"When I went away I thought about disassociative elements. And what leads to depersonalize, at least inasmuch as your hypothetical hominid is concerned. You feel confused? Pick up a glass of water and feel like you're interacting with a prop on an empty soundstage? Does a wet glass surface feel like skin to you?"
Exactly 51 weeks and 6 days ago I wrote a profoundly long half-published diary entry detailing every part of my structure that was collapsing at its seams. I wrote of relations that were coming to an end and I wrote of every person I had stopped talking to. I wrote about how afraid of the future I was.
51 weeks and 6 days later I find myself still afraid, still trying to recuperate from the hole I dug and crippled myself into falling into, and I chose to do this with the knowledge that maybe things would get better as a result. For some time I had a fake album on a label I do not own with an equally lengthy and confessional length to its nature detailing my life story because I never thought I'd keep going long enough to make it materialize otherwise.
Right now I wonder what the best course is.
Today and many months ago I wrote of a fake story in which Stars of the Lid play a cathedral show and rise hundreds of feet in the air; In its original publication I did not give it a traditional ending, today I did not give it neither a start nor an end. All I wrote was that McBride, just as the audience, looked onward in a hush. Silence! Doubt! Fear.
"It is fear that drives us, it is fear that keeps us humane." It is fear that I have tried to find myself in to little avail. It is fear that makes me stare at the moon, it is fear that makes me stare at red traffic lights and stop like a car, it is fear that makes my eyesight all watery and blurry like a bad camera. I find a lot of reality in this idea of fear. It has kept me going.
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