"Scribbled and erased"

This album isn't nearly as good, but Ben's always been pretty good at plain-spoken melodic depression.

I've been thinking recently about how I feel like "I used to be such a sentimental guy." And the absence of feeling, sometimes, about things I used to really feel strongly about. Maybe it's depression; maybe it's the medicine for the depression. Maybe it's "getting older." Maybe it's our acid bath culture deadening the senses and paving over the space where the dandelions of sentimentality would've poked out. Maybe I'm just... changing.

But then I go look at some Muppets, and I feel a torrent of admiration and appreciation — of sentimentality. With someone I like a lot. To a great new movie — Knives Out — directed by someone whose movies I've really enjoyed seeing recently. Walk around outside on a nice, crisp day. Think maybe the problem is complicated, but that it isn't just that I'm incapable of certain feelings. That maybe, for better or worse, I haven't been in spaces where I could feel them readily. And that wherever I can find them — I have to follow. Sometimes the past brings forth warmth — if you look at the things you loved, rather than the parts that turned bitter and twisted. And then there are glimmers in the present, gold flecks in the cool, clear water, and you have to roll up your pant legs to take a closer look.

But I never thought so much... could change.

I carried a stuffed Ernie with me everywhere when I was a little kid; I don't remember exactly why, but I still feel the simple warmth of childhood affection. I don't think I saw myself as Bert; I think I wanted to be like Ernie. Simple, playful, sweet. So I got myself a little Ernie from the gift shop, and I'm gonna carry my little buddy with me for a little bit. It feels silly, and also good — so I don't have to explain it to myself any more than that.