By that I mean that sometimes I'll be a tranquil pond, the kind that reflects the sunset at exactly the right time of day and as the tide rolls in my crests will sparkle and I won't be able to stop kissing your shore.
By that I mean that sometimes I'll churn black with broiling foam, with a darkness that at high tide throws itself at harbour walls.
Sometimes whilst falling asleep you might hear the crash and pull of my waves and sometimes the pleasant ocean sound may comfort you, but sometimes you might hear that roar like a lost dinghy at sea, praying that none of the peaks and troughs will upend your flimsy raft.
I do not say this because I need a lifeguard, nomatter how well you swim. I do not need you to martyr yourself, drowning in an attempt to save me. I only need a lighthouse, a structure that is okay with the occasional harsh swell breaking around it, I just ask that every once in a while shines a ray of iridescent hope across an otherwise dark horizon.
By that I mean that is if you're happy to live with the sound of the sea, I am an ocean that if needed, can absorb your tears whether they be a brief shower or a monsoon season. That nomatter how much we fight or quarrel, I will always come back to you with a regularity of a tide dragged by the moon. That whether you're skimming stones or throwing coins making wishes, anything you entrust me with will be forever safe with me; neither deep sea divers nor submariners could make me break your trust.
By that I mean that nomatter how glittering, sharp, and dangerous you may sometimes be, we can sit patiently as long as it takes for your cracked edges to be transmuted into smooth shards, the kind that are washed up on beaches.
By that I mean that I will always be here, for as long as you want me. Even if you choose to forgoe a life by the ocean and retreat into deserts so arid where water is a scarcity, you will always be safe in the knowledge that nomatter which direction you drive in, you'll evenutally meet the coast where I'll be waiting for you. I may have changed a different colour, temperature, or direction but I'll still kiss your shore just the same.
We’re halfway through 2023 and critics are slouching towards their Best Records Of The Year So Far lists. They’re rarely happy about it. If dicing releases every 12 months is arbitrary, then six months is labor on a factory line, wood chips for the content mill. But this year, I feel like they hate these lists more than usual. They’re having a hard time picking much. And maybe you are, too. P...
At the close of 2022, Bitcoin wasn’t just down—it was so down that its precipitous fall was breaking records. One report from Bank of America suggested that the collapse in value was the fifth-worst for any asset in financial history. Despite steady gains this year, it hasn’t even come close to its November 2021 peak, and now things are about to get shaken up like a bead in a baby’s rattle w...
In Ari Aster’s 2016 short film C’est La Vie, Chester Crummings, a homeless man, speaks directly and combatively to camera about his life and society at large as he wanders the streets of LA, surviving, begging for change and casually murdering people. At one point, he says: “You know what Freud says about the nature of horror? He says it’s when the home becomes unhomelike. Unheimlich.”
In Sig...
