I felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every Panda that wouldn’t screw to save its species. I wanted to open the dump valves on oil tankers and smother all the French beaches I’d never see. I wanted to breathe smoke.
"But I guess in the end it sort of feels like every day it’s harder to stay happy where you are There are all these ways to look through the fence into your neighbor’s yard Why even risk it? It’s safer to stay distant When it’s so hard now to just be content Because there’s always something else” - La Dispute
“It sort of feels like every day gets harder to stay happy where you are, there are all these ways to look through the fence into your neighbors yard. Why even risk it? It’s safer to stay distant when its so hard to just be content because there’s always something else.”—
"Spaces between walls. Objects and their history. Memories knotted to everything collected here.
It is April and the house is empty. There is snow on the ground still somehow. Wandering alone throughout you are certain you hear echoes.
There is what leaves and then what does not when you lose someone. The shared history retained in mutually familiar things. Senses that trigger a sort of travel through time. Fabric softener, garlic, the coffeemaker, ordinary sights and smells, items. You spend X years of your life assigning memories to experiences, designation a section of your existence for storing the details and emotions attached to them good or bad and when you lose someone none of that goes with it. The objects remain in the space you share with them and so do the meanings they’ve earned. This moment or that moment, funeral or first kiss, fully remembered and realized in the tendrils and folds and lightning sparks of the unconscious every time one intrudes upon the landscape you occupy. The slightest hint of familiar scenery, the faintest smell, the feel of the air in the desert some years back, the dimensions of the rooms of the house or any common touch, all beckoning back with the accidental reminisce moments that shape an absence, that almost bring it back to you there or else bring you back to it. Trips take you backwards and forwards through history.
You are wandering alone in the spaces between the walls and you are certain you hear echoes. It is April and there is snow on the ground.”