It crossed my mind that it's a little strange to dedicate a political song to someone for entirely apolitical and personal reasons, but it seemed most appropriate when I was smacked in the face by that unreality, sometime in the process of that spongy thing hardening into ineffable fact. I'm fortunate enough not to be well acquainted with loss, but I think this was harder than any of us could've imagined.
Of course, life continually beckons. I don't know if any of you celebrated the moon festival; I did by drinking myself silly and staring up (out? over?) at that astonishing orb after a headlong sprawl onto the lawn. I have a very specific memory of trout fishing as a young'un at Lake Hattie around dusk and looking to the sky (which tends to look something like this, in case you're like me and live somewhere where dusk means when the sky turns into a fuzzy, incandescent orange bulb). As I spotted the gibbous moon the light was just right that I could see its hidden aspect, a hint of gradient between the light and dark sides, and for the first time I saw the moon for what it actually was. Previously, it had just been a little picture in the sky: sometimes here and big, sometimes just a sliver there, sometimes nowhere at all. This was probably an artifact from a childhood spent drawing anthropomorphized moons and suns with punked out expressions (shades, earrings, grins and scowls), the moon's persona usually depending on how 'full' he was. Anyway, after a few minutes of staring at this moon it just popped out at me, revealed itself in depth, and I realized with an agitated excitement (I guess that's called childlike wonderment) that it was just this big, crazy rock floating out there and if you reached your arm out far enough you'd be able to touch it. I couldn't take my eyes off it for the next hour (probably giving my dad concerns about the apparently oversensitive temperament of his son) and to this day it still boggles my mind that we can see that thing out there (over there? out yonder?) as plainly as the tips of my toes. I guess I missed something by not being a part of the Apollo generation.
So that's what I thought of as I lay drunken upon the lawn. I'm not sure if that's the traditional way of celebrating or not. Apparently it's something about putting half-eaten fruit on your head.
Of course, life continually beckons. I don't know if any of you celebrated the moon festival; I did by drinking myself silly and staring up (out? over?) at that astonishing orb after a headlong sprawl onto the lawn. I have a very specific memory of trout fishing as a young'un at Lake Hattie around dusk and looking to the sky (which tends to look something like this, in case you're like me and live somewhere where dusk means when the sky turns into a fuzzy, incandescent orange bulb). As I spotted the gibbous moon the light was just right that I could see its hidden aspect, a hint of gradient between the light and dark sides, and for the first time I saw the moon for what it actually was. Previously, it had just been a little picture in the sky: sometimes here and big, sometimes just a sliver there, sometimes nowhere at all. This was probably an artifact from a childhood spent drawing anthropomorphized moons and suns with punked out expressions (shades, earrings, grins and scowls), the moon's persona usually depending on how 'full' he was. Anyway, after a few minutes of staring at this moon it just popped out at me, revealed itself in depth, and I realized with an agitated excitement (I guess that's called childlike wonderment) that it was just this big, crazy rock floating out there and if you reached your arm out far enough you'd be able to touch it. I couldn't take my eyes off it for the next hour (probably giving my dad concerns about the apparently oversensitive temperament of his son) and to this day it still boggles my mind that we can see that thing out there (over there? out yonder?) as plainly as the tips of my toes. I guess I missed something by not being a part of the Apollo generation.
So that's what I thought of as I lay drunken upon the lawn. I'm not sure if that's the traditional way of celebrating or not. Apparently it's something about putting half-eaten fruit on your head.