Mysteries of Pittsburgh

When we were going through undergrad together, Mike Darling and I would spend evenings reading Michael Chabon, alternately praising and cursing him, convinced he's left absolutely nothing to write about Pittsburgh -- or much else for that matter. We were young. We were, often times, drunk. We were always reminded of him walking to and from Carnegie Library as newly minted clouds were released from the stacks down by the Bat Cave. I think about the Cloud Factory a lot now, living, as I am, 2700 miles from Pittsburgh. The only clouds here are made by planes flying in and out of the Sacramento Airport. Even the water upstream in the American River is clear. It hasn't rained in the month I've been living here. This is not Pittsburgh. This is not the place I'm only now realizing was/is worthy of being lionized in writing. I want to sing you a love song, Pittsburgh. I miss you and your filthy rivers and streets and people and buildings. I miss your Dirty Eagles and dirty Souf' Oakland, yo. But most of all, I miss the shambling lot attending the University, drugged as they are on the abysmal weather that swirls around the top of the Cathedral like crazed Falcons bashed senselessly by a deranged Chancellor high on power. I miss all of my friends and classmates. Dearer to me now than family and scattered to the wind just as effectively. Can any of you hear the siren song of Pittsburgh? Can you feel the pull back to that place? Or have we all lashed ourselves to the masts and are sailing quickly past? There are mysteries in Pittsburgh and there are mysteries in us that we now carry with us. Look for me some day, sitting on the secret staircase watching the clouds rise from the smoke stacks, in the rain.

Justin Honard

Justin Honard, a righteous freak by all rights, had this quote in his profile and I think it's quite good; freakishly good, if you will.


"But I think the term "freak" has to be reclaimed as well. A freak is somebody who is unusual, stared at, upsetting, revealing by their difference what is wrong with the status quo. When a freak appears, the world is instantly divided into gawkers and the unique and solitary individual who has given them pause. There are those who cannot hide their shameful or alarming attributes, and those otherwise apparently normal people who love them. The cloak of the exile falls upon them as well, because their eyes and hearts have persuaded them to be loyal to people who are shunned. Freaks are entertainers, jesters, satirists, artists, beautiful in a way that few can endure or savor, intelligent in a way that makes others angry. If you don't want to be a gawker, you've gotta join the circus. Goddess knows I wish I could run away to one."

Patrick Califia