Alas and Explosions!

So I occasionally write. I love language. The idea that the sounds I make while pressing air through a set of meat flaps in my throat can take the ideas in my head and draw lovely, intricate, amazing, or even awful, awful pictures; I can travel through time with someone, reliving the treasured moments from my past or imagine the future in something that might happen –or even more amazingly, take the ideas in my head and put them in some else’s head: It’s astounding! I also continue to watch The Crown on Netflix. The direction, acting, casting, design and music: it’s so immersing.

The story is one of tragedy at the highest degree, constantly taking the all the nuances of what it means to be a living, breathing human and pitting those things against a call perceived to be higher than anything. It’s truly inspiring and, if I’m being honest a little saddening. Sure: saddening partly because of the story. The creative team has been able to take something sovereign and make them not just accessible but relatable. There’s love and loss, suffering and joy, depth and complexity. All those are present in every aspect and every character. It’s regal, but it’s human. And though I relate to them and am empathetic with their struggle, I’m mostly sad because I don’t get that here.

The British, or at least the part of that culture to which I’ve been exposed via reading and watching, seem like they can have that, that eloquence in conversation and language.They can engage in a depth of conversation allowing them to be stout in their resolve while also being open and exposed then, by some means of rhetoric and beautiful language, swayed. O wretched man that I am! I find myself dichotomized by the situation. I have in me both the longing for that level of thought exchange and the good ol’ Western culture. Yup. I’m not sad because part of me pines for loquacity and prose but because sometimes I kinda just wanna see something blow up and see something naked. #murica.

Thanks, Siri...

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