Sep 28, 2018
It rains all the time and I never write about the rain. / How curious. I wake up like it’s no big deal to wake up.
Natalie Eilbert, from “Aubade,” published in Reader
seen from China
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It rains all the time and I never write about the rain. / How curious. I wake up like it’s no big deal to wake up.
Natalie Eilbert, from “Aubade,” published in Reader
Buzzfeed: "Sufjan’s music, often morose and beautiful, combined with his face — gap-toothed and boyish, make him the perfect, sexy, sad boy. His music expresses a unique vulnerability, like listening to someone recite a particularly absorbing and relatable diary entry. His songs are all about storytelling, remarkably unreliant on choruses, breathy and delicate, and even when he sings alone, he sounds choral. Though they traffic in unbelievable sorrow, his songs feel cathartic in a way, like a validation of your own feelings rather than a condemnation of them. And unlike someone like Elliott Smith, whose (tragic) image is all about whether you could save him from himself, Sufjan needs no rescuing. There’s a security in his sadness, because it also comes with wearable butterfly wings and impressive but approachable muscles. You can spend time with him in your depression without feeling like it’s impossible to climb out of it later. He has no idea how to wear a hat.
Sufjan is like the last pure response to toxic masculinity: While other men are trying to out-macho each other, (like Justin Timberlake taking to the woods and fucking robots or whatever) Sufjan is sitting in a meadow and strumming a banjo while offering up his feelings in clear, defined lyrics: “Did you get enough love, my little dove?”"
Illustration by Ryan Melgar
"We're having to walk through life being aware of our blackness," he told BuzzFeed News. "We need to understand our people's pain. And that doesn't come with sugar and cu
I interviewed John Boyega about his new film, the Kathryn Bigelow-directed Detroit. He seemed a thoughtful guy, and I hope I get to interview him later in his career.
On the train ride home, I’ll watch the shoulders of the city sharpen against the sunlight, my pussy electrified by the thought of your mouth summoning its blood to the surface, this once-forgotten body granted permission to conjure its own vibrant elegy,
a chorus of death howl and spark.
— Rachel McKibbens, from “Brooklyn, Ocean Avenue. 2006,” published in Reader
Loneliness is the easiest part about life, a garden I can scrutinize and make better through neglect.
— Natalie Eilbert, from “Aubade,” published in Reader
I am scared is not a good enough reason to not get out of bed The world is falling apart is not a good enough one either I ask my mother if growing older means one wound piled upon another until we are just a collection of hurt and she insists no—
— Sarah Kay, from “The Places We Are Not,” published in Reader
are you ok is the hook are you ok is code for we are not ok but please remind me you are breathing
— Sarah Kay, from “The Places We Are Not,” published in Reader
my body too / a place / i love / to visit / but not die in
— sam sax, from “train song,” published in Reader