slippery.
listen to a song over and over until it is so familiar you don't hear the words. it becomes a feeling. it becomes a feeling and you can sketch it out with crumbling crayons and burnish it to a shine with candy wrappers and lacquer. a grotesque parody.
identity is a tenuous thing. we're more conduits than generators. emotion comes to us through another person, or an event, an incitement, fucks everything up inside us a little bit, like radiation, and passes out the other side to fuck up some other poor soul, the first one our eyes meet, unfortunate to have spoken. then we are empty again until the process repeats.
what does that reduce identity to? nothing so profound; habits and morals and tastes. wearing some favorite sweater twice a week. idiosyncrasies. i love discovering people's idiosyncrasies, but they're largely superficial characteristics of personality.
what's left: a museum of sadnesses. loss is the only emotion that does not pass. it is sustained by memory, because the logic of loss is flawlessly persistent.
i know fuck-all about being human. i am defined by absences.
music is lovely because i can, however briefly, snatch the brilliant emotions of others out of the air, tuck them to my chest, and pretend that they are mine.
identity is a tenuous thing. we're more conduits than generators. emotion comes to us through another person, or an event, an incitement, fucks everything up inside us a little bit, like radiation, and passes out the other side to fuck up some other poor soul, the first one our eyes meet, unfortunate to have spoken. then we are empty again until the process repeats.
what does that reduce identity to? nothing so profound; habits and morals and tastes. wearing some favorite sweater twice a week. idiosyncrasies. i love discovering people's idiosyncrasies, but they're largely superficial characteristics of personality.
what's left: a museum of sadnesses. loss is the only emotion that does not pass. it is sustained by memory, because the logic of loss is flawlessly persistent.
i know fuck-all about being human. i am defined by absences.
music is lovely because i can, however briefly, snatch the brilliant emotions of others out of the air, tuck them to my chest, and pretend that they are mine.