Moisture is the essence of wetness...
I realized today how fickle a thing beauty is.
After another morning of white-trashing it (sitting on the couch, watching tv, and reading), I decided to take the bike out for a ride. I didn't really have anywhere to go, I just wanted to stretch her legs. So I decided to try to get lost in the tangle of roads that fill the blank spaces of Dodge county.
Six songs later in my American Idiot/Dookie playlist, I stumbled upon a town called Lowell. Population three hundred something. As I rode down the main street, I was struck with the peculiar beauty of this town. It was as if this town had existed, untouched by anything other than time. Two churches looked comfortably out of place, and the river silently fell beneath the bridge. Two graveyards, one Main street bar, and a restuarant that looked like it had been converted from a garage. The buildings were in a state of disrepair that spoke only of time and distracted mothers. Clutter stared at me from boarded up windows, and the faded, lime green siding pointed. And then it was gone. The road was surrounded again by farms and hills.
I had to go back. I wanted to stop, and walk around. I wanted to bring my wife, and my camera. I wanted to talk to its residents, and to drink in its beauty. But as I drove back through town, I couldn't see it. It wasn't there. Now all I saw was white trash America. Crappy, run down buildings on crappy, run down streets. No beauty. No mystery. No life.
So what is it about beauty? Why can't it be recreated or controlled? How can something be so perfect one day and the next day, so nauseatingly bad?
I wrote a post in February about a song that made me stop in my tracks. A song that brought my past into perspective so suddenly that it made my soul dizzy. I couldn't remember how I had survived before I heard that song.
That song was on the radio last week, and I changed the station.
So why do we try to nail down what is beautiful or true or just?
After another morning of white-trashing it (sitting on the couch, watching tv, and reading), I decided to take the bike out for a ride. I didn't really have anywhere to go, I just wanted to stretch her legs. So I decided to try to get lost in the tangle of roads that fill the blank spaces of Dodge county.
Six songs later in my American Idiot/Dookie playlist, I stumbled upon a town called Lowell. Population three hundred something. As I rode down the main street, I was struck with the peculiar beauty of this town. It was as if this town had existed, untouched by anything other than time. Two churches looked comfortably out of place, and the river silently fell beneath the bridge. Two graveyards, one Main street bar, and a restuarant that looked like it had been converted from a garage. The buildings were in a state of disrepair that spoke only of time and distracted mothers. Clutter stared at me from boarded up windows, and the faded, lime green siding pointed. And then it was gone. The road was surrounded again by farms and hills.
I had to go back. I wanted to stop, and walk around. I wanted to bring my wife, and my camera. I wanted to talk to its residents, and to drink in its beauty. But as I drove back through town, I couldn't see it. It wasn't there. Now all I saw was white trash America. Crappy, run down buildings on crappy, run down streets. No beauty. No mystery. No life.
So what is it about beauty? Why can't it be recreated or controlled? How can something be so perfect one day and the next day, so nauseatingly bad?
I wrote a post in February about a song that made me stop in my tracks. A song that brought my past into perspective so suddenly that it made my soul dizzy. I couldn't remember how I had survived before I heard that song.
That song was on the radio last week, and I changed the station.
So why do we try to nail down what is beautiful or true or just?
posted by oneweekend at 4:28 PM
5 Comments:
True and just are absolutes, but I don't think beauty is, because beauty is so much about appeal. Truth and justice is the same (really) any angle you view it from, but beauty is all about personal interpretation.
By the way, I like your title. Philip and Joanna just watched that movie, and they have been quoting that line non-stop.
beauty is about perspective (I think)
Props on the zoolander line for the title.
Brian's coming home for a 2 week leave this week. I guess ppl are getting together and we're going to a brewer game or something. Give me a call if you and Jess are interested.
Dale,
the beauty is defined by which Green Day album you were listening too and which song was playing. That was a very non-discript (how am I supposed to gage what kind of mood you were in if you don't say EXACTLY what you were listening too??)
And you can hear your ipod over your bike engine? WEAK! Trade in the rice burner and get a Harley. When you put on some weight so you can handle a Harley, let me know. I know a guy who sells them (I can get a "kinfolk" discount).
Slim,
It was a random playlist with American Idiot, Dookie, and a few songs from International Superhits. I believe that the exact song was either Longview or Letterbomb. I know that when I came back through I was listening to Jesus of Suburbia.
The only reason I could hear it was that I haven't had the money to put a real pipe on my bike. It is still the factory pipe.
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