I’ve been feeling awful sentimental, thinking I have some great glimpse of an idea that will turn into text. Alas, this amalgam will be the fruits of those constipated toils. Not a rut, per se, more a fleeting sense of hope in my abilities to come up with something worthwhile. Fleeting nonetheless
He is so good on “Jesus Gonna Be Here”. That growl is intense. And the way he drags it is amazing, proto-indie cruning. Almost makes cigarettes seem cool but do not fall in the traps of big tobacco. He even coughs at the end. It’s no good.
I think what I am trying to pry out of my mind here is that I feel scattered, volatile. Days go by without joy. Weeks without hope. In the meantime I feel guilty being this way. I feel like I cannot talk to anyone but my therapist and even then I do not think I can fully express myself to them. I constantly feel like any interaction with a person will involve me spilling my guts, talking about everything that bothers me. I cannot even do that here.
The new Aldous Harding is fantastic. I was walking around Amsterdam en route to a soulless (redundant) coworking space to pick up my delivery placed in a locker. My sister’s doorbell was nonfunctional and that was the best option that I could think of. Pacing through the classic green-gray of northern Europe, I felt pointless. The album in my ears was keeping me company. Not really providing any comfort or explanation as to why I was this way. A certain absurd that I did not understand but I felt.
August seems to be the month of classic movies here. All the indie theaters are engaging in letterboxd-gavage. I haven’t been able to participate really, it has been tough. Just watched Mulholland Drive and I found it to be fine. I hated that I found it fine. My interpretations were fine, I didn’t feel lost, it wasn’t the style that wasn’t for me. It was probably just me. Similar in sprit to the kiwi, the main difference was the toll the months have taken on me.
Apart from bursts of hope I am lost. The days blur into each other, the weeks fade and the months erode. Paycheck-to-paycheck. The relationship has also not been going well. I am trying to explain myself but I fail to do so. Whenever I explain myself I feel like I am hurting them. They respond with well intentions. I may have eroded my hope in change. A lot of mishaps in a month and I feel at my limit. No catharsis, just disappointment.
I need to read more, to understand more. The faint connections I feel with the stories I consume pale in comparison to some understanding I could feel if I just knew what was wrong with me, why I felt this way. This just shows that the essence has not changed. Still looking for shortcuts. I was advised to let it wash over me but it is smothering.
Here is hoping for better days, brighter parades; things can swing in moments and just because the thumb of my mind has been weighing the scale in on direction does not mean the inverse can prevail- popular to contrary belief.