Cole Manasco

I mentioned this in one of my personal essays, but driving with my dad to get breakfast on Saturday mornings is one of my fondest memories. I cherish it so deeply even though it’s such a simple act of getting the greasiest biscuits we could find. He and I were always the first ones awake in the house so I was his shotgun partner and I’m grateful for it. I’m writing this now on a Saturday morning and it’s amazing what changes and what doesn’t over 20 years.

My favorite song of all time is undoubtedly “Pictures of You” by The Cure. It may have been my favorite from the very first time I heard it. The Cure has long been one of my favorite bands, but this song stands apart.

There is some type of dark magic in this song that I have yet to understand; only what it makes me feel. The slow-building, airy guitars, the steady, crashing reverb-soaked drums, and the deep yearning in Robert Smith’s voice are simply masterful. 

The reason that one sinks so deep for me, along with many more songs by the Cure do, is that I think I’ve always been fascinated by the feeling of when you lose someone you are so foolishly and audaciously in love with. Your reality becomes a faint and precious memory that might kill you if you let go. 

It’s intoxicating but not the same way ‘Friday I’m in Love’ is intoxicating; the euphoria of never feeling more alive than when you’re in love. Instead, it sounds like a slow but steadfast walk toward the end of the world, which Smith foreshadows in “Plainsong”, in the preceding track. 

This song sounds apocalyptic. It’s patient and contemplative. It prolongs the inevitable.

Heartbreak, and sometimes love even, share a similar element. Smith depicts that feeling well throughout the 71/2 minute duration of the song. His emotions dramatically shift in countless directions and his vocal cadence grows increasingly distraught in perfect moments. However, he inevitably sinks further and further into deep dark waters. 

Smith’s aptitude for lyrical imagery truly conveys the severity of his grief. At one point, he imagines his lover as something almost otherworldly, like an angel granting one last kiss before she turns to glittering dust. It’s devastating and beautiful.That’s just fucking beautiful. 

All he is left with his thoughts and the pictures. He repeatedly thinks to himself, “Maybe, just maybe, if I had done this one right that one time then this would never happen.” Irrational and desperate. Cold and helpless on the floor like shattered glass in a Wal-Mart bag. It truly feels like the end of the world. It’s a painful yet beautiful thing to be able to feel so much, so deep. 

I’m eternally grateful to have seen them in 2023. “Pictures of You” was the second song they performed and I sobbed, which I rarely do at concerts. I mostly couldn’t believe I was hearing it live. Now I either listen to it on loop or I can’t listen to it at all. The Cure is a powerful band. 

I think about this all the time because my brain is more of a radio station—sometimes both AM and FM—as it changes with the times. I assume that’s a pretty common experience. There’s no way for its sound to remain static and impermeable. I just don’t think that’s the common human experience. However, this is not to say that my brain doesn’t still spin my personal classics. I’m still the DJ in the control room, curating the music on my show. But sometimes I need some time off, and the guy who covers for me has a taste in music that is antithetical to my own. That’s just when it’s not my show at the moment.

One of the classics I play is a minimalistic set of analog synthesizers. Some of them twinkle and spark in the stratosphere in my head. Some of them are like droning, ambient carbon emissions. They pan all around the space, while on the ground, a gentle acoustic guitar, in a tuning of God knows what, pensively fingerpicks an ode to the world outside of it. These sounds are only activated when the wind blows through the trees of my neural pathways. It creates a sound so dreamy and otherworldly, but grounding nonetheless.

There are many times when the walls of my brain are decorated by modular synthesizers, all in different keys and timbres. It’s a swarm of sounds so distinct and methodical on their own, but beyond terrifying all together. Usually, I can hear violent industrial sounds somewhere beyond the walls, and I’ve never known where they come from. It’s not often that I take issue with this part of my DJ session, because the soundboard is inevitably prone to malfunctioning from time to time. That’s okay. I like the noise. I like that it becomes sonically illegible to the extent that I make more sense of what I hear than most things.

The other guy never plays any one thing more than once, so I never know what I’m going to get. I can’t do anything about it but wait until my shift approaches. And it’s not always unpleasant sounds or music or anything—I just don’t like it. It can sound like anything from a fork squeaking on a plate to an Imagine Dragons record played in its entirety. However, I guess there is always solace in knowing I’ll take that seat back soon and own the soundboard like I made it myself.

Throughout all of this, other random sounds I hear in my life scatter and float around because they deserve to be heard as well, even ad nauseam. I can’t really escape them, but I’m rarely unnerved by them anyway. I’m just glad that I can always count on those synthesizers to shimmer and flicker along the drone blanket that covers my guitar and allows the wind to pass.

Loosely speaking, I have always seen myself in Nick Miller from New Girl, and I never really know how to feel about it. I mean, there are much worse fictional characters to identify with. I do think Nick’s character often fights to disprove his flaws rather than having them come as a surprise, especially in relation to everyone in the loft. If I relate to that at all, then Nick is an exaggerated representation of that feeling.

On the surface, Nick is an irritable, “no-nonsense” type of person, even though nonsense is a fundamental attribute of his identity. Opening your first bank account in your mid-30s is egregious. That’s not me. Fixing the sink with a random stick wrapped in duct tape? I can’t wait. In this sense, he just does what makes enough sense to him to get by. He has a unique sense of practicality that is often vastly impractical, but it doesn’t always blow up in his face. I can fix nearly anything, but my methods are rarely conventional.

Despite his perceived laziness, Nick is awfully aspirational but lacks self-confidence and motivation. He pigeonholes himself as a screw-up with wasted potential. The only thing he ever seemed truly confident in was his ability to write the “Pepperwood Chronicles.” I’m not as down-bad as Nick seems to be for most of the show, but imagination and writing are two things I don’t particularly waver on. However, like Nick, I seek validation. I always want more for myself, but my greatest obstacle is myself.

Beneath his cranky and distant nature, Nick is loyal and exceptional at identifying when someone needs him. He loves really hard but struggles with vulnerability and feels undeserving of good things. If someone treats him well without him having to earn it, he becomes skeptical—how could someone love him as-is? For instance, the notorious cookie scene is a sufficient example. Nick doesn’t understand why Schmidt loves him so much, but that’s merely through the lens of his perceived self. I have had to come to terms with this component of myself many times; I’m surrounded by people who know how to redirect my self-focus and prove me wrong.

Nick represents a palpable tension between his desires and his mobility. He silently believes in himself but to him, it would be outrageous to express it. The love Nick doesn’t give himself is redistributed to others. He loves deeply, and he is deeply loved. There is typically a disconnect between his intentions and his methods. Similarly, I like to believe that I always mean well—I just find myself in a whirlpool of compulsive scrutiny, to a fault. I’m more convincing to myself than anyone else, an indisputable core trait that Nick and I share. Of course, Nick and I diverge in other ways, but our fundamental selves are undoubtedly akin.

I’m pissing myself off by suggesting this prompt, but it’s a topic we all inevitably have to address at some point, both collectively and individually. I guess I can split it into two parts.

Phone: I wouldn’t necessarily consider my relationship with my phone too troubling, but it’s something I try to monitor as best I can. One thing I do that helps is limit notifications to only news, texts/calls, and email — things that seem more urgent. If I want to get on social media, it’s because I initiated it myself. I will say, it’s much easier and more tempting to prioritize doing something on my phone during idle time than it is to pick up a book I’ve been meaning to read.

I’m not always the best at it, but I try to sit at my desk pretty soon after waking up because, for the most part, I only use my computer to record music, read the news, get some work done, etc. Nonetheless, there are still days where my screen time is a heinous amount. I think it’s reasonable to allow ourselves some grace when we catch ourselves doomscrolling because, while it’s negatively perceived, it can be useful, and it’s also just sort of how the world works now.

Internet: We live in a society, specifically in the U.S., where hyper-productivity is prioritized to a sizable fault. The problem isn’t only about productivity replacement; it’s also about dopamine farming. Where do you find your dopamine? Sunshine? A video of someone falling down? Receiving likes or DMs? I’m not wagging a finger when I say this because I’m just as guilty as the next guy. Who am I to tell you that you’re doing it all wrong? That’s up to each of us, for the most part, similar to your diet or the amount you exercise. It’s not my business.

The advent of the internet seemed much more humble than it does now. Expedited access to ample information was exciting because, like most early technology, it aided our daily lives. I don’t think it’s outrageous to say that we probably foresaw a tidal wave of advanced technology. We just didn’t know what it looked like. Well, with current technology, we seem to have much more fear than excitement. That’s because the internet has become the model for a miniature food chain. Our prey is the excessive information we consume. We are prey to the tech lords who consume us — our time, money, attention, etc.

With all of that being said, the internet isn’t that dangerous if you are intentional about where you go. I take everything with a grain of salt, and I’m trying to buckle up for the future. Technology isn’t going to pause its advancements, and the majority of us are going to fall behind. A good deal of my Master’s program studies emergent technology, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t have answers, though. The best I can do is hold onto the basic functions of authentic living as best I can. We’ll see.

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Gray disposition

Brutish turbulence afoot

Forecast refinement

I feel like I’m going to make some people angry on this one, but yeah, I call bullshit. I like the idea of astrology. There is almost a religious aspect to it that doesn’t necessarily transcend our universe, and I can respect that. However, I think people are far more complex and pluralistic to be lumped into a group of other people who share no qualities or lives whatsoever. And I know, I know – it’s not as simple as that. I’ve tried to keep up with this stuff before and maybe I just didn’t understand it enough, but I also just stopped caring and started caring more about life as it is – despite what my Costar said. I’m not judging anyone who is super immersed in the astrology world, because like I said, it’s an understandable way of finding enlightenment. It connects us to our world. Maybe I’m misguided. In all honesty, I just really don’t care. And if that’s the case, I probably shouldn’t be the one bringing up the topic but I did and I’m talking about it and you can’t stop me.

I reckon I can sum it up in one word – trajectory. It’s not what I particularly wish for my answer but here we are. Life feels like a prolonged state of inertia at the moment, but there are multiple outside forces relentlessly trying to break the tension. That’s okay. It’s a good thing to have somewhere to go and it’s a good thing to be urged along the way. Does it challenge my comfort zone? Undoubtedly. However, a fact of life is that it has to change and evolve at some point, and maybe it only becomes more difficult the more we resist. If there’s anything that has taught me, it is to listen to those around you, be easy on yourself, and don’t turn a shoulder to the signs that guide you. I’m still working on that. We’ll surely get there.

It’s hard to pick just one but the first one that comes to mind for me is Oasis. I don’t care what you have to say to try and change my mind. I’m taking this one. The Gallagher brothers piss me off and sure, they have a couple of great songs. Do they deserve the notoriety they’ve been granted? Not a chance in my book. I don’t think they’re even remotely as interesting as 80% of the music that came out of the ‘90s. Are they Brit-pop pioneers? Sure, but I don’t think they are responsible for laying the foundation of much of anything substantially impactful between then and now. And don’t get me started on their stupid shitty attitudes that make it much more difficult to want to listen to them. Nothing about their music and influence warrants being the pair of massive dicks that they are. Just go listen to what was coming out of Ireland around that time instead. Or listen to Blur to piss off the Gallaghers.

I think the best answer I can give you is any work by Tim Robinson. Contrary to some beliefs, his comedy isn’t as reductive as just screaming all the time. Nothing he does is predictable and rarely does it make sense, but that’s only part of his absurdist mastery. And when you think you have him figured out, he slips in micro-surprises and quips to keep you on your toes. There’s also something just hysterical about his facial expressions and line deliveries. He pushes the boundaries of your comfort levels, which forces you to be confronted with that discomfort and leaves you thinking, “Yikes, that was rough, but also how does one even think of such an oddly creative and bizarre representation of mundane reality?” Only Tim Robinson has the ability to do it on such great heights.