Home from NYC II

"The highest form of morality is not to feel at home in one’s own home." - Theodor Adorno
To make a long story short, on Wednesday when I arrived home and was semi-unpacked and snuggled in (as much as possible in 100-degree heat), one helluva thunderstorm blew over the town wreaking havoc in my yard, not to mention probably more chaos at the mega-gargantuan-really-outrageously-oversized superstore at the edge of town where, as I waited for my film to be developed it became apparent that the power had gone out. Which reminds me. I think mega-gargantuan-really-outrageously-oversized superstores will play a big role in the apocalypse. (I am reminded of Girlfriend in a Coma.) Lots of drama will undoubtedly be played out in such warehouses of desire at the end of the world. Chance meetings, important realizations, deja vu experiences, meaningful relationships begun with total strangers and condensed into a few last seconds... Mark my words.

The sky was dark, the thunder rumbled overhead, the wind began to blow... hard! Loud and furious up in the air the trees churned like giant whisks stirring, frothing, creating chaos. I heard the tree's soft crack, deep background to the wind's tumult. When the rain hit in a torrent the tree was already on its side in the yard, heavy branches at rest on the roof and reaching out to the door where I stood.

The thing is, NYC seems like the center of the universe. Maybe I'm just desperately looking for a home when there can be no home. "Home" seems a very flawed concept, doesn't it? The representation of stability, the illusion of safety, the desire for permanence and ownership. All things unreachable, but that we spend our lives seeking.

Some snapshots from my time in NYC: Mo and AJ like two beauty queens, perched on the back of a convertible floating through the East Village. Mo conspiratorially asking once again, "Shall we do shots?" AJ scrubbing ashtrays and arranging flowers in her apartment. Pip jumping from his chair at 5am to earnestly relay what it means to be a "real man" (a subject that deserves future attention, needless to say!). Charming and generous Speedo (ha), sweetly revealing his nervousness at the prospect of spending time with Mo's dad.

The essence of this trip? Longing. Longing for more time. Longing for "home". The longing of lovers, longing between friends, artists longing to get somewhere, do something, be somebody. There was lonliness and sadness and drama! and chaos there. And there was laughter and music and lightness and joy. It seemed a lot like life. And I loved being in it.