I can't remember fireworks like tonight having only ever experienced the dull family playground variety and one other magnificent display sponsored by the city's government but in partnership with the city's acid scene.
This one was clear and sweet, with Alex, on the beach, separated from the crowds and the cold by a poncho-blanket. The cliched spectacle proved as innovative as the experiment. The work of other artists is as good or better without my filters and imaginings than with them. Except I never quite trust that it will be so. It's as if I need to be shocked into paying attention.
Tonight, by my own assessment, I rambled and snapped, put in my opinion where it was rude to do so, grew bored when I should have been alert and, ultimately, never stopped being either unabashedly self-absorbed or sneakily so. I failed and failed and failed and failed. But I never stopped trying to be in better spirits nor to think with charity about everyone and everything I saw.
In this I surely failed as well, for no secret judgement is quite as hidden away as it seems to be to those of us poking against anonymity, and I must hatch or be boiled.
Pretense, pretense, pretense!
I will boil myself in vats of pretense in a vain attempt to hatch a pure creature.
This too (and this) is pretense.
I don't even have the wherewithal to know if my metaphor is mixed.
Goodnight.
littleoutrage (19 hours ago) Show Hide