seen from Thailand
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from India
seen from China
seen from Türkiye
seen from Senegal
seen from Thailand
seen from Norway
seen from Poland
seen from Australia
seen from Sri Lanka
seen from China
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from Russia
But maybe this is just what it means to move from longing for a thing to living it, (...) to live into the truth of things is to be disappointed by them and to find sideways and fractional ways to go on loving those things and people and places anyway, carrying disappointment in one hand and your heart in the other.
Helena Fitzgerald
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helena fitzgerald, "may you live in text-your-ex times"
I mistrust myself when I write about love; I try to steer my impulses toward some better subject, toward something that will make me seem more serious, less solipsistic, less immature. Almost everything is more important than two people having a long conversation across a golden day about how they’ve missed each other, their limbs aching in the small uncrossed space between them. Almost everything is more important than people in rooms, or how the space between people becomes a room. Almost everything else matters more than the bright and out-of-nowhere electric thing that rises up between people, that comes in like the weather and digs out furrows through the rest of our lives.... There is far more to the world than the collision of individuals with one another, the accidents and longings of bodies, the way people throw their lives at one another, the way two people become a car crash, the way people wash up on the coastlines of one another; it’s just that I don’t really care about any of it.
Helena Fitzgerald, Writing About Love: on cynicism, or wow I hated Before Midnight a whole lot
It was summer in New York and all the trees leaned together in highlighter colors and everything looked like a public pool, the weather as smoothly perfect as a wet oil painting, that time of year at the end of May and beginning of June when a long run of beautiful days are like a series of dares, impossible, one coming to outdo the other, egging each other on.
Helena Fitzgerald, childhood friends - Griefbacon
helena fitzgerald
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“It’s the end of the summer; it’s the end of the world. The whole thing of August, the lounge-y half-naked dinosaur-green nihilist do-nothing swamp of it, is everything after.”
— Helena Fitzgerald, Griefbacon
Big Divorce Energy
the idea:
[The National are] a band playing exhausted, self-pitying songs about experiences in interior rooms, about the ongoing resignations and failures of courage between people who are pretty much fine, actually. The exact feeling of a National song is the part of that episode of Mad Men where Don Draper reads one (1) Frank O’Hara poem. Despite being a bunch of dudes with guitars who now play gigantic sold-out venues, they exist on roughly the same frequency as the novels of Updike or Cheever (the second of whom is referenced by name on 2017’s Sleep Well Beast), quietly concerned with the glossy surfaces atop our alienation from ourselves. Their songs chronicle wholly survivable catastrophes; they land like a long talk in a car parked in the driveway of a suburban home late at night. Their whole onstage person is that of a man eternally one drink away from starting every sentence with “my wife”... You don’t have to have actually, legally ended a marriage to have Big Divorce Energy. I know plenty of people in their first marriages and people who have never been married at all who have serious divorce energy, and I know plenty of people who have in fact been through one or more divorces who have little to no divorce energy. When I first started listening to The National, I assumed their music was a glimpse into their lives; I assumed Berninger must be in the middle of his marriage falling apart. But, as their latest record highlights, this band itself is an invention and their Big Divorce Energy is for show, fiction and not autobiography.
big divorce energy is a particular vibe of exhausted navel-gazing on mundane topics/problems that verges on solipsistic in tone or content. fitzgerald's essay (see below) doesn't really give a concise definition, instead mostly focusing on vibes, but she does quote a friend in the essay who describes the concept as "wine bar problems".
my original source:
helena fitzgerald (griefbacon)'s 2019 essay, "big divorce energy".
