READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.

april 3, 1997:

caught in the wind ...

There is a lot of wind out, all over the country, I am told. I myself have been fighting off a nasty cold, which it feels like I have been fighting off forever.

Meanwhile, so much is happening in the sky! A lunar eclipse and comet the other night; an equinox, and a lot of idealistic spiritualism. On professional fronts, I am being beaten up for taking what is perceived to be a very blasphemous stand on many matters from sexist games for children to authors who happen to be white and male.

It is an overwhelming whirlwind of input. On eclipse night, I did not realize that the phenomenon was due to be happening (someone keeps stealing my daily newspaper). I look at the moon a lot, it seems, and I noticed the Earth's shadow moving across the full moon while I was walking from the gym to the Castro to deposit a check in the bank machine closest to my home. I passed through the mission, where I saw a crowd of people gathered on 16th Street, looking up. "Was this a scheduled lunar activity?" I asked one of the observers. "Oh yes, 8.30 it peaks," she replied.

I made my way through the crowd, but could not take my eyes off the people, all the people looking up at the moon. What were they looking at? Why do they care? I imagined that this were unexpected, like in a Ray Bradbury short story, and that all of a sudden the moon exploded, signalling some impending destruction of Earth. What would I do? Whom would I want to see? I thought of Christine, and Jay and Joe, pondered whether I would eat or have sex, and drifted back to the eyes -- all the eyes! -- looking up.

When I made it to the Castro, very few people were on the street looking up. Perhaps this was do to the fact that the wealthy people who hung there have better things to look at than the moon; like large screen TV, or Nintendo 64, or their new BMW mx convertible or something. No one shared my fascination with it; and thus my looking at them looking at it was limited. It would be a shame not to be awed by the moon, much less by the people looking at it.

And when I got home with my salad from the salad place I love to frequent, and I sat on my couch eating it at my coffee table (where I also type), and my neighbor banged on my door urging me to look at the moon from his apartment where the view was good, I could not help but vomit my cynicism over him. And he agreed! "What is the big deal about the moon, anyway!" But I felt horrible about that. It is a big deal. It is. I think.

Through all of this, I am reminded of the primacy of individual perspective, and how the only Truth that is Out There is that there is absolutely no Truth at all. And that, ultimately, I need to remind myself that when it comes to feeling at one with my own perspective, I would much rather be hated for taking a stand than be loved for my allegiance with any cult.

And that it will be inevitable that I become infuriated with those that have a small imagination for the future, as well as a narrow concept of the power of perspective.

So, the Oscars came and went, and I swallowed a lot of Robitussun, but everything was, and still is, the same.

And the same I remain, caught in the wind, just watching people look up at the moon. Not anymore wondering why it is that I love to watch them look at it then look at it myself.

lucky charm
da mayor and me

thanks, COMOFLOW





or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge

Copyright 1996, 1997 Rebecca L. Eisenberg All rights Reserved.