Also, why is the Sufjan Steverotica or w/e being written on heterosexual terms? I was expecting some really gay shit. Way to let me down, internet.

seventhbrother:

excerpt from Topic Magazine Essay
by Sufjan Stevens

Write about what you know, I am told, so I look around the room and serenade the laundry hamper, the soda cans, the psychology textbook. I sing about the loneliness of oboes, the cabbage leaf, loose teeth and Cindy Season, who has since been in and out of rehab, or so my sisters tell me in the gossip columns they send twice a week, handwritten. I write a song about my first grade teacher, Mrs. Williams, her hands brushed with chalk, the knitting needles we made from wood. I sing about my father’s bald spot, the apron, the record player, our dead cat, the glorious noise of Detroit, the Eastern Market. I sing about my mother, the loneliest of oboes, who had left us years ago, hands cupped over her ears to keep out the orchestra of her children, the music of everyday life which was too much to bear. In this song she is a dishwasher, table-maker, diaper-changer, traitor, fugitive, tie-dyer, bead-maker, pipe-smoker, 12-step programmer, living one day at a time, with one eye on life and one eye on the conductor with his hands raised to death. This is the song that will be translated into other languages, passed down from generation to generation, sung in unison, a cappella, by monarchs and gypsies and single mothers all around the world. This song will find its home in the hymnals of churches. This song is sung in the loneliest of bedrooms, behind closed doors, by young men and women who fear they are the last ones on earth.