Thursday, December 18, 2014


Was that Muir Woods being sucked into bottles of chili, toyo, and suka in the pantry?

Or the stoned ghosts of Gen. Frederick Funston and Pvt. Robert William Greyson playing hide-and-seek among the merry clutter of memories from an eternal journey? 

The Columbarium is a further footnote why elegant One Loraine Court looks down over eclectic Mission District who I presume the bored guard assigned to watch over the remains of the wealthy dead came from.  

Them dead might have lain in state at the Jesuit's imposing St. Ignatius Church of the University of San Francisco --- so palatial it can compete with the Vatican and bring to shame the current Jesuit pope.

Perhaps some of those now urn-ed in The Columbarium were exhumed from the vanished Masonic Cemetery where all funeral processions along Masonic Avenue once led, not far from where the Papalote Mexican Grill near where the Starbucks Lady was hanged sell the best burrito in the city.

Those who are now dead, what were they doing when the Palace of Fine Arts was being built? 

They missed the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge but did some of them spent time in Alcatraz

Their names, etched in broken tombstones, resonate from the Wave Organ off San Francisco Bay, gurgled like drowning ghosts, a haunting from the desecration of the Lauren Hill Cemetery, and perhaps that of 25 Van Ness where the brethren now displayed in fancy urns at The Columbarium once enjoyed the corn of nourishment, the wine of refreshment, and the oil of joy.

It was an interesting day of the dead that concluded with the realization that what was served at the Pampaguena Restaurant were once living things killed for the benefit of those who still breaths...

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