it's a sort of mystery, and he has this "look-into-my-deep-soul-to-realize-your-true-self" about him. one time i saw three of these heads on a cart in oakland. i would frequent the heads more often than i thought, just to sit and look at their discardedness, and i always though how sad this final resting place, however accessible.
i've had dreams about the head:
i was continuously on my way home. the long stretch of buchannan avenue in sight from where marin merges at the split. there's a lot which is magically and quixotically situated somewhere near the giltrack, where the university grows corn and some other vegetable in continuous rotation. i see the head and it's near sunset; he is the one that guides me home. even though i know for a fact there was never one in albany, it feels familiar. like a hiking trail duck, or a beacon, or a floating bouy. it gleams safety in the glowing warmth of dusk. i try to leave the lot many times, and it may seem that i do, but i'm forever walking home and never reaching it; the doggie diner eyes and wide smile the only thing that makes sense in a senseless dream.
and what is it? that inquisitive enigmatical look he gives. his odd use of culinary fashion with the bow tie and chef's hat. what is he pondering? what is he waiting for. if he actually cooking something?
so, whatever the reason, it's a good one to check out a resurrected piece of bay area history. you'll be happy you did, or sad, or confused, but you'll have seen something rare and odd, and that in itself is satisfying.
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