Music is the blood that runs through my veins. It’s the bile that rises in my stomach. It’s the wet heat between my legs. It’s the vomit I spew when I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.
So pardon me as I vomit all over the internet using the only impersonal personal tool I know how.
Don’t be surprised to see more Ani Difranco, specifically from this album, to follow.
“you always dissapoint me
it’s kind of like our running joke
but it’s really not funny
and i just want you to live up to
the image of you i create
i see you and i’m so unsatisfied
i see you and i dilate.”
“I never wanted any of this, I wish you were dead”
“Don’t say you love me if it’s just a rumour
Don’t say a word if there is any doubt
Sometimes I think that love is just a tumour
You’ve got to cut it out”
And now, the song I want played at my funeral: