Evelyn Bencicova.
Tag: bodies
Evelyn Bencicova.
Happy Sunday.
Went on a photo adventure with Deleonia.
In case you didn’t already know, The San Francisco National Cemetery is, I think, the only site left in San Francisco for internment of human remains (currently closed to new burials). There is also the famous Presidio Pet Cemetery, of course. Both are for military personel/pets only.
356/365
My pop’s been bitter lately. Disillusioned by his seemingly uncaring (and also bitter) wife, kids who go off and spend their days with their girlfriends, sons who live thousands of miles away and never call. To hear him talk is to realize that whatever lightness was in him is giving way to a stone heart and religion, especially now that my grandfather has passed. He’s confused and doesn’t understand why people aren’t like him, even as he so rationally states “we’re all our own mind.” Part of me thinks he should understand that people behave differently under various circumstances, and part of me wants his family—myself included—to be more compassionate. He lost his father and is emotionally distraught. The rest of us are handling the loss with as little emotion as possible. What the fuck is wrong with us?
There’s a cemetery near our house in Inglewood that we used to drive by regularly on our way back from Burbank or Long Beach via the 101 freeway. It’s massive and probably one of the oldest cemeteries in the area, though not nearly as ancient as anything in films. There are few overly elaborate headstones and the mausoleums are few in number. Later, when I lived in Brisbane (a stone’s throw from San Francisco), I visited Colma often. It was a bastion of peace amid an urbanized landscape. It was even amusing to think of a cemetery designed exclusively for pets. Sometimes I drove through on a whim and sometimes I pulled over somewhere and walked into one of the various cemeteries. The city of the dead is quite beautiful.
Now, pondering death and all, I walk up to the cemetery near my apartment. There are no fences or security to ward off hooligans, as was the case with the previously mentioned sites. It has the vibe of a public park. I read the names and I consider that of all the possible ways to meet death, I’m most interested in head-on. It means youth and old age, the naked body in all its phases, and the certainty that someone’s passed and it isn’t the worst thing in the world.
For now.
Happy Sunday.
Went on a photo adventure with Deleonia.
In case you didn’t already know, The San Francisco National Cemetery is, I think, the only site left in San Francisco for internment of human remains (currently closed to new burials). There is also the famous Presidio Pet Cemetery, of course. Both are for military personel/pets only.
356/365
My pop’s been bitter lately. Disillusioned by his seemingly uncaring (and also bitter) wife, kids who go off and spend their days with their girlfriends, sons who live thousands of miles away and never call. To hear him talk is to realize that whatever lightness was in him is giving way to a stone heart and religion, especially now that my grandfather has passed. He’s confused and doesn’t understand why people aren’t like him, even as he so rationally states “we’re all our own mind.” Part of me thinks he should understand that people behave differently under various circumstances, and part of me wants his family—myself included—to be more compassionate. He lost his father and is emotionally distraught. The rest of us are handling the loss with as little emotion as possible. What the fuck is wrong with us?
There’s a cemetery near our house in Inglewood that we used to drive by regularly on our way back from Burbank or Long Beach via the 101 freeway. It’s massive and probably one of the oldest cemeteries in the area, though not nearly as ancient as anything in films. There are few overly elaborate headstones and the mausoleums are few in number. Later, when I lived in Brisbane (a stone’s throw from San Francisco), I visited Colma often. It was a bastion of peace amid an urbanized landscape. It was even amusing to think of a cemetery designed exclusively for pets. Sometimes I drove through on a whim and sometimes I pulled over somewhere and walked into one of the various cemeteries. The city of the dead is quite beautiful.
Now, pondering death and all, I walk up to the cemetery near my apartment. There are no fences or security to ward off hooligans, as was the case with the previously mentioned sites. It has the vibe of a public park. I read the names and I consider that of all the possible ways to meet death, I’m most interested in head-on. It means youth and old age, the naked body in all its phases, and the certainty that someone’s passed and it isn’t the worst thing in the world.
For now.