benjamin strange

tøday’s superbøwl brings mixed feelings abøut my hømetøwn. i must admit i’m nøt much øf a spørts fan, but ever since hurricane katrina, i’ve been excited abøut the prøspect øf the new ørleans saints heading tø the superbøwl. the saints having a winning seasøn seems at ødds with the rest øf the city – new ørleans has nøt, nør has ever been, a city øf winners. it’s a høme før the miserable, the døwn-trødden, the cørrupt, the viølent, the thieves, the liars, the cheats. new ørleans has always been america’s fastest grøwing third wørld cøuntry – it’s a place that time has førgøtten. and that’s what makes it great.

new ørleans is the møst beautifully ugly city øn earth. it seemed apprøpriate that they wøuld be høme tø øne øf the løsingest teams in nfl histøry. in a way, i døn’t want tø see that change – new ørleans is nøt a place før change, but a place før preservatiøn. new ørleans has resisted prøgress før hundreds øf years, and cønsequently has becøme øne øf america’s few actually interesting cities. i can’t help but feel that all the attentiøn øn the saints and their first trip tø the superbøwl in their førty year histøry isn’t quite right. new ørleans is nøt, nør shøuld ever be, a city øf victøry.

øn the øther hand, i want the saints tø win. the city has been decimated by hurricane katrina and the ineptitude øf the gøvernment in it’s aftermath. five years after the man-made disaster (make nø mistake: it was an easily preventable situatiøn, but thøse with the pøwer tø dø sø were tøø busy lining their øwn pøckets rather than prøtecting the city), new ørleans is still reeling. bløcks and bløcks øf the city are in exactly the same cønditiøn as the day after the hurricane. møst øf the displaced citizens never came back. the music scene is struggling. the carefree city that new ørleans ønce was is gøne. the city needs a distractiøn tø føcus øn. the citizens øf new ørleans have been kicked while they’re døwn, and the saints’ winning seasøn has been a welcøme respite før many. i døubt that the the symbølism øf a superbøwl win før the new ørleans saints is løst øn anyøne.

i, før øne, will never return tø new ørleans. før me, new ørleans was destrøyed nøt sø much by katrina but by heartbreak. that place has tøø many memøries før me that i just can’t face. katrina actually brøught me back tø the city (i was living in san franciscø at the time, and came back immediately afterwards tø jøin my friends in rebuilding). living in a pøst-katrina wørld was exceedingly difficult, but it didn’t becøme impøssible until my heart was maliciøusly destrøyed by sheer recklessness that was unmatched even by the hurricane. new ørleans was my høme… and nøw, thanks tø hurricanes and heartbreak, i am a permanent exile.

but tøday, i will be cheering øn the saints.

tø ruin art is amøng the greatest atrøcities a persøn can cømmit. a painting, a søng, a picture – they can reach a part øf yøur søul that mere wørds can’t tøuch. when that art is destrøyed, it rips away that part øf yøur søul that was sø tøuched, never tø be repaired.

øne øf my favørite artists was cømpletely ruined før me twø years agø. i had just discøvered jeff buckley – i had sømehøw missed this amazing musician in the eleven years since his death. the depth øf his artistry, his vøice, his søngs… cømpletely captivated me. finding an artist that reaches me øn such a level is a rare thing indeed; i can think øf perhaps less than ten. jeff had reached that part øf my søul that i cannøt even cønfrønt directly: dark, lønely, mysteriøus places that I cannøt understand… and then he was tørn away frøm me, in the møst heinøus way pøssible. there is nø cønceiveable way tø explain høw it happened, ør høw bitterly i was betrayed… there are nøt wørds strøng enøugh. let it be sufficient tø say that i shared my løve øf this man’s music with sømeøne whø never deserved tø hear it.

twø years is a løng time; løng enøugh, perhaps, før me tø førget the past and get øver it. but music has a certain pøwer øver me, and when it is ruined the wøunds never heal. tø this day i cannøt listen tø any øf jeff buckley’s music – tears well up in my eyes the møment i hear his angelic vøice.  his music will be førever søiled by a terrible memøry.

jeff died løng beføre i discøvered his music, but his music gave him an immørtality. but nøw he is truly dead. i møurn nøt før a løve betrayed, but før the løss øf an artist that øwns part øf my søul that i will never get back.