Feb. 09, 2003 - 9:52 p.m.
There is something about this place that gets under your skin and invades your soul. New Orleans is a creature evolved from legends. It is home to living myths. It is a place outside of time. It is where I live in both body and mind.
At first glance, she seems like an aging lady of surpassing beauty, but that is truly a masque. Under the face paint is a harshness, a cynicism that shields her from the rest of the world.
Once you accept her embrace, you are forever tied to her. There is no cure for this drug. Her memory will always haunt you and call you back again.
There is this stillness amidst the gaiety; a sense of loneliness shadows every corner. The only respite from this pressure is the music playing at your jazz funeral.
It's a commitment without words. It will bind you and hold you for the rest of your days. You can have no other home.
In the end, her jaded view will take over and you will see as she sees. This tarnished life is the only life left. And it is too late to break away.
