Sixth Street - Revision history

Tobymarx at 03:02, 26 June 2015

2015-06-26T03:02:36Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 20:02, 25 June 2015
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	'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''		'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''

	~~'''Updated 24 June 2015'''~~

	''by Mark Ellinger''		''by Mark Ellinger''

Tobymarx at 03:01, 26 June 2015

2015-06-26T03:01:46Z

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Tobymarx at 00:30, 25 June 2015

2015-06-25T00:30:49Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 17:30, 24 June 2015
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	Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.		Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.

	*''2005, Trafford Books.''		''*2005, Trafford Books.''

	[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]		[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]
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	Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.		Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.

	*''Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''		''*Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''

	[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]		[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]
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	For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.		For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.

	*''In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'		''*In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'

	[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]		[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]
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	'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing — everyone liked it — and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.		'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing — everyone liked it — and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.

	*''”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''		''*”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''

	[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]		[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]

Tobymarx at 00:14, 25 June 2015

2015-06-25T00:14:51Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 17:14, 24 June 2015
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	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>

	As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER\|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo ~~served as~~ a signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present~~, now but~~ a ~~memory~~.		As embodied by the [[LABOR & YERBA BUENA CENTER\|new Yerba Buena pavilions]], galleries, malls and tourist hotels, and a widespread proliferation of drab and overbearing condominiums, modern urbanism has been steadily taking over the South of Market landscape for several decades. Demolished, plowed under and built over, the old “South of the Slot” district has been fragmented into near-oblivion, and Sixth Street for years has been slowly dying by attrition. The Hugo Hotel was at last razed in mid-Spring 2015. Inasmuch as it helped prevent the total dissolution of the old neighborhood by holding off encroaching urbanization and gentrification, the transformation of Sixth Street will no doubt proceed in earnest now that the hotel is gone. Despite its longtime closure in the face of a housing shortage, the Hugo was given new life and purpose by the artists who created "Defenestration." Transformed, the old hotel was a kind of signpost: a reminder of the past and a symbol of the present. It was a powerful presence that will not soon be forgotten.

	[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)\| Continue to Part Two]]		[[Sixth_Street_(Part_Two)\| Continue to Part Two]]

Tobymarx at 23:25, 24 June 2015

2015-06-24T23:25:27Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 16:25, 24 June 2015
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	Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.		Daily life on Sixth Street has been documented since 1992 by the staff and students of the [http://www.sixthstreetphoto.net/ '''Sixth Street Photography Workshop'''], and some moving portraits of neighborhood residents comprise a chapter of the book ''Many Voices''* by documentary photographer Virginia Allyn. I began my own portrait of Sixth Street by documenting its architecture and signs. By getting involved in the neighborhood, I got to know the people who live and work there. By listening to their stories, I learned some history. I got involved with the neighborhood by living in it.

	''~~&lowast;~~2005, Trafford Books.''		*''2005, Trafford Books.''

	[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]		[[Image:6th-&-Jessie 1995.jpg]]
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	'''"Conveniently Located"'''		'''"Conveniently Located"'''

	'''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.'''<br>		''Midtown Loans, 39 Sixth Street.''<br>
	'''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.'''		''Whitaker Hotel, 41 Sixth Street.''

	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>
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	'''"Sai"'''		'''"Sai"'''

	'''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street'''		''Sai Hotel, 964 Howard Street''

	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>
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	Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.		Even though I was grateful to have it, my room was far too cheerless and confining to be more than a place to rest my head, so I spent very little time actually living at the Sai. It would be many months before my surgical wounds were more or less healed. Between thrice-weekly visits to the hospital wound clinic, I occupied much of my time reading and writing at the Main Public Library on Grove Street. Lunch at St. Anthony’s Dining Room was my daily bread. An acquaintance one day introduced me to his friend Jozsef, who invited us to tea in his room at the Shree Ganeshai Hotel. Jozsef was an artisan and house-painter who had fled from Hungary during the turmoil of 1989. We discovered in each other common sympathies shaped by hardship and our dialog filled a mutual need for intellectual stimulation. I was soon enjoying regular visits to Jozsef’s snug and homey room, where he had been living for several years. The Shree Ganeshai Hotel was small, quiet and affordable,* and management rented only to long-term tenants. It seemed ideal, and with Jozsef’s endorsement, the manager agreed to let me rent the next available room. I could only hope it would be soon.

	~~&lowast;~~''Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''		*''Monthly rent would be 520 dollars, leaving me 170 dollars on which to live.''

	[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]		[[Image:Fairfax.jpg]]
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	'''"Invocation"'''		'''"Invocation"'''

	'''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.'''		''Shree Ganeshai Hotel, 68 Sixth Street.''

	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>
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	For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.		For the next few weeks, I slept sitting upright in bus shelters. At last in mid-May, I took possession of a room at the Shree Ganeshai. The title of the photo “Invocation” is derived from the name of the hotel. Many centuries ago, Sanskrit scholars began their writings with an invocation to God, usually the one their family worshiped. One such invocation, to Ganesha,* was shree ganeshaya namah. Over time the invocation came to be used before starting any activity and was gradually shortened until shree ganesh sufficed as a prayer for an auspicious beginning. The phrase is used today before any beginning, be it a meal, a journey, or a task. During my stay at the Shree Ganeshai, it was comforting to know that the name of my home was an endless prayer to Ganesha for a bright and beneficent new beginning. To this day I keep on my bookshelf a small golden effigy of Ganesha, a gift from the Shree Ganeshai’s manager, Nagin.

	~~&lowast;~~''In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'		*''In the Hindu pantheon, Ganesha is the elephant-headed god of wisdom and auspicious beginnings, who brought writing to the world by breaking off one of his tusks to use as a pen.'

	[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]		[[Image:Ganesha01.jpg]]
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	'''"Island Out of Time"'''		'''"Island Out of Time"'''

	'''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.'''		''Hillsdale Hotel, 51 Sixth Street.''

	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>
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	'''"Dentils of Metal"'''		'''"Dentils of Metal"'''

	'''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.'''<br>		''Sunnyside Hotel, 135 Sixth Street.''<br>
	'''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.'''		''Minna Lee Hotel, 149 Sixth Street.''

	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>
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	'''"A Lost Art"'''		'''"A Lost Art"'''
	'''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.'''		''Sunset Hotel, 161 Sixth Street.''

	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>
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	'''"If Walls Could Speak"'''		'''"If Walls Could Speak"'''

	'''Hugo Hotel, Sixth ~~and Howard~~.'''		''Hugo Hotel, 200 Sixth Street.''

	The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !\|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.		The Hugo was Sixth Street’s oldest hotel. Shuttered and vacant after a fire burned out several rooms in 1987, the unreinforced masonry building also suffered structural damage in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. In 1997 a group of artists led by Brian Goggin transformed the Hugo into an immense sculptural mural called [[DEFENESTRATION !\|"'''Defenestration''']]." Scavenged furniture and appliances were modified by the artists to make them appear animate and then cleverly affixed to the hotel. Tables and chairs leapt from the roof and ran across the walls. Lamps corkscrewed from some windows, and sofas, refrigerators, bathtubs, even a grandfather clock squirmed and leapt from others. Sightseers took untold thousands of photographs of the Hugo and its famous furniture; a housing crisis turned into public art. I photographed the Hugo’s former service alley because it showed the only wall of the hotel that had not been altered, save by the hand of Time.
Line 260:		Line 260:
	'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing — everyone liked it — and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.		'''"[http://www.defenestration.org/ Defenestration]"''' endured for nearly eighteen years, although most of the original sideshow-themed paintings disappeared beneath eye-popping murals of polychrome street art. As a work of conceptual art, the Hugo Hotel was universally appealing — everyone liked it — and I grew more attached to it with each passing year. Yet few people know the hotel remained empty for almost thirty years because its owners cared more about profits than people. They refused to repair and maintain the building as low income housing, but were unable to sell it because their asking price vastly exceeded the building’s actual market value. Their outspoken contempt* for those less fortunate reflects an attitude that for years has been tacitly encouraged by the policies of local government. After years of haggling with the owners, in January 2008 the redevelopment agency announced it was seizing the Hugo by eminent domain, foredooming the controversial landmark to demolition.

	~~&lowast;~~''”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''		*''”They can put the low-income people somewhere else… you can be homeless somewhere in Idaho.” — Varsha Patel, former owner, Hugo Hotel.''

	[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]		[[Image:Daybreak---Hugo-Hotel.jpg]]

Tobymarx at 23:17, 24 June 2015

2015-06-24T23:17:17Z

Show changes

Tobymarx at 16:32, 19 March 2013

2013-03-19T16:32:48Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 09:32, 19 March 2013
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	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''

	The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term. However, many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harm_reduction "'''harm reduction''']," which in effect means that serious problems are often ignored until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them. ~~Thus widespread drug use and associated behavioral problems are commonplace in nonprofit SROs~~, ~~as are~~ drug-related ~~evictions~~.		The hotels that have been bought and refurbished by nonprofit corporations now have modern, better-maintained accommodations, a major improvement to be sure; but a system of tiered management circumvents meaningful dialog with tenants who have valid complaints, and so-called supportive housing has a dark side that none will acknowledge. The purport of supportive housing is to assist those who have been homeless and otherwise socially alienated, and indeed it has to some extent reduced homelessness in the short term. However, many of the newly-housed come off the streets with drug problems and to this housing staff and management respond with the protocol of [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harm_reduction "'''harm reduction''']," which in effect means that serious problems are often ignored until they get completely out of hand. Old habits and behaviors die hard, especially if there is no motivation to change them. Instead, drug-related problems tend to be “solved” by eviction. Worst of all are the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease hotels'''], where crimes committed by staff and management—including embezzlement, drug dealing, property theft, prostitution, rape and other forms of violent assault—have been numerous and widespread yet rarely publicized, since cases involving crimes against tenants are largely settled out of court. Prominent among master lease hotels is the [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''Seneca'''] on Sixth Street; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.

	~~There is also a glaring dissociation between on- and off-site management, particularly in hotels that~~ are ~~operated by way of~~ the City’s [http://www.thclinic.org/content/services/property_management.php '''master lease ~~program~~''']; yet ~~another issue no one will openly address~~, ~~an issue that adds fuel to the fire~~ of ~~drug-related crime~~. ~~One of the worst examples of a~~ master lease ~~hotel~~ is [http://www.scribd.com/doc/78453127/Letter-to-Randy-shaw-January4-2011a '''~~the~~ Seneca''']; in essence a government-funded crack house, notorious for violence and open drug activity in the hallways.

	[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]		[[Image:6th-Street 1950-.jpg]]

Tobymarx at 02:51, 18 March 2013

2013-03-18T02:51:54Z

Show changes

Tobymarx at 11:05, 15 December 2012

2012-12-15T11:05:22Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 04:05, 15 December 2012
Line 114:		Line 114:
	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>

	Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink on the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed~~. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare~~. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.		Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink on the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.

	[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]		[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]

Tobymarx at 02:33, 14 December 2012

2012-12-14T02:33:19Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:33, 13 December 2012
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	''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>		''Photo: Mark Ellinger''<br>

	Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink ~~attached to~~ the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare~~. The sole electrical outlet was just above the sink in an open utility box~~. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.		Freshly discharged from the hospital, in mid-February 2001 I moved into the Sai Hotel. For a monthly rent of $400, I got a seven-by-five-foot room on the top floor at the back of the building. An undersized door opened inward, scraping the side of a small sink on the wall opposite the bed. The bit of floorspace unoccupied by the bed was a narrow strip along the length of the room. As this was mostly taken up by the sink and a nightstand, all that remained empty was clearance for the door. When using the door from inside the room, I had no choice but to stand on the bed. For all practical purposes inaccessible, the lead-colored walls were entirely bare. Every time I shaved or washed my face, I risked electrocution by the ungrounded electrical outlet in an open utility box over the sink. A small window near the head of the bed provided meager illumination that was never sufficient to wholly dispel the gloom. Suspended by a length of ancient, cloth-insulated wire, a naked, sixty-watt light bulb offered more light, but its glare was intolerable, so I used it as little as possible. Every aspect of the room was uncomfortable and oppressive. It felt like a broom closet, in fact I think it had been one, but it was the first place I could call home after nearly six years on the streets.

	[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]		[[Image:Invocation.jpg]]