Quote:
Originally Posted by Karlie
Like, what do you do when, not just your favorite band, but your favorite anything, the people and art that defined your life (and for many of us born in the 70s or later, your whole life) are over? Really, it was all over on 11/30, but there’s something so surreal about seeing “Fleetwood Mac was…” written out like that.
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It’s a very similar feeling to what some of us had in . . . I guess around 1995, when Fleetwood told the media that the band was kaput. The only difference is that I remember feeling relief that year — the stringing out of new faces and last-ditch activities for years felt like desperation — whereas this ending feels like metaphorical death in the wake of literal death.
The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. You’d never know it was here. Or any of the other places down the avenue. I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted—to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea. It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost. — O’Neill,
Long Day’s Journey into Night