Define reality

Reality: A thing that is harsh and cold. Destined to hit. Mostly unwavering. The rare and brief wavering only makes its ferocity all the worse once it sets back in.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it is this. More so in the past two years than ever before in my life. I hope it doesn’t continue this way, but fear it is destined to.

New albums from most of my current favourite bands (APTBS, Odonis Odonis, Soft Moon, Hot Snakes, Preoccupations) may all disappoint. The albums that have come out or the preceding singles have not done it for me. What to do when all your favourite things cease to impress? When all the people who once did, on the same niche page as you, are long gone too?

Pervasive disappointment and a wish to resign (not an option, of course). Your aging body aching all over. And time-consuming, frustrating work. That only reveals itself to take the time and effort it does once you get in there and poke around. And no one understands the complexity of it. You’d like to see them do it quicker. Is this the future? Well, you need to make a living, somehow.

You’re born into this life. You don’t choose it. Then you’re forced to trudge away. Until one day it trudges over you one final time.

Some may think the turmoil of their 20s could be the worst of things. But as you age, try to face facts, try to get out of ruts, things get increasingly difficult. Sometimes with no chosen family of friends. You have no time and choose the isolation eventually, even when options come about. Can’t be bothered. Prefer your freedom.

Negative connotation all over positive feeling. Maybe it’s good if they’ve worn you down over time though. Shaking your head at your younger self. Invested too much too often. Given years of one’s young life to things that didn’t give back. At least coming out eventually with standards, even if you know most men, scratch that, boys, can’t meet them. Or even come close. At least you know the respect you deserve. Unfettered and free to be who you choose. Listen to what you choose. Not be pressured into anything for fear some immature brat (who only gives half of himself and doesn’t value the 1.5 selves you give) will get cranky.

But then years can go by with a shortage of people you care immensely about to share experiences, excitement, opinions or laughs with. Few can live up to what you once had, at any rate. No one with time and then one day it’s you that thinks it’s no longer worth the time. As your own family ages and you fear the loss of them.

Interlude. This is actually the only long I seem to really like on this album, maybe because I’ve played it a bunch of times on YouTube when it comes up. I really like this video. Though this band sits weird with me with this chick’s recent allegations against that nasty man though. Men. Are they finally going to get some come upens for how poorly they’ve treated women? The accepted norm a whole gender was powerless against. I don’t even look like one of these chicks and I’ve been misused and abused for years. It’s part of why I’ve lost interest.

That’s some bleak stuff. This is what happens on a long weekend yearned for litrally (intentional spelling error, I want it said like some British people say it) ages that was meant for collapsing and socializing, turned instead into another complicated, time-consuming tech writing project. With a week of double work and dread ahead.

Change is supposed to be difficult. Change is supposed to be good. You can’t avoid anxiety, risk, progress, challenge. But it certainly would be nice if you could!

Wrists protesting all the while. Wishing they were on a beach or in some woods instead. Writing, lazing, sunbathing (in the shade preferably).

It would be better with some fantastic new music to get by on. But instead, no awesome new music to help ease the pain or pass time. It actually needs no help passing, but slowing it down would be magic I would pay many moneys for.

Damn bands these days and their only putting out 1-2 albums (if you’re lucky) before they no longer do the thing you loved them for doing. Devastating. Thinking back to my next tattoo being covered up this spring, I realize that love for a band is like any other relationship. You’ll likely no longer be a devoted follower, though you gave it all your heart and valued them so. And you’ll have to walk away, like you always do (at least it tends to be you, not them). Sure you’ll check out the new single, but eventually you won’t even download the whole album. Let alone drag your butt out to their shows. One day there will be no more shows I want to be in Toronto for, and then I can move out to the country.

At least there is this. The subject of what may very well be the last album review I trouble myself with trying to write. And can’t figure out how to phrase the essence of Interpol as there’s a lot more going on than that. Though I suppose I’ve already tackled the rest.

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