Dear Adrienne Rich
You don’t know my name but you understand a lot about me. Transcendental Etude, Poetry:1 …sounds like you’re speaking my thoughts.
I just wanted to say thanks for echoing.
Even though it made me cry and it made no difference that I was medicated; my heart still leapt and tugged and wanted to rip itself apart. You did that. Your words. Thin small print on average white page. One book among millions. But you did that.
Dear Regina Spektor
I always think that if I meet you, I really will sound like one of those screaming groupies. I won’t even know where to start.
When I’m alone curled up into a desperate foetus on my carpet.
You’re all I listen to.
I cry and cry but I always get up because your voice reminds me of everything that is great.
I’m so sensitive and detail-obsessed. When I first heard Wallet I just smiled to myself. At least I know I’m not the last person left. You and Adrienne Rich – you guys have not forgotten the little beauties.
That’s why I get up again. Surging blood and ache – I’m awake and feel the ache – won’t keep me down.
Thank you for making music that makes me get up again.