THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
"Life is to be lived, not controlled, and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat."-Ralph Ellison
Does anyone know what the San Francisco seal looks like….not Lou Seal…we all know what the beloved Giants’ mascot looks like…but the seal of the city…and what the hell is the seal really even used for anyway these days in the era of docusign and other “internet signature” platforms?
Well, the San Francisco seal was adopted 162 years ago today and it features a minor with shovel, a sailor with sextant and a phoenix rising over a framed golden gate (the actual strait not the bridge) with wording that reads "Oro en paz, fierro en guerra", which means "Gold in peace, iron in war" in Spanish. I wasn’t going to showcase the seal for fear that you open this e-mail and think it is a tax document but for interest sake, here it is:
Is it me, or does the tip of an anchor look a little bit like….a devil’s tail? That would be cool, and very much—along with the phoenix—carry the right subversive, mysterious yet reimagining vibe San Francisco has showcased throughout the years. But, GOLD IN PIECE, IRON AND WAR? What the hell does that have to do with the lives of generations of San Franciscans…and I guess that the designers did not forsee that San Francisco would give up its ties to the sea to Oakland during the last decades as the city unscrupulously closed many of its docks….and radiated some of them as well. And then there is the fact that there are only men represented here…oh: and it is pretty ugly in general too.
I am not suggesting that we waste time in changing the seal. Let’s get schools open and figure out the big economic and homeless issues (and many other things) before contemplating changing something that appears on documents that you are going to throw into a file anyway. Yet, since it IS the day the seal was created….centuries ago…it is interesting to just give it a gander.
And for those of you NOT in the Bay Area and NOT really caring about this conversation…do you know what your seal looks like? Beware..there are some pretty bizarre ones. And if you are done with that rabbit hole of a search, you can start on town mottos and watch the whole day get sucked away. Yes, the artifacts of our past are all around us, and just like plastics, they are hard to get rid of.
Happy Monday.
Oscar Wilde's visit to San Francisco sent the city into a bitter, clamoring frenzy
This whole article is a joy to read: “More than a century before gay marriage was legalized in the city, Oscar Wilde visited in lavender pants and seal fur cuffs and wowed the city with his biting wit and ivory cane, though many tried to tear him down from the moment his Italian brogues stepped foot off the ferry.”
David Hockney’s New Works Reveal The Joy Of Isolation And Embrace Of Technology
At 83 David Hockney is still going strong and these new art pieces he has created are just stunning and so revealing about the time we are living through.
Plans for a plaque in place for Summerstown star Marc Bolan
I was just listening to T-Rex this past week and then saw this. Bolan was a true original: good on Summerstown for commemorating him….although a statue of him in a feather boa playing the guitar would be better…..
Any article that starts by referring to a story about a talking ape pondering existence is just what I need right now. Especially when it leads to this: “Kafka’s characters are almost always trapped – in a cage, a court case, an insect’s body, a false identity – and they share a feeling that the walls are closing in, and that a door, once there, is disappearing into the distance. This existential claustrophobia, at once vague and intense, resonates today, particularly under lockdown.”
After the Last Bulletins
by Richard Wilbur
After the last bulletins the windows darken
And the whole city founders easily and deep,
Sliding on all its pillows
To the thronged Atlantis of personal sleep,
And the wind rises. The wind rises and bowls
The day's litter of news in the alleys. Trash
Tears itself on the railings,
Soars and falls with a soft crash,
Tumbles and soars again. In empty lots
Our journals spiral in a fierce noyade
Of all we thought to think,
Or caught in corners cramp and wad
And twist our words. And some from gutters flail
Their tatters at the tired patrolman's feet
Like all that fisted snow
That cried beside his long retreat
Damn you! damn you! to the emperor's horses' heels.
Oh none too soon through the air white and dry
Will the clear announcer's voice
Beat like a dove, and you and I
From the heart's anarch and responsible town
Rise by the subway-mouth to life again,
Bearing the morning papers,
And cross the park where saintlike men,
White and absorbed, with stick and bag remove
The litter of the night, and footsteps rouse
With confident morning sound
The songbirds in the public boughs.
