wallowing in existential loneliness listening to the 5 eps by disco inferno (one of the top xx albums of all time)

love is what’s left when all we once were is lost. you’ll never find anyone. you’ll just be sat in this café, typing away as daughters flash mothers engagement rings, fathers rock prams, fluorescent-vested men sit cross-legged waiting for croissants to be heated and packed and repacked. everybody’s gone. so it goes. the solar-something auditor in san jose, gone. the volkswagen marketer in munich, frankfurt, berlin, somewhere, gone. the lawyer who’s come out as a lesbian, gone. the one who died a decade ago at the wrong end of a bender, gone. everybody’s gone; so it goes. 

we are what’s left when what we once loved is lost. we’re what’s left behind. crabshells heavy with silt, animated by the ebbs and flows of a meandering river. a bag being carried nowhere by an uncaring breeze. an endless saturday afternoon spent on an empty bed you can’t believe is yours. whatever. what is the point even? maybe writing impressionist prose while listening to disco inferno is the point. to be sat here typing away at a laptop as couples in gym clothes walk hand-in-hand towards their subarus, as plastic women eke out weak smiles and hairless men rub their bellies while patting their shoulders.