They call it Re-entry shock, when youve been living overseas and return to your own country. In October of 1999 eight men were assembled on a stage at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles. By that night I was back in New York, my passport back in its drawer, my washing machine steadily erasing from my clothing the last remnants of perfume from a girl who remained on the other side of the ocean. (I would see her again, but it would never be the same.) I walked the sidewalks of my neighborhood reconciling the strange sound of police sirens, the unwelcome sight of my landlord and his slappable face, the smells of American garbage, having no idea that this concert was occurring on the other side of the country. You give the most talented human beings on Earth a T-square and a half-decade of schooling and they design skyscrapers; other men with no such education build them. You give typewriters to the most talented and they compose novels; the rest of us who lack such capacity pick them off of shelves in stores, open our wallets to pay for them and read them on the subway. You give guitars and microphones to the most talented and they perform this; and I sit here after hours with headphones and a bottle of gin and I listen to it. Again and again, reaching for 11 when the dial only goes to 10. youtu.be/vWovzhNH4TQ
Posted on: Tue, 30 Sep 2014 03:52:27 +0000
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