Artist: Angel Olsen
Title: White Fire
Album: Burn Your Fire For No Witness
'I am not one to talk soft.
I carry band-aids with me just in case
my warning signs are not out
and people slip and fall on my own wounds
deep as manholes.
Paper cuts are like toothaches
but with blood, and my neck is a whiskey bottle.
I get drunk out of placing my hands perfectly
on my lovers’ jaw and he sends me letters
when he leaves. It is always a goodbye
and I am not one to wear helmets
for anything, not even love.
I learned how to chew them
like the first candy you find
after a hunger strike. Yesterday,
I went to the grocery store and
the cashier, the old lady with a scarf,
the security guard asked me where you were.
I realized people still imagine me with you
and just like them I am still hoping
that some day, I will no longer have to.'
'I deleted your texts but I still remember exactly what they said'
— midnight thoughts of a broken heart (via coyotegold
Artist: King Krule
Title: Out Getting Ribs
Album: 6 Feet Beneath the Moon
'We all have our little solipsistic delusions, ghastly intuitions of utter singularity: that we are the only one in the house who ever fills the ice-cube tray, who unloads the clean dishwasher, who occasionally pees in the shower, whose eyelid twitches on first dates; that only we take casualness terribly seriously; that only we fashion supplication into courtesy; that only we hear the whiny pathos in a dog’s yawn, the timeless sigh in the opening of the hermetically-sealed jar, the splattered laugh in the frying egg, the minor-D lament in the vacuum’s scream; that only we feel the panic at sunset the rookie kindergartner feels at his mother’s retreat. That only we love the only-we. That only we need the only-we. Solipsism binds us together, J.D. knows. That we feel lonely in a crowd; stop not to dwell on what’s brought the crowd into being. That we are, always, faces in a crowd.'
— David Foster Wallace, Girl with Curious Hair