Indisputably, the defining album of these moon-bathings was Elliott Smith’s self-titled.
Within whichever spot I judged to be both the furthest away from other people and any form of light, I would lie down, put headphones on and close my eyes. My antidote to this seemingly unending discomfort in living was to frequent my local park once the sky had blackened as far as it would, and I would stay there, free of stress, knocking out the dents in myself inflicted by the struggle of the hours prior.
I couldn’t settle and my mood was so low that interacting with those outside that wee microcosm of the world offered little respite. During a particularly low part of my life, I found myself increasingly isolated within the flat I lived in – shared spaces filled me with a great sense of unease my own room leaving me lonely and ever-deflating.
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