A Summer of Ultraviolence
Shared my body and my mind with you / that’s all over now.
When you snip the tendons of a four-year relationship, it’s essential to freeze your emotions. Post-relationship survival is dependent upon the strength and persistence of your denial, the ability to subdue your hurt and anger and regret through generous applications of magical realism. You want to become someone else. If you don’t want to fall apart, you need to do this. You think it should be easy, as it seems that you’ve always wanted to be someone else. Some long-lost sister much worldlier than you.
We ended right around the time Lana Del Rey’s second LP, Ultraviolence, dropped. It was the beginning of summer. Like other records that coincided with personal change or violent upheaval, Ultraviolence was the cutting reminder that underneath love and romance, there was always the promise of disappointment. In an interview that she later recanted, Del Rey (aka Lizzy Grant aka May Jailor, born Elizabeth Woolridge Grant) said to Guardian writer Tim Jones, “Family members will come on the road with me and say: ‘Wow, your life is like a movie.’ And I’m like: ‘Yeah, a really fucked-up movie.’” When we ended, I turned to Lana Del Rey to guide my scattered state of mind.