I don’t know what it is about Stevens’ delightfully haunting lyrics that speak to my boner, but they truly do. When you consume 15 straight hours of beautifully crushing harmonies being whispered over a gentle yet persistent, piano melody, you reach a point where the only thing you need in life is a man named Anton to make passionate eye contact with you while you absolutely crank his hog to completion. More specifically their magnificent penises. Strangely, the only thing that can take my mind off those thoughts, is sharing intimate moments with hundreds of anonymous gay lovers.
Where I used to have quiet evenings spent with my wife of 5 years, I now instead lay awake with a pit in my chest every night thinking of lost lovers and the battle between trauma and recovery within a family setting. To say there has been a major shift in my life would be an understatement. However, what I didn’t account for was how this would lead me down a path full of handjobs framed by the backdrop of rural Illinois. This week, I thought it could be an interesting idea to look back on Sufjan Steven’s extensive catalog. One of the many enjoyable aspects of writing for The Hard Times is being able to review the artists I love.
