August 7th, 2005

(no subject)

Sometimes you live moments so incredible that you find yourself struggling to document them. There are those times when everything in life fits so perfectly in a string of circumstances and events that it leaves you virtually speechless. We find that although these are the moments we live our whole lives for, an ounce of occasional reassurance that life can be enjoyable, when all we want to do is share the adventure, we are unable.

For this reason it is sometimes hard to seek adventure. When all you want to do is promise yourself a way of remembering – a documentation – there is nothing to bring that moment back to life. Regardless of the endless amount of thoughts that encircled your mind and made that moment exactly what it was, there is not a single word or phrase or expression that could possible explain the beauty that seemed only so memorable because of how fast it was gone.

“The most amazing thing in the entire world.” What is that? At first I thought it was the hotel lobby of the Sir Francais Drake. Five minutes later I was questioning my assumption and thought that maybe it was the view from the thirty first floor over Union Square. Then I thought maybe it was the way death looked in a tiny cement hallway, or the feeling of laughing after getting away from its clutches. And I thought maybe it was the road underneath my board on Golden Gate and McAllister on the way to school, or Geary late at night in a dress after a bottle of liquor. After that I saw the edge of the rooftop I was eyeing right at the top of my vision. I felt my hands wrap around the rusty railings and I climbed straight up the side of the brick building on the hill in that same dress while clutching a can of spray paint, and I thought maybe that might’ve been it. But then I saw the way the fog layered the trees in the brown glow of distant street lights in Golden Gate Park. And I saw the massive spiraling trunk of a Eucalyptus tree, and a line of bonfires that stretched over the beach as far as the eye could see. I felt the way it felt to walk for miles only to collapse in the cushion of a never-ending planet of sand, and I felt the way the sand fell through my fingertips and those of the hand I was holding. I felt the sea breeze chill to such a great extent that it was internal. I saw the monstrosity that was the most massive bulldozer I’d ever laid eyes on, and I felt the sensation of climbing to the top of it and standing over it like its master; ruler of all below me atop my mechanical lion. I felt th way it felt to walk until I felt the world would just drop off, and I saw how crispy the waffles were when they first came out of the iron. I saw the fog rolling in over the city as I spent another day on another roof, and I wondered: I had seen the most amazing thing in the entire world about a hundred times in just a few days and I had never seen the same thing twice. How many worlds was I living in?

I find it funny that the other morning, I realized how long it had been since someone held my hand. I realized the pain of having absolutely nothing to say at the very moment you start to feel absolutely everything. I realized how natural it was for life to be surreal, and I realized that life’s ability to put us into situations that were quite possible the most amazing in the entire world was why it had been so hard to pick that one moment that really was the most amazing. But then I realized that the most amazing thing in the entire world was not any of those things or any of those moments. The most amazing thing in the entire world was life’s willingness to generate all the things and all the memories that we believed to be the most amazing.