Justin Hall's personal site growing & breaking down since 1994

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I met this woman at a party on July 8.

I was at a party with a bunch of the Cyborganics, at Alita Holly's house. She'd finally moved on from her relationship with Jonathan and was looking pretty chipper in her orange vinyl/pleather skirt.

I'd arrived with Spoonman, I spent most of my time on premesis chatting about web stuff with Brian Behlendorf, taking pictures of my friends, random mingling, and dancing. In other words, no sustained connection.

Finally shaking my booty a bit, towards the party wind down. I notice an attractive woman with curled black tresses down the sides of her face, smartly dressed, and doin' a nice dance. A bit of eye contact, mutual smiles, we're shifting closer. Unfortunately intercepted by a balding gent who spoke to her until she had to leave, all the while playing with the ring on his third finger, left hand, behind his back.

Slightly daunted, I followed her out to the sidewalk, with her friend posse. She was abandoned a moment, we had a chance to speak. She turned out to be a writer herself, fiction, homeless people as angels she said was a recent theme.

She didn't have e-mail, I gave her my number. I didn't hear from her for a number of days, I wrote this nice poem about her, but I got her name wrong.

dreams of annabell (7/11/95)

I want to close my eyes
and dream of annabell
dark curled tresses side a strong nose
In the connection scramble
standing opposed on hillside stairs
I neglected her number
I've forgotten her friends
I hope she calls my scrap
so I'm going to forget to keep my eyes open
and dream of annabell
I'll see her again,
forget to get her number
she was a writer
maybe she's dreaming of me too.
we'll talk to homeless people
and make of them angels
fly high
of my dreams
Finally after almost a week, she called, we made a date for that weekend. The date lasted from one pm until four am, when it was over I wrote.
annette (7/16/95)

united with my misnamed dream girl
annette I meet for lunch today at one pm
we spoke by phone early, eleven
just woke up sleep calculations, I wonder if she was up late partying.
two buses haight bound
brief stop breeze family by shower
I stop for three stems prior to cole street ten minutes late
sight birdcage in bottom floor number one hers
answers the door soon, dress print red blue and purple
tresses as I recall
funky shoes
hello, here, thank you, my favourite colours
I was struck by eye wrinkles and makeup
as we shared a light hug
follow her into a quaint two room
native spanish artifacts and poster reproductions
walls that end in high ceilings
today we're listening to the same music
indigenous to peru and the andes
the light room, second, dominated by a bird cage
and an african grey with a bad attitude
Oscar, I heard on the phone, is persistant defender of her attention level
stares me down, attacks me
she does that to men.
and books, scraps missing from open tomes, paper cud litters the floor.
I notice a guitar, astrology and more nativism
up and at 'em, out the door, All You Knead.
not guessing her sign until I spy bulls head neck charm
Taurus, second in a daze
she is mellow
refuses to be called Helen, in spite of her greek beauty.
state student
liberal studies with a focus on literature
eggs and gazes
noticed star-bust eyes
our food gets cold as our talk
warms to subjects
stories of evenings passed,
reads my writing,
Jail and Jorge, my staple.
I asked you age point blank
you said 26
but have lied 24, even 23
when you found me twenty was shock
number repeated again
even as matters not, again.
retraced our steps to here
how was that party for you?
friends jobs home country.
i covered lunch and you protested a little
an unemployed former coffee house girl
taking some classes, trying to graduate before 28.
a wandering walk was easy
didn't feel any pressure to path
lead to park and garden
admission and warmpth in a white glasshouse
amidst greenery
you were quarter-cherokee adopted
we looked at carnivorous honey glanded pitchers
strange hanging plant pods
back through golden gate
vestiges of the AIDS walk
a persistently small drum bench
talk of unemployment
looking for a job
cole, and oscar
waiting in the window and knowing when it's us
time talking in the front room, she pecks at my shoes
and starts to fly at my head
is hold brownie, my 22 year old prone teddy bear wards off
the gendered death parrot
cracking joints and the weather
talk intentionally small persistent
tepid times
of silence and doubt
finally disregarded
drugs and I mention my father,
my last girlfriend
but it doesn't last,
as we speak astrology, you
fifth house romanticism,
twelfth house holdup
again mars in the seventh sagittarius
and moon in an earth sign
mystical mumbo jumbo
torrid romance a reoccuring theme
is laughed and not-even innuendoed
to eat, I am in your bathroom.
Miles ahead and an old glass mirror
two passive selectors on the Haight
again, my choice empowered
both restaurant and food
she was glad I thought of it.
over pancakes and mushrooms
you and brother called yourselves geek
we quickly develop inside jokes
honey glanded pitchers
and african sauces
your mirth is spontaneous
sometimes you laugh from silence
dinner is finished and eventually you pick up the check
to your house car unrecognizable
to the pets of a friend since three
casey the needy dog and olive the agressive rabbit
I was under the bed and bathtub
in a bunny hunt
or playing my face with the dog
duty done is lack of plan
to a near bar I've never been
but I've heard is cool
Club Latin American
was irony, no latin american,
only country music
and hip thirtysomethings
not wealthy enough to be obnoxious
your not-friend ariel spoke a blue streak to us
and we reflected
tried to talk through our tiredness
we both didn't want the even to end
yoga queen, earth goddess
I bought you a beer, while I cleansed club soda
you drew in my journal,
on demand printed my first initial larger than your own
the lack of theme to the bar set you on edge
you are going to open your own cafe
with vegetarian food of the world, books
and of course the Internet.
you taurus store memory in your neck
sensitive I'll have to remember that
as if it is a big surprise
glasses empty we hit the road
pass by last night's mariachi
and we circle back for it
no music no linger
it was a struggle not to call you mary
near our hood and we're dropping me off
no fear, for the future is now,
would you like to see this house?
ground floor tour and talk
look over books while I wait to kiss you
you've got your tear gas in your hand,
and I've eight inches on you.
in a soft light, she looks dynamite.
pointy chin, thin lips
hook nose
magic eyes
held your hands are warmer
you appreciate the gender reversal
you joke of your tragic life
I lean in lips meet and tongues soon stroke and pull flesh up down back naked rubbing pull hug kiss lick neck cheek meets cheek and our bodies love and first touch
we don't stop standing and I don't start thinking
I was dog tired and you were spacing
now quiver sex magic quake between us fire
pull and push perfect
you can still laugh
I can't take you in the bedroom
and I can't take you here
we do end up on the couch
the dry humping was better than my recent sex
i was on top, and happy to be there
your legs, bowed, around my persistent rythmic hip swaggle
we are sweating moaning panting
almost there but you promised yourself
my patience means we hug and stroke
again humping inspired
mutual gaze is fire power intensity
you are turning me on
finally we let go
our skin to skin still
naked perfect yoga body
responsive to my lusttouch
I'm inspired
I'll see you tomorrow.
yeah, and so I did, see her later on,
excited I was, to get beyond dry humping,
nice eyes had she, but

time spent at her house was under the watchful eye of her african grey parrot "oscar" - who didn't like men, and was prepared to act on that

in other words, I had to be on my constant guard against oscar if I wanted to sit in her bedroom/sitting room on cole street
she didn't dig on locking him up or something

we went out for food, hung out, fed somebody else's pets
walk in golden gate park, she confesses one quarter or one eighth cherokee
late at night at her place
she gives me her twenty some year old teddy bear
the parrot feared it

so there's this pacing parrot, eyeing this decomposing large teddy I'm holding upright in my lap
annette didn't make that scintillating conversation that night
I said I was tired, was falling asleep in conversation

she said,
I know, I like you better this way - your defenses are down.

for what, I never figured out.

so we like slept together or something,
what ever happened was dissillusioning enough to send me away

she finally tracked me down after my irresonsible poor message returning
she accused me of acting my age,
I protested that my appendix had just burst.

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