And when we break we'll wait for our miracle

yeah, you can hear jeff mangum finish the last of the songs from this record, you can hear him set his guitar down and then you hear the chair creak as he stands up, and you hear the wooden floor echo as he walks away, and as we lay there crushed from the gravity of everything we have just heard, we realize it has been seven years, and for all we know he has never picked up that guitar again, and might never. ever.

which is fucking devastating. not because it is a sad thought, or a glorious thought, but because of the thought of the strength involved with leaving everything as suddenly as it seemed to figure out that it was perfect.

on the first listen, you will be unimpressed, and maybe even disappointed. on the second through tenth listens, you will be indifferent. on the eleventh listen, you happen to be questioning things. you happen to notice that this is the most perfect statement in music that you have ever heard.

i am not exaggerating, because the investment was part of the reason that it is a ten-point-oh record, now, irrevocably, universally. and also because i never exaggerate.

to this day i do not know how he sings through even one paragraph without choking.