It is awesome and simultaneously sucks to be so obsessed with someone/something/some body of work that no one else could give a shit about. On one hand, it’s like your own thing, right? Like, it’s all yours, and no one else has consumed it in the way that you have, so they don’t understand it. On the other hand, it’s like holding tight to art that has no frame of reference for anyone else, so you’re left to run your fingers over every single hanging part of it, but no one to discuss the feeling with.
With this latest round of re-obsession with Possum Dixon, I’m already feeling exhausted from my singular gaze. What I think my brain is saying is, finish the book you started writing with their music involved, already.