I am going to have fun for the next week, it will be the 11th San Francisco Film Noir Festival and Peggy Cummings will be there for the first evening, I've bought my "passport" and special ticket well in advance and indulge in the "dark side" of films.
Some are available on DVD some are not---yet---but for me it is once again to search for "the black bird", to find my Sam Spade again of my imagination, of my dark and distance dreams.
It rained beautifully yesterday, leaving the sidewalks wet and gleaming, I felt even a slight thrill as I was heading towards to the Ferry building. I felt that I was not in the San Francisco of 2013 but of 1943.
I turn around and check the way I came to make sure I'm not being followed, and I watch carefully every person walking on the sidewalk, some I can easily ignore, some I become suspicious of, but it turns out they are not a threat.
I stop to give a homeless man with a dog a few dollars, his sign says "Please help me feed my dog, I can take care of myself". He says to me "God Bless you, they don't take dogs in the homeless shelters." I give him 5 dollars more, and tears form in his eyes and he whispers "thank you". His dog wags a friendly tail wag and raises his paw and I shake hands with the four legged companion then checking around continue to the Ferry Building.
The Ferry takes me across the bay as I see my City of light and dark receded from view, as I reach the dock and dis-embark and walk to the bus stop a car pulls up, it is Joe and he says "Get in Sweet Heart" in a way that only Bogie could do. My Sam Spade has shown up to take me in search of a new mystery ----and to make plans for the weekend and the following week for the Film Noir Festival.
The picture that I have posted is Dashill Hammett's Apartment in San Francisco, several film noir buffs and currently a writer lease it and have restored the apartment to approximate how it looked when Hammett lived in this apartment on Post.
I find that this is a good way to kick off the new year, and I am going to enjoy it.
is Every where, heaven or hell, Dante's Inferno or the seventh level of Hell, in your dreams or nightmares, or the red convertible that passed you on the road, the dream that got away and you weep at your loss, for I am never yours.
I'm a reflection that you see in a window, there and not there, I'm the dream that passes you in the night, always just beyond your reach, and yet I am your desire. I am my own person and belong to no one. I can be your own worst nightmare, or a lovely dream.
But beware, you don't want to be on the wrong side of me, for I will eat your alive.