What exists in the valley of pretense, no matter how monstrous or violent, cannot so much harm in any severe or unhealable manner. Reality, however, in its most simple but unmitigated ways can put out the fiercest and most vicious of flames to be forgotten forever, without the faintest trace of its former brightness.
Madonna is singing. Exhibiting again her own existential dilemma to a crowd, probably numbering thousands, Giacommetti sculptures who have experienced so much less yet equally problematic in their search for essence. "Take me there, like a prayer" she sings, stops to breathe and stammers a "thank you". The track stops and a song from her studio recorded album begins. "Now I can see things for what they really are", it's amazing how technology can make one's voice sound as convincing as a verse from the Bible, like it was venerated for thousands of years and protected with everything humanity can muster to keep it as credible as it claims to be. She sings as if a goddess on her own self-constructed shrine. I imagine her dancing like Shiva, six arms, one holding a human head by its hair, another two with swords as terrible in design as her eyes. One word from her mouth into microphones and records strikes fear and awe in every fan and every gay fan listening-in bars, in their pink homes, or while they jog in parks oblivious of that mocking stare of an old republican.
What exists in the valley of pretense, no matter how monstrous or violent, cannot compare to the subtle blow of real coldness from my father's voice or the quiet madness that rules my mother's eyes or the inescapable fact that I, a self-confessed human being with a murderous hunger for what a hollywood movie says are the principles of the bohemian ideal; truth, beauty, freedom, and love, a sexual deviant, and an agnostic waiting for his next spiritual awakening- WILL ALWAYS BE PART OF THE EXCLUSION PROCESS. Super Perfundo.
