Joanna Newsom

In the sinking sand,where we__e come to rest,have I had a hand in your loneliness?

I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilightNo I was all horns and thorns sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright.

The thing that I was experiencing and dwelling on the entire time is that there are so many things that are not OK and that will never be OK again. But there__ also so many things that are OK and good that sometimes it makes you crumple over with being alive. We are allowed such an insane depth of beauty and enjoyment in this lifetime. It__ what my dad talks about sometimes. He says the only way that he knows there__ a God is that there__ so much gratuitous joy in this life. And that__ his only proof. There__ so many joys that do not assist in the propagation of the race or self-preservation. There__ no point whatsoever. They are so excessively, mind-bogglingly joy-producing that they distract from the very functions that are supposed to promote human life. They can leave you stupefied, monastic, not productive in any way, shape or form. And those joys are there and they are unflagging and they are ever-growing. And still there are these things that you will never be able to feel OK about__nbearably awful, sad, ugly, unfair things.

Maybe a good goal would be to just at least always try to create something good. Like something that is connected to love in some way. Like the [musical] equivalent of_you can make a decision to be kind. You can make a decision to greet people kindly and make jokes with people and connect.

I wasn't interested in writing music that wasn't beautiful for me to listen to.

Among the responsibilities of any writer is that, no matter what else, they know what they mean. So, even if no one else knows what you're talking about, you do. The listener can sense that, even if they don't get the literal meaning. The faith that they place in the clues and the connections and the secrets of the lyrics is of the utmost importance.