We took a night drive through heavy fog, aiming toward the ocean. Reverberated guitars washed across the dashboard while we admired the smudged headlights of oncoming traffic, the fleeting sense of driving on some other, better planet.
She dozed for a while, and I contemplated my constant need for motion and my craving for faith in something otherworldly because, really, what would that solve?
Yellow Swans – Sovereign
Going Places | Type, 2010 | Bandcamp
Each night in 2020, I wrote a short post for a series called Notes From the End of a World because I wanted to etch these days into my memory. Before the world changed completely.
Subscribe
Login
0 Comments
Related Reading
March 20, 2020
Artificial
There's a blush of dopamine, an uncoiling of the nerves: the smudged memory of doing arts and crafts in a classroom while a storm beats against the windows.January 16, 2020
Solitude
It seems perverse that a deeper sense of community would come from living someplace remote rather than among the crowds of the city.March 27, 2020