it has always been music that healed me. and through blasting vampire weekend and passion pit in the car in the bright early mornings of driving to work, it has awakened what was suppressed inside of me these past few months as I became strictly utilitarian in my ways, focusing on the end result of the project, and producing and completing with every hour in my day.
my imagination withered away. no books. there was no time for books.
the lover gifted me with "The Lost City of Z" this past weekend and I haven't been able to put it down. I have a thing for non-fictions about deadly obsessions. i tend to get carried away in my flights of fancy so much so that I stay up until dawn to research, learn more, absorb everything i can. a part of me, a wild fanatical part, can relate to Percy Fawcett and David Grann, the author of the book; you discover something private and hidden within the confides of your room late at night and you can't believe it's never been dissected before. so you put yourself to task. and that is where sanity ends and exploration begins to take flight. I want to explore the world. i want to absorb my lovers mind until i can read it and know it better than him. it scares him a little.
Shutter Island was amazing. It reminded me of The Bell Jar. it's about madness that doesn't know that it's mad, and there lies the irony and tragedy of the story. There lies the pathetic plot-driven punchline the protagonist failed recognized that we sometimes wished for them to stay in their madness, rather than subject them to the cruelty of reality.
madness that originates from pain is strangely memorizing. masochistic in the curiosity it brings about and has a hold on you, gripped until the moment of resolution. sort of shameful in a way. it's a trap to lure you in, you know it is, but you can't pull away.