Friday, 15 January 2010


Sometimes it's hard to remember, that there is something more.


  1. It's easy enough to remember why that might be, though. That which is banal dilutes that which is sublime to the point the sublime can scarcely seem to matter. I'm in love for a few months, I'm not in love for many years. I have a momentary epiphany, I'm overcome with boredom for weeks.

    "Waitin' 'Round to Die" was the title of a review for an old Melody Maker Thin White Rope album, and it's unspeakable how much of life is spent by so many doing precisely that. There *is* something more, Samantha, but I'm just not sure how much that something really matters when balanced against the great stretches of nothingness.

    How much does the sight of a star or galaxy matter after you've travelled through unimaginably vast swathes of space to spend a brief moment in their warm glow?

    Rare, precious, beautiful and insignificant.

  2. Until you find the more in the something.