Our Porcelain Moments.

Moby's LA Home by night.

Moby’s LA home by night.

Have you ever had a moment so perfect that, when you realize its perfection, you become terrified you will wreck it? As if being content isn’t part of who we are, but a state we must struggle to maintain?

I had that feeling once. I was on a train leaving Paris, going to some dinky town in France (whether a provincial town in France can be called “dinky” is debatable). It was summer 2003, and I was studying abroad in Florence. We had the weekends to explore the European countryside. That Parisian weekend – which included a seedy Best Western, a surprising number of hair weaves (an Algerian neighborhood, perhaps?) and some memorable moments (the Notre Dame and hot chocolate pair surprisingly well) – we found ourselves back en route to our temporary Italian home. I laid down in the sleeper car, my best friend asleep in the small uncomfortable bunk next to me, and I listened to Moby’s “Porcelain” on my portable CD player.

I took a second to ponder if I should let myself listen to it. It’s too sacred, I thought. What if this time, this listen, ruins the times the song has served as the soundtrack to a beautiful memory, a memory I am so chained to I can’t take a risk ruining it? I took the chance.

Starry night. Yeah, I went there.

Starry night.

The curtains in the cab were open; a curious, mysterious moon looked back at me, reflecting small columns of sun onto the French countryside. I put the track on repeat.

We want so much to believe that some things are above the crumbs we typically accept that it’s terrifying to think we might change, look at something differently, not be able to rely on that “thing” anymore – be it a song, a person, anything.

“tell the truth you never wanted me.”

This line has always hit me. The things we tell ourselves – the loaded hue of the glasses through which we see the world – the way we jump to conclusions to protect ourselves. The narratives we make up to tie life into a neat, perfected bow. Things can be so fragile and breakable. Not with force, but without it. On accident and by our own hand. Porcelain.

Moby’s LA architecture blog is one of my safest Internet places. I’m so glad he’s an LA transplant.

Related: A Castle for the King of Techno

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5 responses

  1. Oh hello, I’ve complained that I haven’t got a post from you for months and there you are! Tried to follow your modernist blogging friend but passwords are not letting me in. Wish everyone was on WP.

    1. Which one is my modernist blogging friend? do i know this person?! 🙂 i want to post more often. some days the words flow and others they just. don’t. how are you?

      1. Oh you referenced him in your post – and he has a wonderful b and w photo of a mid century house (love love).
        For some reason you went into a vortex in my reader. I then checked and you had posts that didn’t appeared in mine plus one friend of mine who I follow – so have had WP check it out and up you pop again 🙂

  2. I always know when I click on one of your posts that I’ll enjoy the read…but this one was especially meaningful. Really, really beautiful actually. Thanks for writing!

    1. thank you so incredibly much – that means a lot to me!!!

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