Musings

“Click the Blog titles below to expand the Musings” ~PSegalProust

Who Am I?

It’s fascinating when a Dadaist writes your bio for you. My friend Dr. Really? started this blog because he thought Proust Said That—which is to say, me—deserved a home, and I, a platform. He has fanciful impressions, mixed with fact, to explain who I am, and he’s Dada to the nth degree. The only thing… Continue reading Who Am I?

A Wake for Marcel Proust

The last weeks have passed in the arduous effort to raise money for ArtHouseSF.org, my nonprofit for co-op artists’ housing and venues in San Francisco. The annual anniversary of Proust’s death, November 18, 1922, slipped by without observation. I will surely throw another wake for Marcel in 2022, to observe the 100th anniversary of his… Continue reading A Wake for Marcel Proust

Let’s Talk About Writers

Recently, I’ve been thinking about writing, and how essential writers are to the knowledge of  everything. Authors produce almost all sources of information, in one way or another. Books, textbooks, magazines, websites, and other written materials were produced by writers. Maybe a person doesn’t really read, and they get their information from lectures, news, documentaries,… Continue reading Let’s Talk About Writers

Moving

Moving is a life-changing event, as Proust and I both attest. In the last few months, I’ve moved from a 2100 square foot flat in the North of Panhandle district, that I lived in for 17 years, to a 12 x 14 foot room, with 90% of the belongings (that I kept) stored in an… Continue reading Moving

Writers and The Changing City

Ever since the gold rush, San Francisco has enticed writers. They couldn’t resist its intoxicating beauty, frequent liberties, and the fantasy of sudden fortune—a writer’s most cherished pipe dream— of the boom town on the bay. Between the gold—and subsequent silver—booms and the tech boom, there were decades when all San Francisco had going for… Continue reading Writers and The Changing City

It’s Saturday!

Dr. Really? and I are are cavorting in Proust’s Living room. We’re enjoying cups of tea and cookies.

Zone Trip #4

The caravan of ill-assorted vehicles assembled at the baseball diamond in Golden Gate Park as a late-summer dusk promised a fine night for entering the unknown. As always, when a Cacophony Society Zone Trip called adventurers to leave San Francisco, the stragglers came late, and the last-minute preparations detained us further.

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