(cw: death)

It was me, waiting for me / Hoping for something more

– Joy Division, “New Dawn Fades” (1979)

Post-Punk did not die with Ian Curtis’ untimely death. but he was indeed gone for good that summer of 1980. being the ringleader, Joy Division passed along with him. he made that decision to cement himself into eternal tragedy. to think of the austerity of the life he led. you can hear it in his voice which was almost always cracking, on the precipice of giving up, and historically so prior to his demise. he never made it to the North America tour.

to lead a life of austerity is to feel mortality ebbing and trying its best to constitute itself within your own body. things have gotten easier but they can still be difficult. you wonder how many more things the universe can throw at you. a barrage of difficult events over a long period are not to make one stronger, but to force one into making decisions. the decision to leave. the decision to stay. the decision to forge on. the decision to give up. each and every decision has its responsibility and its consequences. there are a lot of things in the world that can chip away at your light and your reservoir of energy.

once upon a time i wanted to travel to places with you. i wanted to see fields and find areas that are so quiet we could hear our own hearts beating. the world is so big and we are both in it. somehow we could even know each other. there are places with crowds of people. there are places with crowds of trees, or crowds of rocks. there are places with little trees, and little rocks. i wanted to lead an authentic life like that. with my heart on the rocks and the trees and the grass and in the air. and i wanted to show it to you that i could do so. something i could share with you. we can find what is simple and happy that works. i still do. it just feels like it has aged.

when a dream is extinguished, the other dreams become precarious. if enough dreams become dashed, the rest could follow like a fission chain reaction. once all dreams are extinguished a person is left with bare goals. goals form a necessary layer for survival and the day-to-day. and even that is at risk of erosion too. i have wanted to imbue the world with many things. i am not stupid. but world might kick me in the shins and call me stupid. i am already trying to nurse wounds. yet. eating can become hard again. sleeping can continue being not restful. dreams are possible until they are not. dreams might not be possible until they are. wake me up when they are.

to think that the light went out in you and you chose it to. i wonder if what made you into a husk is hollowing me out too. did you push your light to see where it could still take you, until it got so strained it turned into a fading ember? how tired were you by this point? was love no longer enough for you? is devotion something that failed you? did you feel that there was nothing else left for you, too? the Moon is already more than enough. but i am not the Moon, which means that is thrown into question. you were more than enough, but maybe you could not see it. i am left behind wondering what is left, and how much loss becomes too much of a cost.

as it turns out, there is poverty in time and space too. the past is rendered poor by its own consequence of letting its richness fade backwards into time. your own room can turn into a prison when the conditions are ripe for it, along with the places you frequent, the places of routine. being too tired to cry from the day’s labors is a constriction of both time and space too. the loss of a relationship makes the spaces in your world smaller. the smaller it becomes, the more trapped you will feel.

you want to feel the enchantment of The New again. you want to put in the work to make it something that is worthwhile and lasting. but can you handle the disappointment that might follow? can you handle any further hurt if it comes towards you at this point? can you live with yourself if you fail again, and if you repeat the same mistakes without intending to, and reach the limits of what your best can do? you have many wounds and you are still prone to more.

if there can be something else, this is a call.