The Chemical Brothers-Where do I begin?
A couple of days ago I found myself traveling to the land of memory. It's not a comfortable ride. That place where the past and present collide with a decimating force. I don't like to go there. Usually the closest I will go is a Half-Price books. But I had to attend a film festival at the Angelika Theater. It's over by the "M" streets. It's like there is a shadow over my heart. The kind that makes the doctors order another x-ray, but it appears the same in the later plates. They tell me to watch it. They don't really have an explanation. That's okay. I feel sorry for them. But I guess I feel so sorry for realtors who have to show properties near there. It seems as if it would be too easy for them to confuse a Morningside with a Matalee, or a Montel with a Mockingbird. But I digress...
The film I was to see was called "The Last Laugh". It was about how Judaism the survivors of the Holocost dealt with its harsh reality. The answer was to laugh. One has a choice you know, they can either laugh, cry, or go mad. Or even perhaps to do all three. Comedians like Mel Brooks, Sarah Silverman, Harry Shearer, Carl and Rob Reiner, and even the guy who directed "Borat" spoke of the challenge of dealing with the horror by telling a joke. Not only does this remove the power that drove the people down, but it can also act as a defiant fist. One survivor told of how, after being examined by Dr. Josef Mengele to see if she would live or die, he told her that she should have her tonsils checked out as they might be a problem later on. Gallows humor, but that is merely a step we take in the darkness to keep moving forward. But I digress...
Nothing about the entry made it easy. The parking lot was full save one space almost hidden in the distance. Simple enough task, I know, but it was a car that was the exact same model as the one she used to have. Back in the land of memory. In the present, it was a hollow reflection I suppose. It was yellow. Her's wasn't. It was a convertible. Her's wasn't. But what memories came flooding back. Well, I could tell you of the madcap times where we laughed each to each as we traveled. I could tell you how my hand, which would always be at her knee, would find itself softly sliding up her thigh during the long drives. I could tell you of stolen moments precious where the world collapsed to only her, I, and her extravagantly beautiful smile and warming laugh. I could easily write about any of those things.
But I won't.
Perhaps the glory, the true beauty of us all, is when we are most human. Perhaps love is at its fiercest, when it is at its most simple. While touches of passion may burn fierce, perhaps even more poignant is the arm stuck out involuntary to protect someone from a sudden stop. The silly, like using a book to try to translate a simple message into another language. That no matter how hard you try to make it correct, I am sure to a native speaker it would sound something like... "I love you. Have nice sunshine day." Or merely the simple might life in saying the name of the other. Soft, hard, cool, regardless, it makes little difference. When one's name is in the mouth of the other-it is comfortable, it is safe. Almost as if the other, in it's formation, has already caressed it with their soul.
What memories came flooding back? When I saw it was a convertible, I immediately thought of how in a moment of the exaggerated exuberance of youth I was doing something boneheaded (not like me at all :P), I climbed up through the open sunroof, don't know why, and like years before Kate Winslett's lean in "The Titanic" had even hit the box office I too leaned forward. This caused me to break a new wind deflector that her father had put on the car. I felt like an idiot, and I probably was, but she laughed and forgave me. That was the first memory that hit my mind. Sure we once played a practical joke on her dad when I lit a smoke bomb under the hood while she told him that something went wrong with her car... but that memory didn't come back till later.
I took a few steps forward to Mockingbird. The traffic was heavy, but to my left I saw three Italian Flags flying. It was Campisi's. Here the memories become fragmented. I would apologize, but time has passed and in between here an there I had a car accident and spent time in a coma. What do I remember of our Campisi's night? We had ordered pizza. Don't ask me what it was. Talk flew furious about the mafia connections and some kind of mysterious green room in the back where the Mafioso did hidden business. We laughed, Jokes flew about the the mini jukeboxes that were on each table. But her eyes, Her life. The warmth that exuded from her. How it warmed me in comparison to the colder night air outside. How it warmed. The electricity that burned fierce A charged static filled the air when we were together. Like dynamos it would build until contact would finally be made. The explosion of passion would be devastating in its consequences. In our destruction, we would live eternally. Moments like that also took place. The after. The pulse under all. But those weren't the first to enter my mind. Now that I think of it, was the outward just a reflection of the inward. But I digress....
I wanted to drive by her house. I had to fight myself not to. What would it have gained? What would have been accomplished? She made it clear. She made it simple. We kill what we love... so says Oscar Wilde. Either that or it kills us. I guess it would have been okay, if it hadn't been the soulless and heartless words of a simple text. I deleted it. At times it is the fiction that helps us go to the next day. In pursuit of some crest to the mountain we are climbing. It is preferable to the truth. Like Roberto Benigni in" Life is Beautiful", we play like the whole prison experience is just a game. All to keep the light alive for another. But even this film was hotly debated in The Last Laugh. We see beauty when we long to see it. Otherwise, perhaps, life would be too crushing.
Funniest joke of all is that she doesn't even live around here. Or so she says. Makes you wonder... who really did have the last laugh. But at least the documentary was good.
