San Francisco dreams at twilight. Jumping over bridges to fly across the sea. Riding bikes down long and winding lanes, at once straight and three dimensionally beautiful simultaneously. Dreams in color - or in black and white, in a city bathed in oranges, reds, purples, whichever color(s) you might imagine. It is a city of desire, of adultery. It cheats its own form, mimics itself and draws you in through mere thought. The city does not beg adoration of you - it creates it before you arrive. And when the sun casts that glow across the dark streets, when the hills cast shadows upon each other, when you cast yourself into the beauty of such a place - then you can understand violent lust. Not only do you thirst for human interaction (in whatever way you might understand that), but you crave the city itself as if you do not simply partake. In this way, you become a part of the view. But only at twilight will these dreams take form.
26 April 2012