In your breast, I carry the form
The heart of the Earth, and the weapons of warmth
Vesuvius, oh, be kind, it hasn't occurred
(No, it hasn't been said)
Sufjan, follow the path; it leads to an article of imminent death
Sufjan, follow your heart, follow the flame or fall on the floor
Sufjan! The panic inside, the murdering ghost that you cannot ignore...
Okay most of you who've talked to me in the last few months are probably ready to vomit at the thought of more Sufjan rambling, so I'll spare you most of that. Suffice it to say that HE FILLS ME WITH A HOLY AWE.
No, like really, a HOLY AWE. When I was a wee teen, I got sent to so many Jesus camps that I became immune. Mind you, by Jesus camps I mean the kind where you were taught little or no doctrine, but everyone met in the Tabernacle for five hours each evening to sing, shout, sway, and meditate in the dark until most of us achieved a weeping, cathartic religious ecstasy. The first four hours of that always sucked, but the last hour was like being on hallucinogens.
Anyway, about forty seconds of listening to Sufjan's new stuff (especially Vesuvius, Age of Adz, and Impossible Soul yes even with the autotune) puts me right back in that mental headspace. When I say holy awe I mean that I can only just barely think of him in any sexual or attractive context, even though he is ridiculously hot, because my whole brain thinks he's Jesus in disguise.
I guess it helps that he's schizophrenic.