Before my night turned to whiskey I was sipping wine and talking life to my friends J & J. I noticed that at times I feel an urge for tragedy; an attraction to despair far beyond my personal experience. Sure, I’ve had heartaches, had those close to me pass, had familial issues and had feelings of extreme dissatisfaction. Yet compared to an average forty-year old, confronted daily with aging parents, argumentative kids, a number of friends and close ones possessed by life-threatening illnesses, my life is daisies. Considering this I can’t help but feel emotionally as very much a child. Simply put my daily life just doesn’t seem to have that level of seriousness and intensity. Interestingly enough I often crave it — as if being a complete person requires the most extreme emotional experiences. At times like those, I crave to know what such a level of heartache feels like, much in the same way people are fascinated with death.
It is films and books, but most frequently music that occasionally provide a window for these cravings. About three years ago I purchased the extremely underrated Blur record 13. Excluding a small instrumental piece the record ends with “No Distance Left to Run” a song that floored me the first time and continues to do so. The song is one fine break up song — simple, beautiful, miserable, sparse, aching. From the first line of “It’s over/ you don’t need to tell me/ I hope you’re with someone who makes you feel safe when you’re sleeping tonight” down to the last chord the song is near perfection. To me the song always mirrored the state of a person that has been dropped, torn, or dumped in the true sense of the word. No lukewarm realizations like “maybe it’s for the better we split” — none of that typical bullshit, just pure pain. This was a sense of loss that was unexpected, completely without optimism or consolation. When I heard this song for the first time I made myself a promise. Namely, if I ever get dumped and I am truly hurt when the only desire or thought in my mind is of wanting to be with that person, to be in that relationship; I’ll put the song on a CD and give it to her. The picture painted is simply too perfect and even though it might be upsetting I would really like her to know. I have not been this hurt yet. I am not that much of a masochist and do not wish for the above to happen, but if it does I’ll be armed to the teeth.
“The Dark Horse”
Archived article by Maxim Pozdorovkin