Halos are always refracted, aren't they? Even in classical art, the holiness of God was somehow depicted as refracting, bending through the humanity of the saints as they kneel in prayer in medieval stained-glass windows. I like to think that was the idea, anyway.
I also like to think that the halo was painted behind the head of a holy man (or the Virgin Mary) to show that it was impossible to see your own. No matter which way you turned, the refracted glory, streaming from heaven and bending through the lens of your piety, would always be invisible to you but still there for everyone else to see. I reckon that's what Beyoncé was going for as well, you know.
I'm really tired. In the end, I worked right through to 6:30pm, logged-off in time to wolf down sausages, beans and mashed potato, and flew out of the door with my box of cables. I'm afraid I wasn't much use at band practice tonight. I'd been more useful yesterday, rehearsing for Megan and Adam's wedding this weekend. The half of my brain that loves weddings is really looking forward to Saturday; the other half's not so sure.
The other half. Ha! My brain is married to itself inside my head, then? That explains a few things. No, what I mean is that weddings leave me with mixed feelings. I will do my best to serve and be the best version of me that I can be though, behind the piano. That is, after all, what I always aim for, even if sometimes I really miss the mark.
The Moon's covered in craters. It gets pounded by asteroids and rocks and bits of space debris. With no atmosphere, its dusty grey surface gets pummelled by meteors, leaving it pockmarked, flawed and patchy. You can really see that on nights like this, when it's so bright and bold. It's massively imperfect. It also has a bit of a halo. At least tonight, anyway.
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