The Noresoup Jukebox

Alice Phoebe Lou - Hammer this dullness like a veil over my head so bleak has the world become a massacre of the nerves as the veil holds me - a not knowing of what to be. this dullness like curtains drawn light seeping in just slightly warm does the room become and so, i cannot deny the Sun. a waiting for something to happen to ask a favour                "tell me something good" this dullness like shadows against fabric a tracing of the joy i once knew. 

Joan Baez - It Ain't Me, Babe And so, I let the light in - Sunlight was the chariot,  Warm was the affection it brought. And I would have stayed for the promise of warmer gifts, even if clouds cluttered the air.  And so, I trusted and looked into the sun, This game of vulnerability and patience.  Feigned the act of mastery,  Dulled down the craving, and you called it prudence.  I called it, trying So I could call it love. And my skin thinned beneath the composure. And I looked to you, You who came from the sun - a mirage I now know. I whispered, I am tired, dearest. And just as soon as I let the light in And so, I had to let it go. 

Omar Apollo - Bad Life (ft. Kali Uchis) Remember me in all the sorry dark places, Keep tender, your heart. When you walk that lonely path or driving in an unheated car, Remember the ice that was my hand When we walked through knock-off Central Park Remember the breeze that came in, When all doors before you opened, wooden frames revealing,  Red hair, ends all softly curling.  Remember the face, 23 and so tame, No other woman could take my place. Remember me in all the cold, grey places, Don't rush, keep steady.  When you feel fire in the winter air, face heated from the passionate flare. Remember the coal that the timber became, The thing you burn cannot remain the same. Remember the soft skin, supple to the touch, Though you, unknowing, had bruised. Purple were they to my eyes after And the memories kept me blue.  Remember the red that my face turned, Humiliation disguised as affection and love.  Remember me hopeful in the light, Be selfless in your dreaming. P...

Is your polyester warm, sir? She asks, feeble hands tucked in worn-out pants. I remember this colour because it stained my hands and lasted through the summer. Is the colour the right shade of red, sir?  Or is it too dark for you? You see, I soaked them in the red pool much longer than I should have but when I pulled them out, My! It was redder than ruby, brighter than blood! Now all the kids in my neighbourhood have hands stained pink, the red softened by the mud. Is the lining smooth, sir? Does it feel soft against your skin? When my mother sewed it in, she could not tell if her blood soaked in! The brightest red this is! Brighter than I've ever seen. Perfect for the winter, the holiday season, expressing holiday cheer! Is your polyester warm enough, sir? I should hope it is. When the Big Man said there was no more wool,  We had to switch the polyester in! But it is better, he tells me! Better for the Big Man's pockets, and means that I too will have bigger pockets, then, a ...

Vashti Bunyan - I'd Like To Walk Around In Your Mind Arushi, you are the sun today.  I wore grey to match the Delhi sky but your warmth took it all away. No one else I would rather share  a slice of burnt basque with. It was so cold, even in the day, but you were nicest to keep warm with. Over porridge — we are sick  we share the love we keep. I counted every yellow thing  on my way home — a total of twenty six. You thank me for being with you for being there and here. Well, I could only wonder, who in their right minds, wouldn't want to keep you near? Conversations on Jung, silly interpretations of our dreams. You are the keeper of my sorry soul, the air that holds me as I leap. Like Vashti Bunyan says, I would like to take  (the longest) walk around in your mind. Lucky am I for the gentle tour, the soul you shared in that short time. And, well, anyways, life is richer with you. Your fire, your passion, And the love and affection you brew.  Thank you for s...

Misty May, all my days are becoming a blur. I could cry to you if I saw you,  so I end up not making a stir. Yesterday, I tried to write about things  other than my pain. Well, I cannot shed my self-importance, it seems,  so here I am, writing to you again.  It is easiest to be busy at home,  So if you're silent, I understand. I hope when you're back in Shillong,  We can chatter as much as we can. I found Godard in a bookstore the other day, and Mrs Plath sleeping beside him, and well,          You've never been here          But I find you in all the pockets,            spaces, corners, and things. I miss your show and tells  -  No one here to tell me about Kate in detail. My conversations since our last meeting have been boring -  no one's curious, nothing important to say. Everyone is still so awfully void of interests. I asked my date what his favourite m...