William Carlos Whitten - Burn My Letters

This music is sick. It's nauseating. It makes me feel like I'm deep sea fishing, lurching over the waves and the only thing in the water is copulating eels covered in oil. It has no right to exist. The keyboard line sounds like a toy train leading children to internment camps. Do you know these things are real. Do you know that they actually exist. I heard a theory that the rise of political correctness in the 1980s was linked to growing feelings of political powerlessness around that time. So the theory goes that as people lost, or no longer felt they had, the power to affect society on a political level, they turned their attention to affecting society on a societal level.

What the fuck was I was saying.

Oh yeah. This song conjures, to steal a line from the artist's almost-namesake, "the souring flowers of the bedraggled poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth beneath them." I burped in my mouth when I first listened to it and the taste was sour frosted mini-wheats. It has ruined my morning. It is absolutely perfect.