A Loving Reply to “The Dreams I Dreamt: Letters to SF”
This month Stuart and I stored nearly 4,000 copies of our new literary magazine, “The Dreams We Dreamt: Letters to San Francisco”, in a friend’s warehouse in SOMA. This past Sunday we organized a team of readers and good samaritans to help us distribute this new, free, magazine containing the writing of 19 of The City’s best authors and poets. to over 50 of our favorite small businesses and art institutions in every district of San Francisco.
Here’s a map of where you can you get your FREE copy in San Francisco : )
We are also throwing a book release block party in North Beach Sunday 7/28 from 2pm-4pm in Kerouac Alley (between Vesuvio and City Lights Books), and you can get a copy there too! RSVP HERE.
All of this amazing work was made possible thanks to a generous grant from the Civic Joy Fund!
Below, is a loving reply to the collection of works from a San Franciscan named Katrina Swanson, she wrote to me this week saying:
“I wanted to reach out because I was so moved by reading “The Dreams I Dreamt” that I wrote my own response essay. I’m not sure if you usually publish guest writers, but I thought I’d share in the same spirit that the writers of that book shared some powerful thoughts with me about our great City.
Thanks for your consideration for this piece and thank you again for publishing that fantastic book!”
Photos by Alex Mak.
A Loving Reply to “The Dreams I Dreamt: Letters to San Francisco”
By Katrina Swanson
“Is there anyone here who needs the power of The Coven tonight? We will cast a spell for you if you need good luck or you’re looking forward to something, anything you need!” This is how we open our show if you come see The Coven, my all female identifying Improv comedy troupe, perform on any random night. Too many women meeting together can only mean that we’re up to some sort of devilry — which inspired our team name.
There is also the stereotype of every San Franciscan 20-30something aged woman converting to some spiritual- but-not-religious amalgamation of crystals, tarot cards, and “but what’s your rising sign” that rings true. At least enough to be conversant in the conversation or not blink when a friend talks in earnest about her Saturn return as a reason to need a little more self care. In San Francisco, there always seems to be enough magic to go around, even if we can’t pinpoint how or why. It’s an oft tread road, hearing old timers give the ol’ woe is me about San Francisco. But for me, all of those stories are trapped in Season of the Witch, Cool Gray City of Love, and Herb Caen reprints. Yes, things have changed, but change is the only constant about this City except eventually having to be buried in Colma.
I was born and raised in the suburbs of San Francisco to two Nebraskans seeking their own fortune. Having a 510 area code meant that my very middle class junior high thought we really could go hyphy. As a right of passage, we watched every cool band on the planet tour through San Francisco and only got to see them if we swore we’d remember to leave early enough to catch the last BART train home. But most failed and ended up needing a ride from an exhausted parent from the now shuttered Burger King on Market (somehow the only safe place to wait near a station). So I ended up only going to the shows I could convince my mother to join me for. At least I got her copy of the Fillmore poster.
Living in the City now is like a gift to my younger self. Every time I find myself walking clear across neighborhoods, using MUNI as my designated driver, or popping into the SFMOMA for world class art at my doorstep…or even yes, paying far too much for concert tickets, my inner child smiles. It’s a slippery slope here to become a snob for local wine and cheese as well as craft cocktails and Michelin restaurants. One gifted trip to Benu and a college wine appreciation class later and I can’t go back. I’m absolutely ruined now. Like having opinions about truffles and caviar “bumps” ruined.
San Francisco has good bones. We’ve got a transit system and density that a majority of the United States only dreams of. I co-lead San Francisco City Girls Who Walk, an organization that grew out of the loneliness epidemic of the Pandemic out of New York City but quickly sprouted outposts in major cities across the world, and we get dozens of female-identifying folks finding our group after mere days of moving to the City. It’s a firm reminder that the many reasons that bring people here are just that, reasons, but the community that we invest in and build around us create its future.
Our group isn’t alone either. I’ve learned about countless other organizations in the City desperate to bounce back – potluck groups, queer hiking groups, running clubs, full moon circles, and more. We’re actively building something together! Part of is is because there’s a magic that dwells deeply here and part of it is because it’s stupid simple to visit your friend’s house when they live off the same bus line.
But it’s not going to look the same. The owner of DNA Lounge was lamenting on his blog that concerts end earlier nowadays and the crowds want to go home at a more sensible hour than before. He guessed it had something to do with the squeeze of capitalism on both the bands
with day jobs and the patrons unable to work hungover anymore. The young still party. They always will. If anything, I’m shocked the all powerful Day Party hasn’t conquered and become a mainstay of San Francisco life with the year round temperate weather and world class parks.
We all win in this exchange – the true partiers can continue on to the afterparty (after a break for dinner) from 7 to midnight and those of us who are starting to accept calling ourselves “mid- thirties” have some hope of continuing our raving days for years to come. Out of all the cities in the world, in San Francisco there is no risk of judgment in letting the sun (but mostly fog) watch us dance and get high, covered head to toe in glitter and bondage gear. It only seems obvious upon leaving that this acceptance is a sort of magic that only dwells here.
Yes, occasionally people ask “what do you do?” here, but they’re the new folks who will catch on soon enough. The real ones ask “what sort of hobbies do you have?” But here, I’ve never been asked why I do Improv. I’m starting to realize this is an intrinsically San Franciscan trait. Because to ask someone why they have a creative outlet is a rhetorical question. We’re never going to make money or get famous like we “should” but all the hours of practice, classes, and stage time are pure unbridled creativity – which is what beats as the heart of this City. And
maybe, just maybe, it’s a chance to harness the magic of San Francisco to cast a real spell.
FIND OUT ABOUT THE HUGE BOOK RELEASE PARTY RIGHT HERE.
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