It’s albums like “The Idler Wheel…” that make me feel so worthless and complete at the same time. Complete because it’s gloriously and unabashedly emotionally raw and honest and I get to listen to it whenever I want, and worthless because I will never create art this good.
That’s what we’re supposed to feel, right? It’s like I can never fully enjoy an amazing book or album or any artistic accomplishment that’s not my own because I always feel a tinge of worthlessness. When will it be my turn? I want to impress and simultaneously depress people with my stories because they rule so hard!
For now, I will stick to meaningless, unintentionally self-deprecating blog posts! Pretty cool, huh?