Interpol

I listened to the back catalogue of Interpol whilst staring out into the grey of a season that just sits between February and April. The lost season of greys and winds, rain and a cold that is not quite winter. The lost season of secrets, recoil and hibernation. The surreptitious season.
It has been a day of organisation, meddling, tinkering and amusement, as ever, at the antics of others and the backbone that life seems to rip out of the majority - that fear, intricately consuming the conscious mind. So many closed minds and empty souls trapped in a purgatory of their own creation. Desires and needs suppressed by the conformity of the masses - blinded by the destination and oblivious to the journey.
Interpol are a fitting soundtrack to a day I find myself wishing for her to complete my jigsaw and free me from this purgatory of my own creation.