most beautiful thing of the day

beyond the deep warmth and companionship from dear friends JSD, EL and DW we have two contenders today. in the transcendence department, we have being slowly but surely descended upon by santas and other sundry be-christmased folk on the train this evening and in the realm of the aesthetic we have brooklyn--the myth, and the meaning.

my santacon experience began sometime friday night when i saw a tweet that said "SantaCon" and thought nothing more of it. then around 4pm a noticed a girl getting book giftwrapped whose cute christmas elf outfit was a bit much for just hipness but not a full on costume either. it finally registered when around 630pm I saw 2 then 5 then 7 then 12 santas and associates converging in soho. and by the time i got on the R train up to astoria, queens, it was clear. santacon was all hurbling and burbling all around me and i had nothing to do but giggled and gape.

favorites:
-Santa Khan, tall and lanky in a long, red regal cape with his name elegantly stitched in and a beautiful mongolian-lookin' crown on his pun-loving head.
-Santa on Stilts...rememeber... R train to Astoria--pretty great.
-Bacon Santa
-Santa whose fake eyebrows were as full and lustrous as his hair and beard (and who also turned out to be my friend EL!...w00t! oh man...you should have seen the santas hoot n holler about that love connection--truly cinematic--flash bulbs, "awww"s from the crowd, heartfelt hugs...the whole deal.
-Regular Santa who decorated the train car in garland and candy canes and gift bows while they rode from prince street to times square.

then there was the very old woman i sat beside through all this who said things like "i guess new york city wasn't loud enough for them" and "i bet they're all from jersey...or maybe pennsylvania" and "if i went to where they lived and made noise like this, i'd get arrested" and finally "well merry christmas, anyway, my dear"

and at the very, very end all the way in queens there was the rambunctious little boy grabbing for candy canes, fairly leaping from subway seat to subway seat and then a bit later the reserved little girl who got up from where she was sitting with her grandma, but didn't go so far she'd get in trouble, and looked pensively and for a long, long time at the decorated train car properly bemused and entranced and wondering.

i'll get into the brooklyn myth another time. tonight, that santa-ed subway ride had it all: the beauty of transformation and chance and semi-earnest, semi-postmodern goofyness swept me up into itself and then faded just as quickly.

transformation is beautiful...however fleeting.

good night, all.

the audacity of supple control

i have never seen ANYONE move like this--stunning.

beautiful anthem

Load the car and write the note.
Grab your bag and grab your coat.
Tell the ones that need to know.
We are headed north.

One foot in and one foot back.
But it don’t pay to live like that.
So I cut the ties and I jumped the track.
For never to return.

Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

When at first I learned to speak.
I used all my words to fight.
With him and her and you and me.
Ahh, but it's just a waste of time.
Yeah it’s such a waste of time.

That woman she’s got eyes that shine.
Like a pair of stolen polished dimes.
She asked to dance I said it’s fine.
I’ll see you in the morning time.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

Three words that became hard to say.
I and Love and You.
What you were than I am today.
Look at the things I do.

Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Are you aware the shape I’m in?
My hands they shake, my head it spins.
Ahh Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.

Dumbed down and numbed by time and age.
Your dreams that catch the world the cage.
The highway sets the traveler's stage.
All exits look the same.

Three words that became hard to say.
I and Love and You.
I and Love and You.
I and Love and You.

finding the party again, two days later

In a basement by the beach, the Friday before Halloween, several young people—ears pummeled, minds stratospheric, hearts open, faces alive—witness a no-shit epic show of talent and power and noise, just below sea level. One of them is dressed as a drawing, and, if you look at her face, you know that she is having the time of her life—that her mind is flashing with thought, her heart is exploding again and again and again and her only concern is that she be able to write about this one day and let people who didn't get to be there know how perfect life felt then...how perfect it is capable of feeling.

And that's what a great party does, you know? At its apex, you question nothing—life's good, you're so fucking lucky and you know it. I'd like to find a way back into that party-brain space because I know Everything in those moments. That's capital-E "everything"—like all there was and ever will be to know. Because often, two days later, rational brain at the wheel, it's hard to get back in there and touch the place where it all once made sense. Hard to say more than “You had to be there,” which I never say because, who needs more exclusion in this world? We should all just become better journalists—relentlessly detailed, sensitive and perceptive with photographic memories and wide open hearts.

I am drunk and high and dancing, dressed as a drawing beside a tall friend in face paint and a cowboy hat. To my right, is a girl dressed as a biker cat—sleek and tough, and electrically blasé. Behind me, a dapper friend and his charming, dancer companion who fits so well into our group it's confusing. The air is packed with sound and joy because before us two young men—one a bear, one a birch—are playing the shit out of an electric guitar and a set of drums. The stage is way too small for them and that is appropriate somehow—a visual clue that what's happening here is more than you usually get. More than should rationally be expected. The pair of faces on these two young musicians is just beautiful—the tension between trust and belief and nerves and grace is more than palpable. It is a feeling that goes right to your heart if your eyes are open wide enough.

The bear's right hand plays at hummingbird speeds with home run power. His face is wet with effort, his eyes--so shut, his mouth roaring, his body believing every moment of this. Behind him, in the forest of Eleanor's construction, the birch drums furiously with an earnestness and devotion that could break your heart if you let it. His face all “I'm not so sure about this” and his hands answering “What are you talking about? Look how easy it is to be amazing!” Together, the bear and the birch—Brendan and Pete—fill their stage with a vision of what it looks like to get to do what you want: it's fucking messy and beautiful and loud and when you strut out into the audience knowing exactly what the hell you did to make life feel so fucking beautiful right now, you can feel that they want to embrace you, but you can feel them hold back because they're not as brave as you...yet.

How many transcendent events are happening in the corners of this city at any given moment--a dizzily impossible question to answer. Still, every now and then you might find yourself in the middle of one, with a friend, or in a crowd or all alone and think “well, at the very least, this is happening to me right now, so let's start the count at one.”

oh, hi

it's been ages and ages since i've written--over a year. somewhere in there i got the idea that this project was all wrong, because i wasn't feeling drawn to beauty--or the search for it--in the same way i used to be.

i think it had something to do with falling in love.

the swooshy, ready-to-get-swept-up-up-up-and-away parts of myself were already so wildly engaged that this project lacked luster. c'est l'amour...

also, my love--he didn't get what i was doing here. or he got it but wished it was something else. i'm not sure.

and, finally, largely because of that relationship, i began to look at the parts of myself i'd been avoiding for so long and the effort of that work--the highs and the lows of it--also overshadowed the place this project had in my heart.

but that's only part of the story.

love, and insecurity and much-needed internal turmoil kept my right brain busy leaving 'ole lefty wondering how to make sense of this divergence. and you know what? i think the little guy did it:

stay tuned for a shift towards transcendence...