Come With Us - The Chemical Brothers
Brothers - The Black Keys
The 20/20 Experience - Justin Timberlake
Crane Wife - The Decemberists
Halcyon - Ellie Goulding
American III: Solitary Man - Johnny Cash
Santigold - Santigold
Discovery - Daft Punk
Post - bjork
‘Come, O Spirit!’: Anthology of Hymns - Bifrost Arts
In the midst of the many things that continue to crash down around me, I remember that time is linear and that we all travel at the same rate toward “the future.” Last spring, I was told by a thirty-something questing musician that the world looks brighter to her, knowing that my future is part of “the future.” The following day I was told that I am very brave, a warrior. I’m trying to live a healthy, balanced life. One where I am myself and happy. I just want to be. Discovering what that is, what that means, what that feels like, is a constant state of frenzy. Constant crashing.
I love you. The sleeping cat who is covering at least half the length of my legs; the warming black tea dissipating through my system; the soft light of morning lazing with me on this white down comforter; birds eager for spring indiscriminately serenading everyone and everything; I love you.
One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one’s head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one’s heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone’s eyes.
—Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden