Joanna Newsom - "Baby Birch"

    A calendar is a shitty way to mark time. I don't know why anyone would want to see August 28th ever again. We should just go forward, numbers are infinite, we don't need a fucking reminder machine.
    It was hot and clear and I was up at 7:00 with the birds but the appointment wasn't until 10:35. The fact that it was 10:35 and not 10:30 made me sick, like I was in a five-minute conveyor belt. I called her to come pick me up and they were playing Journey in the waiting room and of fucking course there was a box of toys.
    After, we smoked her last cigarette and her lipstick was on the filter and I thought can you catch being crazy like a disease. We both squinted and we seemed to be smoking our whole conversation into the soft breeze. It was the best time I've ever had being totally silent.
    When we were driving back I looked at her driving, her arms bent outwards on the steering wheel, like she were pretending to know how. I thought about that cat, looking up at me from her carrying case on the bus that night back before the holidays. I thought about how I let her out, even though the driver told me, allergies, not to. I took her out and I held her in my lap and whispered to her because she looked scared. I whispered, "The Dalai Lama doesn't die, he is simply reincarnated into the next soul, there is always a Dalai Lama in the world, even if there is no world."

[Buy]

(Sean posted beautifully about Baby Birch previously)