Music is a double-edged sword. It can soothe or intensify pain; sometimes both, simultaneously.
I did not truly understand loss until I lost my best friend recently. He taught me a lot about music, about life, about the street, about friendships... but I think the most important lesson I've learnt from his departure from my life is not to trust people, because the people you've come to trust will leave you; not to rely on people, because the people you've come to rely on will leave you; and not to love people, because the person you love and the person who loves you will never, by some sick cosmic joke, ever be the same person, at the same time.
It is all entirely futile. In spite of all his efforts over the years to convince me otherwise, ultimately he was the one who confirmed my deepest fear for humanity -- that people are inherently evil and good things don't actually happen to good people. Karma is merely an idealistic concept.
I could go along with the twisted hurt and the constant dull ache in my chest and feed it heart-wrenching music and watch the gaping void bloat with dark emptiness. But as I said, it is all entirely futile. Whether you go after what you've lost and fight hard to repossess it, or whether you give up and allow yourself to drown in misery... it is all to no avail. Nobody gives a fuck what you choose to do now. You could feign cheerfulness or you could cry yourself to sleep; nobody cares. I'm just doing whatever gets me through the day... the thought that I will never have another conversation with my soul mate, that our glorious life plans will never eventuate, that we'll never listen to another song together, never share a bottle of wine, never send each other books, never travel to all the beautiful corners of the planet we are yet to see. I'm just doing whatever I can to keep these thoughts at bay... even if it means putting on the pride mask and forfeiting my right to defend my place on his priority list. So instead of Elliott Smith, I'm listening to The Kills and hiding behind the shield of 'I-don't-give-a-fuck'.
Don't ever give up on music, no matter how painful the experience becomes, no matter how much emotional baggage tacks itself onto each melody and every beat. The pain will eventually subside... and in the end, the music will still be around. Love inanimate objects, like cameras and guitars and vintage typewriters. Give them beautiful names and fuss over them like living things - pets, if you will. Inanimate objects never leave, they are always there to come home to.
I paired a colourful, cross-processed photo with this post. I like ironic contrasts with a bit of morbidness. Rays of sunshine and puffy cotton-candy clouds over your head while your insides are imploding with heaviness. Crisp blouse collars and shiny cufflinks and billing your clients at an extortionate rate per six minute interval, all the while having no idea what the fuck you're really doing and how you could possibly be competent to live up to this profession. The light strumming of major guitar chords with painfully dark lyrics. Mechanically chewing gourmet delicacies while willing your stomach muscles not to hurl everything out again. Chin up, cheer up. Everything's gonna be just fine.
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