The Return to Fleishhacker

if you ignore searches for my name(s), or various dog dildo queries, the fleishhacker pool is the third most popular google search to lead strangers to this ridiculous blog. it's only beat by the jejune institute and folsom street fair-- which are interesting in their own right.

the pool is how brittany found me.

i spent a few days debating with myself, friends, and facebook about whether or not i should visit the locker rooms of an abandoned swimming pool with a complete stranger from santa rosa. but a surprising number of people recommended it.

and then, due to chaos, she had to cancel.

so when we rescheduled and picked saturday for our field trip, i was extra excited to finally go. like after holding pee.

but the very same folk who originally told me it would be an awesome experience, had changed their minds. not with the full moon coming! not with the chance of earthquake! have you read about japan? the radiation‽

...we went anyway.

the two of us had plenty reasons to feel awkward, and we both received a steady flow of have-you-been-murdered-yet? text messages. she had been attacked by a cat a few days earlier and got to meet me with stitches under her right eyeball. and i had only just recovered from falling out of the sutro cave. she had prepared by pounding an energy drink and i had prepared by downing two coffees and filling my flask.

i suppose that's how any decent first encountering with a stranger goes.

but inside her jeep, she was playing weezer and the flaming lips while smoking a camel filter. something about that made me a lot calmer. had it been icp and rebecca black, i would've pulled out my whiskey.

it really wasn't awkward at all. we agreed it was surprisingly unawkward.

so we tromped about through the graffiti museum and used our camera flashes to guide us till we found a few spots of rare san francisco sun. though the foggy rain mixed with the broken walls and caving moss-covered ceilings made the whole experience the right amount of creepy.

the maze of artwork was still brilliant as the first trip, but the place was alarmingly clean.

yes, this is clean for the fleishhacker locker rooms. this is sparkling.

the exploded toilets were still exploded and had grown some new graffiti, but all of the creepy headless dolls, bedding, and even coyote's bedroom full of rusty bicycles had been deleted since the first time i'd visited.

only one room smelled like diarrhea and urine, and there were only a scattered few syringes, one very pristine bike helmet, and a short piece of sesame street literature.

the book reminded me of coyote and made me wonder where he lived now. or if he lived at all. he seemed so afraid of society. it really isn't easy being big. but we all have to grow up sometime, i guess.

i love abandoned buildings because they reek of existence and evolution. they've been torn apart by natural forces-- covered in webs and rust-- and then gutted by corporate humans. street artists spray the place with proof that they were there while it existed. and a few punks come in and knock down a wall or shatter a 40. but to see it all-- knowing this particular place was the largest swimming pool in the world during the 1920's-- is like being slapped in the face by humanity and mortality.

i think with all that the fleishhacker pool presents, there was no way brittany and i were going to have time to feel awkward. we were just two adventure-seekers appreciating a strange place with a stranger while they both still existed.

once we'd been up and down stairs, shooting what we could while being careful not to fall through the floorboards, we made our way back outside. i realized i'd only taken one or two accidental shots of brittany while in the danger-cave. the place is a little like a psychedelic version of the winchester mystery house and it has a way of keeping you mesmerized.

so i snapped a quick shot of her before we were outside.

in hindsight, this is a horrible photo and looks a little too much like it was taken from the p.o.v. of a rapist following a girl through shadytown, usa.

but at least it's proof that this really happened and i haven't developed a split personality.

and this post proves she didn't even murder me. so how about that?