Night Cruz’n Pacific Avenue

And on these balmy September Labor Day weekend evenings,

the full Moon rising,

a great convergence of human desire plays out on Pacific Ave

as she on guitar one day would sing,

Let's go downtown,

Let's go downtown tonight...

And so,

as if instinctively, as if a type of soul gravity works

at the heart of the city, a world of desire converges & the parade

that began as day flourished up & down the main Cruz

now feels the flush of dusk—

And so festive-like

the lure of lights like stars strung through all the trees,

all the sparkles in their branches,

that glamour both sides the Avenue block after block

these last few years of the post-Quake Cruz.

All of desire’s actors will attempt to play out their repertoires here—

Swarms of youth, the dating crowd, out-on-the-night couples,

backpackers & restaurant goers,

street people & performers, the just regulars & loner guys cruz’n,

tourists & over-the-summit Silicon Valley out-of-towners,

& a group of Aussies with camcorder are interviewing locals

to take back Down Under

—they sort’a grab me walkin’ by—,

& Tom the Magic Man is set up as usual in front of GAP

& reels in the fishes who take the bait of fast talkin' suggestibility—

He dazzles them, as usual; they always walk away wonderin'

how such magic is done.

And nearby,

a downtown regular sometimes also guitar bizarro

—I've seen him for years—

is kneeled on the pavement with two puppets male & female,

brings his own cassette player music & has ‘em dance all clunky

& perform little improvisational skits trying to garner attention—

They're talkin' ‘bout coffee, the habit, comparin' different local

establishments,

& hot spot most evenings

definitely is Santa Cruz Coffee Roasting Co.,

mobbed with groups of mid-to-late teens, twenty-somethings,

just hangin' out in front sippin' their to-go coffee & espresso drinks,

lightin' up cigarettes, talkin' like what scene to hit later,

& brash Starbucks moved in a direct shot across the street,

not so many hangin' out there; but these little groups, though,

face off

both sides the street

between which

cars cruise,

blarin' hip hop or punk rock,

with guys checkin' out the babes in their showoff tight jeans

& short tight skirts & looks of O so cool,

you wonder where desire will lead

this night—

And one evening

4 a cappella singers set up microphones & a speaker

in the outside Starbucks patio givin' a performance

attractin' more of the passin’ sidewalk gawkers,

& course there's a mob in front of, mingling in with,

the lines at the giant marquee Santa Cruz Cinema 9 lookin' more like

Wilshire Boulevard LA,

& traffic goes in & out Blockbuster Music next door on the corner,

& Mike the Bubble Gique would be here too, on-the-corner maker

of bubbles huge enough to even impress Gargantua,

but he's this weekend at Burning Man in Nevada,

& across the way street hippies lounge on the pavement

along a red, plastic-lined chain link fence

hidin' where the ol' landmark Cooper House used to be,

snubbing a silly ordinance ‘bout loitering—

Three police officers happen by,

ask questions,

but nothing further;

on Saturday a sax player will be there doin' his gig.

And I gaze up

& see the full Moon hangin’ expectantly in clear sky above,

reminder of some origin of desire,

& a short distance away the accordionist The Great Morgani,

playin’ almost every evening in front of Shen's Gallery,

swings to a snappy polka number—

He’s always in a different outfit,

tonight in white dress shirt with yellow sparkling beret,

last night in his glittery East European harlequin sleeves

with black vest & black Zorro hat,

always an audience of a handful standin' round

& sittin' on benches nearby

—he’ll play requests for those who ask

& sometimes he gets ‘em dancin’,

as a couple dances now

to a slow romantic number.

And down by Costa Brava,

a live stompin' music restaurant,

a couple are standin' & playin' guitars singin',

Oh baby, baby, it's a wild world...

& next door

people are lined up to make the trip up the steps

to Rosie McCann's Irish Pub, they got the live loud sound too

& stompin' crowd,

& guys up & down the Ave sit on the edges of cement planter boxes

alone or with friends

fingerin' their guitars

—what is their desire?—,

& a hippy guy walks by lookin' lost in the throng,

there’s a sign hangin' from his neck, simply says "Tarot,"

& local poet Bert Glick is always cruz’n through, always focused

straight ahead, apparently never sees me.

And how many stand in circles & parade in waves, cruz’n the scene

in their baseball caps, oversized t-shirts & baggy pants,

or tattered jeans & tie-dyed shirts,

while tourists stroll casual on the decks of The Cruz

in their fresh-laundered shorts & Birkenstock sandals...

And so many businesses stay open late—

East Meets West shares door with Natural Treasures,

Eclectix, naughty-filled Camouflage, RAGE

(meaning Recycled American Garment Exchange),

Pacific Wave, Many Hands Gallery, the ID Building

(meaning Integrand Design),

Bookshop Santa Cruz with Georgianna's in front, another café

you might hang out at,

& someone there is playin' violin, tomorrow, it'll be guitar,

& almost directly across the street is Super Crown

with its "Going Out Of Business" banner

—committed the arrogance of hubris on The Cruz,

now everything on sale.

And even a place like Bunny's Shoes is open late.

And a new gay bar

Club Dakota has its little happenin' hot scene

next where Tom has staked out his stage in front of GAP

with new people always gathered round, spillin’ over,

as the show once again goes on.

Peet's Coffee & Tea, another alternative, gets its share

of the crowd,

& at the quiet Town Clock end of the main Pacific drag so, too,

Espresso Royale Caffe (the old Lulu Carpenter's, popular bar

of pre-Quake days),

& Pacific Avenue Pizza & Grille is servin' till 11:00

& at the opposite end the main drag

Pizza My Heart, with packed outside tables,

—it’s the local favorite & a long-established joint—,

also stays open late for the quick bite,

& the B of A Versateller is hit up over and over for fast cash,

& Pacific Cookie Co. you see how it’s starkly well lit with displays

of big cookie sweets,

& the old classic Del Mar Theatre you see is all lit up

but no longer the crowds of yesteryear,

& Marini's mint-green-lit name overhead

hints of its bright sparkling glass counters of candies & ice cream;

& New Leaf Market in the old big bank building corner of Soquel

—it’s so bright-looking inside—its customers come & go till 9.

And there’s a jam

at the corner down from Palookaville where punk rock new wavers

are playin' loud way loud, you can hear 'em poundin' thru the wall,

& the sidewalk crowd is waitin' to get in, tryin' to get in

—tickets all sold—,

so they're just hangin' out beside the big road buses,

apparently the place to be—for now—wherever desire may lead—,

& of course the Catalyst—ol' Cruz landmark, I knew it well years ago—

draws its share of the nightclub going—for years its heyday glory days

guaranteed every Friday & Saturday night,

& Logos used books is browser's magnet & popular thoroughfare

—a rendezvous point every day for so many there—,

& next door is Double Rainbow Cafe with its neon ice cream cone

& neon coffee cup,

I never yet stepped into,

& parked in front of the Sockshop another door down

a most remarkable car I spot, an art car—an old BMW—

of incredible detail, as it’s utterly covered with baubles

& figurines & all kinds of whatever,

of which to attempt to describe I could not do justice to,

not here, not at this moment.

People can't help but stare, some sittin' on a bench nearby;

& I sit, take some notes, & walk circles around it,

& suddenly the owner walks up & wonders of my interest—

She's a friendly ol' tie-dyed hippy goin’ way back.

And on this Sunday

after the crowds have gone, as I sit & watch,

here, at a Coffee Roasting Co. outside table,

reflecting on The Cruz, it’s big nights this weekend,

a group is gathered round another table intent on netting

the still searchin’ passin’ by,

talkin' ‘bout dancin' to the Spirit, I hear mention of Jesus,

must be some Christian group.

And I reflect

that amidst all this convergence of human desire

stands in utter silence a huge structure

sharing the other corner of Soquel 'bout 7 stories tall,

an absolutely dark skeleton of a building going up

everyone just walks by

thru this red painted plywood & scaffolding walkway

running alongside,

another rebirth from the ground up of our Quake

9 years ago—

As I reflect

I am reminded of the enormously huge darkness

within our Monterey Bay—

I think of all

the convergence of energy & desire,

of human intention & dreaming & planning,

round the beautiful shores of our Monterey Bay.

I reflect

how desire draws them all to this place,

as desire draws everyone everywhere at all times

to some rendezvous.

Desire—

the universal motivator,

but then—

What then?

Do they find satisfaction? That object of desire?

Or is it frustration of a kind or another?

Or is there something more?

For as the parade began, the parade must end.

As I left the scene on a previous evening

—whether Friday or Saturday, I can’t remember—,

as I turned a corner,

I saw this hippie couple quietly eating a pizza out of a box

on the pavement beside a building whose facade column

hid them from the fray.

Desire—

comes as simple as eat & survive,

but let us hope there is something more—

What then?

There is Vision, revealing a whole other Story to tell,

to take desire on a whole other Cruz.

September 1998