okay, this is really annoying me. I have a song in my head and can’t remember the lyrics, but it’s like an american girl doing a lo fi talk rap, leaving an answer phone message to a boy? i think it’s kinda funny creepy? I think it’s someone in the grime/charli xcx scene. Does this sound familiar to anyone? i’ve literally googled every combination of words i can think of and have found nothing
Buy FADED EYES by HORSEBEACH (7” vinyl Â£5.99). Norman Records UK. Fast shipping.
“Now, we all know that there’s a new Real Estate album coming out but it would also be nice if we can have our own British, rainy day version of the New Jersey janglers. On the evidence of ‘Faded Eyes’, Horsebeach could be born to fulfill that role. Its all soft 1980’s jangle shot through a summery late night haze, the vocals are so laid back as to be horizontal and its wandering around with a insouciance that is rare for us taut, wound up Brits.”
on one hand, i am a huge fan of stylizing your depression. whether or not the slings and arrows of “don’t romanticize mental illness!” are aimed squarely at the perfectly sane, the bad novelists, the shitty scriptwriters, etc. hardly matters to me: what i care about is the collateral damage, the people who struggle with mental illness who are implicitly instructed to limit the way they express their personal lived experience.
it is perfectly okay to look in the mirror and admire the dark hollows burned under your eyes by days on end of crying. arrange your limbs carefully while lying on the bathroom floor so as to make your posture as dramatic as possible. imagine a camera on the ceiling. create mood lighting. then stare moodily into middle distance while maintaining a perfect awareness that you’re staring moodily into middle distance. light every candle you own and sink into a warm bath. cry. lounge. recline. splay. if you can find a way to deal with your misery by aestheticizing it, do it. don’t feel bad if you find yourself getting a perverse enjoyment out of it. always always always do everything you can to stay alive.
on the other hand, i am sick of being sick of being melodramatic. i would like to be able to stop apologizing for the parts of depression that are aesthetically uninteresting, turn off my internal copyeditor for a few days. it’s true that “i want to die” is a cliche, narratively boring after its 10,000th repetition, fails dismally at advancing the plot. but i have (so far) been unable to edit out the worst, dullest parts of depression. it all belongs on the cutting room floor but i can’t get it to stay there.
“The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?”—Oscar Wilde, De Profundis (via isisthornes)
“And it has been
of a year.
I have worn
under my sleeves,
on my thighs,
running down my cheeks.
This is what
looks like, my dear.”—Michelle K., It Has Been One Hell of a Year. (via michellekpoems)
have you ever just looked at someone and thought, my fucking god i love you. i love every goddamn ounce. i love your bones and your soul. but I’m a loser, who just doesn’t wanna lose you. i can lose fucking everything, but not you. oh god. not you.