(Nomads at the Orange County Fair)
Perhaps by waking up at 4-6 am each morning I will be able to write posts while I am there. Communiques from the foot of the volcano, the sound of virgins being tossed in echoing from the distance.
It is a funny thing, writing. I have gotten in the habit of doing it every day. It is a personal ritual. I miss it when I can not do it. I find myself thinking about it as if I were. Each day, attempting to order the universe a little bit, finding wayward virgins in my mind to give over to the volcano gods. Giving personal structure to the miasma. Is that the right word, miasma? ... to the solidified vapors, ... to the pestilent congregation of vapors.
Is that Hamlet? I think so. I know it's Shakespeare. Hamlet fits, for today. Yep, I looked it up. ... what is this quintessence of dust? What a piece of work is man...
Good stuff, that crazy Shakespeare.
I was going to write about what a strange place the fair is, but it has all been said before, by those who've taken more time to say it. So I won't. There are many weird things to witness, bizarre foods, and pieces of the World Trade Center on display, presumably to remind. A warning to stay vigilant against those who would wish to take the fair from you, a reminder that we are not pro-terrorism. We are anti-terrorism in these parts, folks.
(reverence in the shade of the sun)
It was odd. There was astro-turf, flowers, and the big dead piece of metal on display. The weirdest aspect of it was that, for some reason, they thought it important to list the piece's weight: 29,000 lbs. I suppose it gives one an indication of the overall wreckage and attending carnage that was 9/11 in NYC, in the event that the video footage of the destruction was not enough. I'm surprised they didn't have video monitors showing the destruction. Here is a piece of metal to remind, in place of video loops of the planes fiery penetration. They had it on a stage almost as if it was performing. It would not have all surprised me if there were lights panning across it at night, to add to the spectacle of it all, to emotionally charge the thing with the hint of movement.
I've always found the phrase "Let Freedom Ring" to be a strange one. It has no historical pedigree, as far as I know. It was the title of a jazz album from the early 60's, a documentary about hemp produced by High Times magazine, and a book against Liberalism by Sean Hannity. Which of those three items does not belong in that group?
The phrase has somehow caught on, meaning different things to different people, I guess. But the word "Let" seems to suggest something less than vigilant, almost passive in its request. I would think that people would gravitate towards something more like, "Freedom Will Ring" or "Hear Freedom Ring" or even "Freedom or Else"...
"Let" seems like it's almost asking permission.
(also prepared for nighttime sanctimony)
What would remembrance be without a reminder of Christ's sacrifice also. There was one piece that was the shape of an inverted cross, presumably to remind the historically inclined of either St. Peter or of Constantine's vision. I mean, what would a traveling memorial be without the merged concepts of inadequacy-of-self mingled together with the suggestion of the crusades, to purge the holy land of infidels; a dual duel, strung out in the hearts and minds like christmas lights.
One almost wonders why there wasn't an armed military guard stationed at these relics of mayhem.
(The Petrine reminder)
But the fair, for all of its weirdness, was fun. Life is very peculiar, particularly when up close and sweaty. I should have gobbled a bunch of acid for it, as my instincts instructed me to, but I didn't. I wasn't quite sure that I was prepared to see little Rhys while I was twisted on psychedelics. I'm not sure how I would feel about such a thing. I mean, he likes to smile at me, and I at him. Seems like a perfect arrangement. He also enjoys it when I'm being goofy, it's one of his primary charms.
(Rhys, a very happy boy)
(The second best seats in the house)