So this notice from The City just appeared on the ground floor elevator of my apartment building (click on image for a larger view):
In a nutshell, here is the horrid announcement:
The Department of Public Works (DPW) will be making roadway renovations on Market Street between Castro and Guerrero staring at 9pm the night of Sunday, January 27th through February 8th, 2013.
Our crews will be grinding and paving the heaved area at the median as well as replacing sidewalk and curb damaged by tree roots.
– This work will occur at night…
Duration: 2-weeks (Sun-Sat)
9PM – 6AM
This is beyond nuisance: this is a serious health hazard to those residents who live along Market Street, in that designated stretch. So: jackhammers, steamrollers and asphalt pounders will rule the night for two nightmarish weeks…from 9pm until 6am. I guess San Franshitsco severely hates its Market Street residents, and wants to remind us all, what a bunch of losers we are, who are not affluent enough to afford nice apartments on quiet side streets.
God forbid they should repair these streets during the daytime. How dare we residents possess the arrogance to believe we have the right to peaceful habitation, simply because we don’t have millions to toss around, and temporarily rent a fancy hotel suite.
What if I suffer a stroke, heart attack, or some other grave illness as a result? At 62, this is all too possible when one considers this bombardment to our ears will go on for two weeks! Can I sue The City? Of course not: they’re totally immune to the peoples’ plea…at least, when it comes to the lower income peons.
I once had a friend’s place to visit in Cole Valley, for those times I needed to get away from such outbursts of monstrous howls, screeches and explosions so prevalent in the Castro. But that ended eleven years ago. I am, however, desperate enough to consider sleeping out in some other neighborhood, as if I were homeless. Though knowing my sleep habits, I doubt I could get a single wink. Not to mention the possibility of being driven out by the locals, or even getting arrested.
And this, right in the middle of publishing my book and working with my illustrator. Which makes this process incredibly painful (like a bullet wound or car accident), when there really should be no cause for such exhausting trauma. I really don’t understand how those with jobs in my building, could ever manage to perform their daily obligations.
Now, just two nights ago I went through a rather mean confrontation with some homophobic speed freak who stalked me for four blocks. He knows where I live ’cause he’s seen me come and go from my building, and is probably encouraged by some other homophobes in the Castro.
Which (I might add) is inundated by redneck types who think it’s God’s Great Will to terrorize and bash gay people.
It is far from difficult to discover where I live, by anyone who cares to find out, and use this info to harass me. Believe me, I’ve been through this before: creepy punks buzzing my apartment late at night, leaving threats on my answering machine. Which, of course, also wrecks my ability to get a good night’s sleep.
So I’m still all pent up and pissed over this not-uncommon (for the neighborhood) harassment. Last thing I need, is The City deciding I have no choice but to soon be tormented by unbearable noise pollution for not just several days or a week…but for fourteen unholy nights!
Which also means I can’t enjoy the company of a good friend or two for these nights, in order to ease my difficulties. Friends, sanity, quiet: all stripped away by a ruthless bureaucracy that cares only for tourists and uber-wealthy residents.
So, full of steam, I barrel on down to Walgreens to purchase some sundries. The moment I enter, some black lady pushes her stinky shopping cart behind me while screaming about judgment day, and how all the gays are gonna go to hell. No one acted like they heard a word she spoke, except for yours truly.
I turned around to stop her, and said: “Please stop screaming in our gay neighborhood. Your fundamentalist dogma is evil, unappreciated, and gays are sick of it. Show respect and quiet down. Also, please don’t drag your shopping cart inside; it’s not legal.”
Well, she stared up at me with a tight jaw and declared: “I was talking to my African American boyfriend. Stay out of this.”
Wow, there was no one around, but I realized her label “African American” was to set me up for a racist. I persisted, in a rather loud tone that the entire store could hear:
“Get the fuck outta here. If you can’t respect gay people, there are plenty of hetero areas you can go to. Leave now, with your shopping cart!”
She pushed the cart against my thighs and hollered: “Don’t touch my possessions or I’ll call the cops!”
Then some 40-something gay guy (probably wealthy and a home owner) stepped up to me and called me a bigot. So I replied:
“Fuck you, you goon. You know nothing about the Castro, probably been here less than three years, and all you care about is booze, money and fucking. What do you care about gay rights? Do you really want to defend homophobes spewing religious dogma? Why don’t you join me and drive this piece of feces out of our ‘hood? Who cares if she’s black and female? She’s an infiltrator.”
The queer goon walked out the door, and called me a “stupid goon.” I retorted:
“Better a stupid goon than a willful conspirator to crap on gay neighborhoods! Empower the homophobes is your game!”
The Walgreens employees remained silent, as if nothing unusual was happening. So I spoke to one of them:
“You shouldn’t allow homeless shopping carts in here, that’s part of the problem. You also let dogs in, even though it’s against the law. Any shops that sell food on shelves are not permitted to let dogs enter.” (I was thinking here of this ginormous rottweiler who, some years ago, ran up an aisle unleashed, and suddenly shoved its nose up my crotch. I hollered vitriol at the owner, until he finally pulled the cur away. He called me “insensitive,” and claimed his dog was well trained. Right at that moment an employee approached and told me to calm down. “Calm down?” I declared, “Why the fuck aren’t you getting this goon outta here?” This goon, BTW, was gay. Again, probably an affluent home owner.)
Then some homely dyke w/pocked face and a wool beanie who stood at the cash register nearest me, chimed in: “You’re a bigot and a racist. Leave the lady alone!”
I confronted her: “You’re a clueless lesbian who’s only been here two or three years, yet thinks she knows everything about what’s going on in the Castro. Do you really like crazy homophobes screaming up and down our streets, our stores and in our parks? Why on earth don’t you join me and drive this trash from our neighborhood?”
Then the skank with her odiferous cart spoke out: “I worked for Harvey Milk.”
“So what?” I replied. “He was a sellout to the conservative faction, and dumped all his liberal and left-wing supporters…most of whom were low income.” Then as an afterthought, added:
“I don’t believe you anyway. You’re a big, fat phony.”
The self-righteous lesbian began to exit as she exclaimed: “You’re an idiot, a bigot!”
“Oh yeah, right,” I hollered back before she disappeared into the alcohol-and-meth-laden night, “I’ve only been here since 1973, and have struggled to help my homeless gay brothers from all this street homophobia. What do you care? You got money, this is all just a playground for you, until you move on in a year or two.”
I was so fed up at this point, I dropped my few items intended for purchase on the counter, and walked out in a huff. Then meandered over to Zapata’s Taqueria for a meal. God help anyone who attempted to enter the restaurant with a shopping cart!
Fortunately (for them) no one did. So I finished most of my meal (I was too upset to finish the entire dish), and marched on home to my grubby hovel.
It is so easy to spot most of the homophobes on our streets: they are usually very scruffy and scary looking, with unkempt beards, like an army of Snuffy Smiths. Redneck for days!
Gay people are a joke to them, and the reason they flood gay precincts, is that too many of us are overly liberal (that is: “bleeding hearts”), and care not to realize that the homeless are divided into two distinct camps:
Homophobes and gays (and some gay-friendly). My goal is to network the gay street folks, empower them to find some way to drive out these disgusting ‘phobes…which would thus make the Castro far safer for all gay residents and tourists. And hopefully, inspire a foundation to house these excellent LGBT street waifs.
Why do so many gays and San Franciscans act so clueless as to this imminent horror? Which horror could easily lead to a redneck encampment where all of the Castro becomes one, big Grand Ol’ Opry, where no one remembers what the fuck a homosexual is? Well, I have the answer:
San Francisco is infested with a nihilistic cult, one branch of which is populated by self-hating gays. They walk around, hand money and other kinds of support, to these evil gay bashers. You can see elderly queers handing out 10 and 20 dollar bills to one especially nasty creep named Dane.
While he is gay, he’s a mutthuh fukkah of the worst sort. He harrases gay visitors (particularly the elderly), and stands outside the Castro Theater hollering all sorts of anti-gay, anti-Semitic and racist epithets. Yet folks standing in line ignore him, as if nothing serious was really going on. I remember one time some years back, during the theater’s Jewish Film Festival, how Dane screamed all evening about how the Jews deserved Hitler, and they should all be cremated again, to cleanse America.
If only, like me, they’d confront such bastards, and drive them outta Dodge. But no, it’s as if they desire to have him remain, to make the Castro a very unpleasant neighborhood to visit.
Why these geriatric queers shower him with money is beyond me. He is not the least bit attractive, is clothed in filth, and looks like he just crawled out of a sewer. In fact, one year ago I saw him with a well dressed and attractive gay man at Mollie Stone’s supermarket. WTF? Why on earth would such a seemingly decent queer associate with the likes of Dane? The dude is certainly good looking enough, and with considerable finances, that he could have just about any guy he wants, who is much more handsome and considerate than this poor excuse for a human.
The only answer I come up with is: The Cult.
I am thinking that this imminent noise pollution on Market Street is a design of this cult, to wear me (and other good folks) down, and even explode in frustration. Because they certainly know all about me (I’ve been here for many years at the same location; thus easily found out and sabotaged.) BTW, my expose of this cult was published on my web site way back in 2007. Entitled “Friendly Ghost Detective Agency.”
I’m not saying that the ultimate conclusion is that one is surrounded by enemies…for there is one higher level of a spiritual outcome: “We have no enemies, only teachers.”
Thus, I do realize that I am being challenged and tested to grow stronger. However, it looks to be a Monstrous Passage that I am about to go through, which I could have never foreseen. Nor does it mean I should not seek a peaceful place to sleep, till it all blows over. Though as luck would have it, I doubt this fortunate solution will manifest.
Ever since a couple weeks before Xmas, my life has been this rollicking roller coaster ride: one day, great things occur…another day, horrible things. And it looks to be ongoing for some time further.
I am really, really, really, really exhausted and burnt out. Wish I had the resources to move away. But alas, I do not. *sigh*