf and when you finish paying off all they money then they take it down and put it on you, --that’s what’s happening.

Ain’t no program gonna pay for all that surgery!

Discussed the San Francisco health program, who, when confronted with hoards of trannys scuffling to get on it because they said that they do sex reassignment procedures; they now say simply, they are running out of money for that, and aren’t taking any new additions to their program—so there.

You want that nose honey, you gotta pay for it. I paid for my titties, my pussy. I sent the doctor my money every month; he set my titties, my pussy up there on lay-away, and you better get there the day your surgery is scheduled, or they charge you $5,000 to reschedule!

Murderous news. First must tell you —am remiss in saying the other night there was a huge fire, directly across from a facility Transman utilizes in the Nob Hill region. The entire building—6 floors— is charred, broke out windows, blackened inside, and the front entrance boarded up. Every tenant was evacuated. In addition the building facing up to it on one side has its entrance grill chained shut. It too had to be evacuated entirely because of the fire, which spilled over. Now Transman & one of the new girls (a mature woman still forcibly presenting as male, and a still not-operated-upon Trans guy stand and stare:

Looks like arson to me.

I bet it was arson.

It was probably the landlord.

It was probably a disgruntled tenant whose sick of these slumlords, who torched it.

It was the landlord I bet, who wants to get rid of all the tenants so they can condo-convert it and make 1 million dollars per unit.

Its arson, and its either a mad tenant, or the greedy slumlord.

They do a lot of that—landlords, burning down their own buildings for the insurance
money. And so they can turn them into condos.

Well mad tenants and landlords both--they did that in the Mission a lot. And an old woman died in one fire, and somebody else died in the other.

Now, the murderous news. This 6-story apartment building shell—burnt to black carbon, —is owned by the AKKKadamy. A highly profit-motivated, realestate wheeling/dealing institution. Yes. That realestate mogul disguised as an art college—a very expensive art college.

This is what its like, how dirty bottom low it gets when you deal with big money, and high rent buildings in desirable areas.

Saw Brother C in streets, carrying his small dog in a backpack. He is homeless. He is among the working poor. We stopped/talked on some apartment steps:

Some have privilege; they have families, they have families who care about them & visit them; they have college degrees, money, respect of society.

L’Ange. A 1-Pallet Knife/15-Brush Night.

What a struggle.

Well, this is excerpts from my ongoing journal which numbers about 50 chapbooks so far, this particular book is titled SAINTS, --up to page 20.

That I have committed these thoughts into words is something special—don’t you think?

Go buy Red Jordan Arobateau’s books on;; his art books w/paintings & text at, and his fine arts prints at

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