Cats don't catch mice to please god.
The lights are turned up bright. Some nights, despite the city's electric haze, we can see the stars. Yes, the stars of Broadway and Daytime - and sometimes those of film. But I'm referring to those other stars many thousands of years away, ones that when gazed upon shock us into humility, back into our tiny selves. Egos, you see, can be weaned. Maybe that's the problem: we city folk can't see the stars most nights, and so we forget that life is more than just about us, that life is this unknowable thing. We are yappy lap dogs coddled 'til now by the universe, unfettered by our size. In fact, we think we're huge.
Holes were dredged to get us here. Mortar had to set. Light from the sun and floodlights shone on the ones who ground the paste, who worked at a pace both measured and quick. Art is everywhere. Beauty is in everything. We, too, are busy. We think it all important. We hollow out the hallowed walls, looking for something - some talisman, some fire. Sometimes there is nothing to be found. But nothing, of course, is something.
When is a camera in the way? Should it be left at home some days? I think so. Everything I encounter is not meant to be recorded in some way, whether visibly or otherwise. Some memories should live on in the mind and in the mind only. Perhaps if I depended upon my mind's eye more often, I'd have a richer, fuller life. Maybe I'd live in the moment instead of striving to capture a snippet of what is ultimately elusive and out of reach.
Nerds are cool. But even more than nerds, I respect people who stand up for and defend their convictions of heart and those who fight for justice. I was deeply disturbed and saddened today to discover that my own father would, if he could, prevent two men (or women) from marrying. I suspected that he felt this way, of course. What I didn't know is that he supports an organization that works to prevent marriage equality. What I know - and what I feel - is deep, deep sadness. My sadness is sadness for him that he can't seem to recognize that the same old hate that courses through the veins of history is rising again in his rhetoric. Even if he thinks his reasoning is sound in love and safe in "god," he must recognize that his failure to love his own child, to take the opportunity that I am gay to fine-tooth comb and reevaluate his beliefs and affiliations, is paramount to neglect. Most parents want the best for their kids. My father, though, seeks to strip his only son of his humanity and equality. He fuels the hateful pyre that evangelists first started and that copycats have fanned. Once and for all, I want to bare my heart in hopes that justice will prevail, that heavy rains will come to stifle and starve of oxygen this raging fire.
Who knew I had it in me to name and create an ice cream sandwich for the architecturally-inspired ice cream truck in L.A. called Coolhaus!? I won their contest co-sponsored by Dwell magazine! Crazy! http://www.dwell.com/articles/and-the-winner-is.html
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