Friday, November 1, 2019

Out of scent, out of mind

I have no new pics of my own. I saw this online and liked it. It was probably made on an iPhone by someone who wished that car wasn't in the shot. I have done very little with photography lately. I go through spells but the spells hardly drive me mad any more. They barely drive me to the gas station. Every now and then I lose interest in life. All things dim to grey. It comes back, with less ferocity. None, really. It feels like I've woken up from months of sleep, the bed is made underneath me and I am fully clothed. As if there is no explanation for my presence in the present and none of the past explains how I arrived in the current moment. It's probably a component of my existing disorder, but I'd probably listen to someone who told me it was a new one. It feels as if everything is entering its late stage. I thought that all of this would be more interesting. 

We can't smell the fires any more. The skies have been clear, the winds pushing the smoke a different direction. Mildly traumatic things just become a part of our lives, a feature. We rationalize it, or try to, but it changes how we feel about almost everything, a little bit. It imbues the quotidian with mild, distant terror. There's a threat to think about out there and there's no getting away from it even when there is nothing to worry about. It is then that the shift in our lives is most troubling. Like tinnitus when it is quiet.