I've recently discovered the virtues of loneliness; as weird as it sounds, the absence of people is akin to weightlessness. Though I don't want to go through life alone, that seems to be my natural state of being, as every friend I've had has been growing further away from me at an exponential rate. It's the type of thing where you close your eyes, and it's suddenly all too easy to picture your friends as the planets and stars that are moving away from you in an ever-expanding universe.
Today I find myself with William Basinski's The Disintegration Loops (2003). The story is pretty well known (at least, if you have even heard of this album, then odds are you've heard this story). When Basinski set down to salvage earlier recordings on a magnetic tape and change them to a digital format, the tapes themselves were literally disintegrating in front of him as they moved through the tape heads.
I don't even wish to attempt a review of the album -- if that's what you're looking for, you may read this review, which does a beautiful job of translating and reviewing the album.
As for me, I'm lost in the sounds of deterioration; of relationships and memories that crumble as if they were as tangible as a decaying brick wall. It feels surprisingly soothing, even if melancholic.
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