A publication about life in the pursuit of happiness

Conversations

50 Golden Gate

by Victor Prieto

Michael wears a suit every day.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

by Victor Prieto

Stephanie works for a non-profit in San Francisco.

50 Golden Gate is about meeting my neighbors, I wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by by meeting the people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

mark

by Victor Prieto

Mark is Resident Manager of the building.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

Joe

by Victor Prieto

Joe likes to work with plants and sells tie-dye fabric that he makes.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

Annie

by Victor Prieto

Annie has lived here for 18 years.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

mike

by Victor Prieto

Mike is an independent filmmaker.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

Gregory

by Victor Prieto

Gregory works at an interior design store.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

Vonnie

by Victor Prieto

Vonnie has lived in the building for 11 years.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

Margaritaby Victor Prieto

Margarita is Igor’s wife, also a marathon runner and loves cats.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


50 Golden Gate

Igor

by Victor Prieto

Igor is a marathon runner from Russia.

50 Golden Gate  is about meeting my neighbors, I  wonder about the people that live around me. What are they like? Where do they come from? How long have they lived here? I have become a part of the building’s history, along with the long list of hundreds of previous tenants. I wanted to explore the history of the building I lived in by  by meeting  the  people that inhabit it.


123FIVE

12_hana

Aurora, cold, warm in her heart, living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco.

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


123FIVE

11_adam

The technique of inspiration living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco.

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


123FIVE

10_niki

Remember we used to be friends living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco?

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


Ilustraciones de un Autista

Seudo ocio
Seudo hombre
Seudo músico
Seudo barman
Seudo psicólogo
Seudo hijo
Seudo escritor
Seudo primo
Seudo alienado
Seudo alcohólico
Seudo artista
Seudo loco
Seudo yonky
Seudo nieto
Seudo obrero
Seudo hombre
Seudo amigo
Seudo destroyer
Seudo enemigo
Seudo escucha
Seudo alegría
Seudo paz
Seudo mundo
Seudo simio
Seudo nimo
Seudo sport
Seudo tiempo
Seudo espacio
Seudo cultura
Seudo justicia
Seudo ciclista
Seudo amante
Seudo peatón
Seudo automovilista
Seudo piloto
Seudo cerebro
Seudo mente
Seudo ideas
Seudo mimo
Seudo enfermo
Seudo banda
Seudo krishna
Seudo clown
Seudo viajero
Seudo vagabundo
Seudo ingles
Seudo bestia
Seudo sueños
Seudo alcance
Seudo hermano
Seudo libre
Seudo escrito
Seudo poema
Seudo absurdo
Seudo cuerpo
Seudo hombre


123FIVE

9_diane

Denied but came back stronger, living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco.

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


Ilustraciones de un Autista

Me pasa lo mismo
Como estas?
Enfermo, pero bien
De la cabeza o que?
Nada que no quiten los antibióticos
Solo la vida…y tu?
Hormonal, ya sabes que me
gusta decir babosadas
es normal..sobre todo si
nadie me quiere
porque estoy embarazada
No seas así
Cómo que lo sientes como una maldición
un mal augurio cumplido
yo no
a bueno
yo estoy contenta,
pero me siento como sola,
es eso
me pasa lo mismo
estás embarazada??
que tonta
no
hoy me hice un estudio
ya ves como es eso de vivir con sida


123FIVE

Sailor in a Recovery Ship and living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco.

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


Ilustraciones de un Autista

Santo Payaso.
Revelaciones I.

El cuerpo del Santo Payaso sumergido en la tormenta de su inconciente, tumbado en aquel sillón que se encuentra en la azotea de la vecindad. La curda que le ocasionaba el haber inhalado la mona mientras arreglaba las cajas de madera que había recogido la noche anterior en la calle de casa del “topo” Godines. Dando tumbos por las paredes y gritando a pleno pulmón con las viejas piezas en ambos brazos.

– No soy un animalllllllll!!!!!!!! Soy un hombreeeeee!!!!!!!

-Cajas inservibles, igual que todo. Aun así no perdió el tiempo y aferrado cual gato a la alfombra, se dispuso a tallarlas, lijarlas y barnizarlas, durante su proceso se daba el tiempo de elevarse con el Tonsol.

Al recuperar la conciencia despertó con un dolor de cabeza incontenible, alz{o la mano para buscar entre los cojines alguna chora perdidiza. Estiró la mano, encontró un clip, una moneda y el chicle, comió un pedazo de pizza añejo, pero la chora no estaba… ahí. Entre sus cabellos enmarañados que desgajaban con el paso de sus dedos la encontró. La tomo entre sus dedos, llevó el diminuto pero preciado analgésico y lo encendió en la marca del bigote que el cigarro a dejado a través de los años de fumador. Encendió la radio. –La Hk a las 7 de la tarde, la hora en que Silvia, la vecina, llegaba de su trabajo de mesera y sin tregua comenzaba a lavar los uniformes desgastados de sus hijos. Antes de la última jornada de trabajo nocturno. Santo Payaso entró al cuarto que ocupaba al fondo de la vieja finca de barrio. Se quitó sus botas de obrero negras, tenían algo de mierda de perro, se libró de sus calcetines húmedos, se deshizo de sus pantalones de mezcla rotos. Tomó el cuchillo con empuñadura de cabeza de águila, bien podría ser la de un pollo, su ojo de rubí, falso incrustado en el ave. A la ventana acercó la única silla que ocupaba la habitación. Agarro la sandia que don enrique “el güero mon” le había obsequiado en la mañana durante el desembarque de la mercancía en los almacenes del mercado.

-No queda más que disfrutar de los pequeños placeres de la vida-. Se decía a si mismo. Nada mejor que ver a Silvia Tallar su ropa, con ese movimiento sexual…atrás, adelante, atrás adelante. Con la mano derecha mientras con la izquierda detenía la prenda en contra del lavadero. Mostrando su tierno pero agotado semblante, dándose el tiempo para pensarse sola. Que pasaría si supiera que entre las ventanas la observa el mas Patan de los patanes, el mas payaso de los payasos, el mas mugroso de los mugrosos. In a gada da vida sonaba en la radio. 16 minutos de los pequeños placeres de la vida. Dándole una gran mordida al trozo triangular de sandia, desprendiendo su dulce aroma, escurriendo por su cara el jugoso contenido. 16 minutos de los pequeños placeres de la vida. Había comenzado el ritual, el Santo Payaso antes de salir a la calle a predicar la palabra que hace 15 años se le había revelado anaquel sueño hibrido tan fascinante destino..


123FIVE

7_werm

Trance, model and flippant, living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco.

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


Anybody Somewhere | FIVE

A part of me loves the spotlight, comes alive in it. A part me hates it, would rather be the wizard behind the curtain, pulling strings and strategically calling shots with no one to know what I look like with the purpose of helping others in need. I’d exist like an angel, a pure thought, to lead the blind and ease the mind of the tortured that turn in the Garden of Forking Paths every left to right. A part of me wants to sing, a part me wants to write the song for someone else. A part of me wants to write the song and sing it but the whole of me knows better and will continue to hire vocalists. Here’s to Mr. Wendel.


Ilustraciones de un Autista

No se donde estoy

No se como llegué aquí, inclusive no se donde estoy, no puedo moverme libremente, ya que algo denso, calido y suave esta evitando mi movilidad. Siento el vapor de mi respiración, es calido y esto me da comezón, siento que voy a estornudar.

-”ACHUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!

Después de esforzarme por mover mi brazo en contra de este mar de terciopelo, logro ponerlo por arriba de mi cabeza, y palpar algo frío, parece ser un tubo, es largo y al seguir su contorno forma una elipse con dos vueltas, no logro distinguir que es, mi pierna se encuentra pegada a una sustancia chiclosa, se me pega en el pantalón y no logro quitarla, esto solo hace que me enrede mas de mis piernas y quede totalmente inmóvil del mi cintura hacia abajo. Mi nariz percibe un olor, parece ser un olor a tomate y queso, muevo la cabeza a mi lado izquierdo y estiro la lengua en busca de algo que me ayuda a identificar por medio del gusto el espacio en el que estoy. – Es pizza- después de buscar con la boca el rastro del olor italiano, es pizza y esta fría. Mi otra mano se encuentra tocando una superficie redonda, es fría también , debe de ser metálica, y tiene unos grabados en alto relieve en su cuerpo, son como hilos o sogas que se entrelazan, en su centro estos relieves son tantos que no puedo distinguir lo que es.

Polvo, polvo con cabellos, formando una hilaza gris, esto es lo que encuentro en mis orejas, de seguro se instauro ahí de la misma manera en la que yo llegue aquí. No lo se.

Me siento débil y esta falta de aire me hace querer dormir. Espero que al abrir los ojos tenga más noción de mí.


Anybody Somewhere | FOUR

Met with volunteer coordinators at the mission: Charity and Chairman. They are both advocates of hope and change. Chairman seemed pensive, wide eyed at every corner to develop organizational management. Charity seemed transparent, a bird in the hand, has a degree in communications. During lunch, we talked about poetry and publishing, grimy journalism. There was boneless chicken breasts sautéed with steamed vegetables, rice, fruit salad, and cheesecake. If ever the Word is tangible, than there was an example: give the poor nothing less than the best to fill their stomachs while feeding their souls. As we ate, the head pastor took the stage and shook the building with quotes from Corinthians, “Are you of God or are you of Flesh?” He repeatedly questioned every man within earshot. Men were turning in their seats, looking around; feeling themselves, looking around. Some were asleep in their chairs slouched like puppets.

I told Charity and Chairman I’d like to volunteer in the computer lab, teach professional writing, and lead a Bible study. There wasn’t a need for me in either so I digressed. Chairman suggested I mentor. Mentoring is like sport fishing, you have to know how to catch and release, if not the fish can die in your hands. Who’d want that on their conscious? I told him I’d give it some thought, pray about it. He gave me three days, a packet of mentor do’s and don’ts. When the pastor introduced the visitors and future volunteers from the pulpit, my name bounced from his mouth like tennis balls, “Myron Michael…” I didn’t hear Hardy, could be my ears were stuffed with the song the choir sang before lunch. Something about God being wonderful and almighty, and I, too, was feeling myself to know what I’m made of.

The pastor said, “He’s a poet.” A multitude of eyes saw me as a fisher of men or a fish. I couldn’t tell. However, that I wouldn’t duck their stares made sense. One guy grinned, a shifty grin that seemed to size me up. He reminded me of a young man from the group home where I worked as a counselor: the one that would test your patient no matter who you were, the one that would give you a hug while stealing your house keys. And whenever caught and grounded would act like it was apart of his plan to stay indoors because it was too cold out. 


123FIVE

6_charles

BIKE OR DIE: living on the 5th floor of a new student-housing building in San Francisco.

123FIVE is the honor of meeting a stranger and learning about those that surround us. The people we ignore might be our best friend, lover, or someone who offers to help.


Ilustraciones de un Autista

…por el I.C.C.
Dominio de
árboles árboles
fragmentados fragmentados
sobre
hojas hojas
de papel
dorados dorados
sobre
hojas
árboles
ramas
Hojas
Maleza hacia Abstracta
rugosa primitiva
y olivo
naturaleza
y
olvido.

Basada en la obra de Jan Hendrix, (ver nota).
Nota: nada que ver con jimi

3:15 pm
No tengo ganas de hacer nada
y no tengo ganas de estar
Solamente ver las nubes que cubren el cielo
flotando suaves, ligeras
sobre los pájaros, las ramas, las hojas el pasto, los edificios
et moi.
Dejando caer su lluvia suave ligera,
sobre los pájaros, las ramas, las hojas, el pasto, los edificios
and me.

Antes de que se me olvide
La pluma en lugar del marcador.
Delgado , sin fuerzas, y un vacío en su cartucho de tinta, igual que en el pecho, no se lo que va a pasar en los momentos posteriores y esto me angustia tanto que excita.

9:15 en el reloj de la plaza, reloj regalado por el gobierno de Hong Kong, al fondo un trompetista, haciendo lo que mejor sabe hacer- dios!! Malditos pulmones que tiene el sujeto- parece ser que soy el único atento. Las personas que están a mis espaldas llevan a cabo su aparentemente rutinaria charla de asuntos triviales y algunos otros visitantes de la plaza parecen igual de lánguidos y grises que la mañana, La cruz de olvido es interpretada por señor trompeta, viene a recogernos.
En la barca nos vamos y trompetista remando.