morning
It seems as if I had been slumbering for a long time and have recently awoken to discover that sunshine feels like this, and fingers, when stretched, feels like that, and the world, much smaller, blearier. It is not a bad thing though. The ceaseless stream of saffron from street lamps whipping past on a cool, crisp night. Things are manageable. They are coming into focus. Emotions are packaged and inhaled, and one can pinpoint the midpoint between melancholy and stirring melody. There are moments which are inherently magical and glowing, and lately, I have been able to slip them on again like a coat. Sometimes. They don't leave; they just wait patiently for the dust to settle into cobwebs. It is comforting to know that they are there, twinkling upon catching light, and always warm. Still, the words are stiff and gooey, but it is nice to want to choke them out once more. The pulses from a faraway star.
I finished the first season of Transparent in three days. It is about a father who makes the decision to come out and live as a women in his sixties. It is about the changes of family dynamics and intra-familial relationships. It is about the lives of her children, her ex-wife, not just in connection with her, but as their own sprawling, tangled messes of neuroses, bad decisions, and tenderness. I am such a sucker for slow-boiling drama and throwaway glances. But but it really is filmed beautifully, with a perfect heart-punch musical score to boot. There were two scenes that made me crumple up and tear uncontrollably. The first, Maura pulling up at a camp for men to cross-dress freely in 1994, and the look of pure euphoria on her face dawning upon her face, the excitement swelling and emanating from every pore. She had suffered so much, and was going to continue suffering for so much longer, and from her simple ecstatic gaze, brimming gleaming beaming, this was the rare Good Thing, and she had been waiting for far too long, and this was POSSIBLE! and yet, impossible to achieve in daily life, and it was only too clear that these moments would always only be gleaned from painful patience, but that was for future Maura to worry, because right then, right at that second she pulled up at the gate, marked with a wooden arch that said "Camp Camellia", it was Home, it was Heaven, it was where she could be FINALLY be FREE. It was happiness distilled in a second, the precise instant that one would savour till the last breath, as being light as air, being beyond flesh, as being. AND SHE HAS WAITED TOO LONG, forever, as long as she could remember, the Promised Land, and she was setting herself to be heartbroken, and I couldn't take it and broke down, because it was pure, innocent joy, and she had suffered so much!, and it HAD to be illusory, because if she threw herself into bliss, how was she going to handle being chewed up by the grind again!?
And the second time: the glimpse of Ed in the bloom of health. sparky, eager to please, and bouncing with vigour. "The Ed who entertains Ali and keeps the kids occupied with his ridiculous Jewish humor and embarrasses everyone but only because he wants to be the butt of the joke if only it will make everyone smile. The Ed who’s just there to make Shelly happy" (x). Maybe I get too invested in these shows, but the heart-wringing was a good reminder, a restart to being reckless and impulsive and curious and human. Ray Bradbury said, "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you". I will drink to that.
The other night: I sensed your kiss approaching my lips. It was a shadow, a wisp that was growing into a whirl. Then it stopped, you paused three centimeters away, and god-knows-how-much (or little) the distance is between our hearts, and squinted. Plain squinted, with eyes muffled by lashes, furrowed brows, and a mouth crooked in focus. There was a slight deflation in anticipation, as I stared at your face, suspended and crocked in a befuddling manner. "What are you doing!?" I demanded impatiently. You peeked from beneath an eyelid, shuttered that, and reopened the other. "I want to remember all of this". You broke into a calm smile and clammed your eyes shut again. The air was still, but hummed with the peaks and valleys of our breathing. I stared at your beautiful, giving face, and wondered if I had found my moment, and the tears shivered together into pools, and the moment shimmered like the moon. Silver. Magic.
I finished the first season of Transparent in three days. It is about a father who makes the decision to come out and live as a women in his sixties. It is about the changes of family dynamics and intra-familial relationships. It is about the lives of her children, her ex-wife, not just in connection with her, but as their own sprawling, tangled messes of neuroses, bad decisions, and tenderness. I am such a sucker for slow-boiling drama and throwaway glances. But but it really is filmed beautifully, with a perfect heart-punch musical score to boot. There were two scenes that made me crumple up and tear uncontrollably. The first, Maura pulling up at a camp for men to cross-dress freely in 1994, and the look of pure euphoria on her face dawning upon her face, the excitement swelling and emanating from every pore. She had suffered so much, and was going to continue suffering for so much longer, and from her simple ecstatic gaze, brimming gleaming beaming, this was the rare Good Thing, and she had been waiting for far too long, and this was POSSIBLE! and yet, impossible to achieve in daily life, and it was only too clear that these moments would always only be gleaned from painful patience, but that was for future Maura to worry, because right then, right at that second she pulled up at the gate, marked with a wooden arch that said "Camp Camellia", it was Home, it was Heaven, it was where she could be FINALLY be FREE. It was happiness distilled in a second, the precise instant that one would savour till the last breath, as being light as air, being beyond flesh, as being. AND SHE HAS WAITED TOO LONG, forever, as long as she could remember, the Promised Land, and she was setting herself to be heartbroken, and I couldn't take it and broke down, because it was pure, innocent joy, and she had suffered so much!, and it HAD to be illusory, because if she threw herself into bliss, how was she going to handle being chewed up by the grind again!?
And the second time: the glimpse of Ed in the bloom of health. sparky, eager to please, and bouncing with vigour. "The Ed who entertains Ali and keeps the kids occupied with his ridiculous Jewish humor and embarrasses everyone but only because he wants to be the butt of the joke if only it will make everyone smile. The Ed who’s just there to make Shelly happy" (x). Maybe I get too invested in these shows, but the heart-wringing was a good reminder, a restart to being reckless and impulsive and curious and human. Ray Bradbury said, "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you". I will drink to that.
The other night: I sensed your kiss approaching my lips. It was a shadow, a wisp that was growing into a whirl. Then it stopped, you paused three centimeters away, and god-knows-how-much (or little) the distance is between our hearts, and squinted. Plain squinted, with eyes muffled by lashes, furrowed brows, and a mouth crooked in focus. There was a slight deflation in anticipation, as I stared at your face, suspended and crocked in a befuddling manner. "What are you doing!?" I demanded impatiently. You peeked from beneath an eyelid, shuttered that, and reopened the other. "I want to remember all of this". You broke into a calm smile and clammed your eyes shut again. The air was still, but hummed with the peaks and valleys of our breathing. I stared at your beautiful, giving face, and wondered if I had found my moment, and the tears shivered together into pools, and the moment shimmered like the moon. Silver. Magic.