Elegy For Noc Noc

I don't even have a poem in my head, just grief: pure unadulterated grief over the state of affairs that is Noc Noc. My favorite bar, for the last two years, located on the haight (lower) between Filmore & Steiner, a grotto, a cavern of post modern apocolypses in art turned on its head, is no longer a smoking establishment. Not that SF has allowed smoking in its pubs for years now, but this place, this place was special, it did, its dark facade covered in grafiti was a sanctuary for nicotine fiends that cavorted like neanderthals in a dark cave.

I saw gangsters hanging out with hipsters, marina types mingling with punks, never heard an angry word there. The beats were eclectic, you might hear a piano concerto right after the incredible bongo band followed by Deep Purple and then maybe some simple minds and breakbeats right after. It was unreal, and now, sadly, its joined the reality of our PC culture. Its a sad day.

The story from behind the bar was simple, someone ratted them out. Som granola crunching pink lunged lame-ass let the cat out of the bag and took away our sanctuary, there's no more smoking, and their business has suffered since. If I knew the name of this imbecil I would crucify him right infront of Mythic Pizza, two doors down, so that his or her corpse could hang as a reminder to those that venture outside of their lines and can't leave well enough alone. I would drive the nails in slowly, allowing for the salt to do its job with each agonizing strike of the mallet. This I would accomplish with the utmost joy and gratitude... but like an old nag or a dog thats past its prime... I hope that Noc Noc soon closes.

I don't want to think of it without smoke, without a thick wonderful cloud of tobacco smoke filling every nook and cranny: as if the bomb that hangs in the center of the room had exploded. In many ways, that bomb has detonated and we are left with a bar that isn't unlike Terry Shaivo, soulless, a shell of its former self, for this, I hope it closes its doors so that the memory and joy I had there over the last two years will remain intact. I should be extatic: I turned in my thesis this morning, but I'm sad, I had planned a night of quiet celebration but found dissapointment... good bye my dearest Noc.