Perishables! Come Congregate in the Cold!
Little Hot Waves, Or, Let’s Get Brain Cancer While We Wait For The Popcorn
Mix Your Drinks! (Stir! Whip! Purée!)
A Configuration of Whisks Which, When Activated, Allow Sufjan Stevens to Cook a Fluffier Omelette
Toaster (For the Toastless)
(via kelsium)
Opie’s Funeral Song - Sufjan Stevens
Oh, god. How am I going to leave my friends here? I’ve spent so much time pushing people away, trying to get work done. Or, maybe saving myself. I don’t know. But when I really let them in, they’re pretty fucking fantastic. I don’t want to leave my friends.
#inlove
(via fuckyeahsufjanstevens)
Mix one parts each of:
Make sure you stay away from the post office. Or your creepy maintenance man. Or your running toilet. Or…everyone.
For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti - Sufjan Stevens
“Morning comes in Paradise, morning comes in light.”
All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands - Sufjan Stevens
Come on Feel the Illinoise. Six-year-old t-shirt, holes and all. (Taken with instagram)
I’m going crazy today. You can watch if you’d like. It might have something to do with the fact that I’ve been to Starbucks (11:45ish), Blackbird Coffee (2:30ish), and back to Starbucks (6:45ish). SO MUCH COFFEE MAKES ME INSANE. Also, jittery. With all this nervous, insane, irrational, aggressive, anxious energy, I think I may write.
One last note: this little girl took ALL of the pastry samples at Starbucks and I am currently giving her the evil eye.
I’m not saying I look rough after a night out drinking all of the alcohol in Atlanta with Will and Courtney, but I am saying that I have probably looked better in my life. My solution is to drink all the coffee in Atlanta and muse on poetry and loss—in particular, Yusef Komunyakaa’s “A Voice on an Answering Machine.” (And I’m listening to Sufjan Stevens’s “The Age of Adz” for the one millionth time.) I hope your Sunday is just as peaceful.
Come on! Let’s Boogey to the Elf Dance! - Sufjan Stevens
“Kmart is closed. So is the bakery. Everyone’s home watching tv.” Sufjan made these albums over several years because he didn’t have much appreciation for Christmas. I get it. I get the dread of having the tv on all the time, even though ABC Family’s 25 Days (and then some) of Christmas is, concurrently, the only thing filling me with cheer. What does this holiday mean? I’m tired of seeing weary people out shopping for gifts they can’t afford that they won’t enjoy giving anyway. I hate watching my sister as I unwrap a present that she doesn’t seem all that happy to give. I see the stress in her eyes of paying for presents. Why bother? Please don’t get me a gift if you’re going to be that unhappy; love me a little bit more instead. I guess there’s one upshot to Christmas Eve: I’m going to be drinking ALL of the bourbon (and eggnog) tonight when my family comes over for dinner. And watching Home Alone (on a tape, natch!) when they all leave.
Anyway, as for Sufjan, I always wonder if he enjoys or abhors the pictures of him with a blow-up Santa that are brought out every Christmas (from the cover art of his Songs for Christmas). He might have new reasons to be apprehensive about Christmas.
Mlle Hazelwood
Reader & Writer, Master of Fine Arts, Collaborator on Structure and Style, a new poetry blog.
