This is, this is it. This is just everything. I am both laughing and crying at the same time and it’s so weirdly wonderful?
Alex and I wanted to listen to Suede’s Autofiction together for the first time (“god, I’m pretty sure there are people shipping us in an alternative universe” XD) so…that’s what we’re doing right now and HOLY HECK, it’s so good. SO good.
Like, we’re only up to “What am I Without You?” and I’ve been in tears twice and the remaining tracks can be utter shite and I would still love this album with all my heart, oh my god.
(The fact that we are both technically on the album itself is just the delicious icing on the jagged edged beauty of a cake.)
Just…just…this album is gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.
I put this in a private journal full of awful that I keep:
Little pockets of like-minded people on the internet have always been my life; it’s how I spent my teenage years and some of my twenties. Now, those pockets don’t exist — or I’m just incredibly bad at communication or being friends or everything. These have all dissolved into…whatever the world is now. I’ve been left behind.
That’s…the thing, I guess. The whole thing.
And the moon hangs above like a Valium pill
And I say I’ll be fine, but I don’t think that I will
But today I got work, and I like it that way
It’s a case of a still life gone cinèma verité
And I still need the beauty of words sung and spoken
And I live with the fear that my spirit will be broken
And that’s the way I thought it would be…that’s the way I always wanted it to be.
In love, but not at peace.
“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”
— Sherlock Holmes (Benedict Cumberbatch)
“The Reichenbach Fall”, Sherlock, BBC.
Nearly all of my friends favourite characters tend to be the villains of a story, and I just…I’m almost never a villain sympathiser — except for this boy here, but “sympathiser” isn’t really the right word…he was a very naughty boy, and deserved everything he got, but I still love him. Go figure. XD I always gravitate towards the heroes, and I know it’s silly, but recently I’ve kind of started to wonder…is there…something wrong with me in that respect?
It isn’t that I don’t find their stories compelling, or that I think they have no place in a narrative (?!?! I’m actually bewildered there are people who actually think this kind of thing…there again, I’m also bewildered that there are people who think that writing about a taboo subject means that the author advocates for and approves of said taboo subject in real life…). A good villain is vital to a story, imho. But I never really bond with any of them. My love always goes to the heroes and I’m always far more invested in their struggles.
It speaks of my general naivete and Pollyanna syndrome, I suppose…or maybe that I’m just so sick of my own darkness, I want to bathe in the light wherever I can find it. I don’t know, really.
[The elves] became sad, and their art (shall we say) antiquarian, and their efforts all really a kind of embalming–even though they also retained the old motive of their kind, the adornment of earth, and the healing of its hurts.
— J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 131
The dying fall of my sentences
The magic of lost consequences
The seduction of a fading power
In a hotel room in the middle of nowhere
I’m running out of fantasy…
I don’t expect your sympathy
I’m old, I’m strange, I’m confidential
Has my fantasy run out of delusion?
Has my fantasy reached its logical conclusion?