There are many things I love about LA. But some days, I fear for us. Some days, it seems like we are simply a haven for broken angels, where:
...love of art, fame, and money have become the same thing. I almost wonder if I can even separate them anymore.
...love of self has become paramount.
...love of networking has replaced love for people. All that matters is "What have you done for me?" "What could you do for me?" and, most importantly, "What have you done for me lately?" (as I simply cannot remember past the insecurities of my own last 24 hours).
...alone is the new together. Every individual must own a car and drive it everywhere. Alone. Going across the street? Drive. It is state law! You may own a cell phone and talk on it incessantly, but you may not have meaningful conversations. (That is also state law.)
...California is god. We will sacrifice every spare cent we make to live in a city that is almost exactly like every other city on the world, but with more traffic, and an unusually high concentration of businessartists. We will pay outlandish costs for taxes, milk, gas, rent, heat, water, and everyothergodforsakenthing you can buy, simply because our zip codes start with a "9."
...everything can be bought. Everything.
I think we best pray to God that, unlike fashions, mentalities do not spread from the left coast.
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"This is how it works You're young until you're not You love until you don't You try until you can't You laugh until you cry You cry until you laugh And everyone must breathe Until their dying breath//
No, this is how it works You peer inside yourself You take the things you like And try to love the things you took And then you take that love you made And stick it into some Someone else's heart Pumping someone else's blood And walking arm in arm You hope it don't get harmed But even if it does You'll just do it all again" --On The Radio, Regina Spektor
I think, perhaps, that Life is what happens when we, physical, human representations come into contact with the spiritual, the super-natural, the divine.
Like, if we are the trumpets, violins, and cellos and the Divine is the notion, the creativity, the spirit that put the notes in their rightful spots. When these forces meet, something new happens: something called music.
If I knew how to dance, like a nice two-person number that Mario Lopez would Dance With The Stars, I might compare it to that. It makes a lot of sense, the whole "two working together to make a singularly beautiful action" thing...
But I don't know anything about dancing.
But music... yes, music makes sense to me. The notes are there, on the page, sure, but they actually don't exists in or on the page -- they're actually somewhere else. They're nowhere, really, until some kind of musical instrument plays them.
But when that happens, and when notes are played well, and when they are in tune, and on pitch, and played with a beautiful timbre...
Well, I really don't think there's anything better.
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