Gila-a-a-a-a

Therapy by Rebekka Guðleifsdóttir

Hoping for the last ship to arrive
I’ve been blessed with a kingdom, half-mine

Gila-a
Gila-a-a-a-a
Gila-a
Gila-a-a-a-a
Gila-a-a-a-a
Gila-a-a

Playing with irony there. Beach House’s Gila.

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Do you know that quivering feeling as if when you speed up the shutter speed of 24/25 fps footage? Everything going jerky like Saving Private Ryan war theater.

That’s how I define irrational jealousy.

Uncontrollable fear and insecurity.

Then you hit the shutter speed below 1/30 with ND 8 on a bright day light of those raging jealousy.

You control the flaring fear, you eclipse the insecurity vignette.

Smooth cotton sea at long exposure at 12 o’clock.

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Lucky bastard.

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Afterthought. Those feeling is also true when you’re zombified from sleep deprivation. Your senses assaulted by a manic Drill Sergeant out of nowhere.

Blaring horn at the side of the road like screaming banshee to you ears. Uneven light blinding you like psychedelic trip. You pushed your step from the hard asphalt road to the cold concrete to the warmth edge of your bed.

Sleep. Solace.

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Still. Lucky prick.