must agree with @AnnFrench and Kleerup sounds great!!! nice indie mix!!!

I've never heard that Lykee Li song, Very nice!

very nice

Just found this on my computer's archives. Did I write this in high school when I was choosing colleges?

...

What I want to be when I grow up.

ZEITGEIST DETECTIVE
Painted iridescent, prepared, the abstractions have been simplified, the fat, sent to the abattoir for further embarrassment, its entrails, an entreaty to the avant-garde to turn down their stereos and stop throwing parties where people, wearing heavy black boots, dance and break glasses that bleed burgundy and cry about nostalgia that hasn’t even coagulated into its acceptable state, and I, culpable, would dive into the reckless so that you don’t have to, and my findings will be book-ended with a gasp of breath and an exclamation mark, my scars shown to you right there, because if not then than when?

And the zeitgeist will be heretofore defined as a blanket that we, making love in the cold desert dawn, wish for but never receive until the sun has already risen, the coyotes have indulged their slumber, and you, I, and the beautiful strangers have realized that the very place where we were making love is the very place where cacti roam.

FUNHOUSE DESIGNER
For whom, I begin to say but she, fixing her hair in the convex mirror next to where the human roulette wheel will be installed, stops me and tells me that I’m being an average fool, and I, intoxicated with the realization that this is exactly how it played out in my dream last night, would, with a foolish smile, continue measuring a hole in the wall for the tunnel slide, which will lead to the barrel of fun, which will go over huge with the bleeding hearts, who could run and play with gravity and spin, simulating love for the first or last time.

And by the way, she is so pretty now that she has fixed her hair in the convex mirror and I don’t look so average myself, standing in front of the tall, wavy mirror, with a sign on the top that says LOVELY FREAK, OH LOVELY FREAK, DO AS YOU DO TODAY TOMORROW, and I begin to ask, For Whom, but stop myself.

LOLLIPOP SALESMAN
Here is the Lollipop of Sadness, starched blue, temporary, round from a distance, pimpled with imperfections up close, like any other lollipop except for its sad sour center, which you can’t help but swallow whole once you get to it, it, which takes dead aim for Lachrymose Sweet of the Year, staving off the ambitions of every tub of ice cream in the fridge of every girl who deserves better than this, and a cold peach cobbler in the glass case near the entrance of every diner where every boy goes when it’s not safe for him to be alone.

Take it for a time when you are truly sad, for its contrived sadness will distract your real sadness and from that something better will bloom, you’ll never know why, but I guarantee, you will at least laugh when you realize how far we humans have come because now we have a Lollipop of Sadness.

When you finally get around to thanking me, to appreciating my gift, I, being my old arrhythmic self, will be working another neighborhood by then, selling the Lollipop of Being a Gentle-Caring Human Being, with a taste so bizarre, once the effects kick in, they won’t ask why but how.

But knowing that you’ll want to thank me later, I just want to say right now, in advance, “Give your two-week’s notice to everything you thought you were, destroy something beautiful but not so much that you can’t glue it back together, and, from me to you, you’re welcome.”

OCEAN OBSERVER
Sand in my shoes, I’ll regret pouring it out once inland. Hug yourself as a kind of irony, a playful affront to the setting, the product of furious beards and broken bones, vast, something that can be known only when the brackish scent and morning breeze have hit you so many times that you forget why you love it so much but love it anyway.

KARMA POLICE CHIEF
All this at my request, for the amusement of the poets, who in their next life are emotions and moods, wearing medals on their lapels: every person who says to every poet they know “Sometimes a tree is just a tree” will, in their next life, quite predictably, be turned into a tree, feeling tragic and crying when people carve names into them of people they will stop loving one day, and feeling hopeless and motionless when people, lost in the woods, curse the denseness of the trees and hurry past each one, hoping for nothing more than to find a way out.

EMOTIONAL ALTRUIST
Professionally, one who delivers lit candles to every person, every night, and “Thank you,” they’ll say, “Even though this candle won’t make it through the night, you did your best and that’s all we ever ask of you,” and, while staring at every transom of every house, each an arabesque articulated by a glass-eyed architect, who observed the naked landscape for far too long, I will stare abstractedly, standing still, hoping to be hugged unexpectedly, hoping that at the next house, my best will be just what they were looking for.

Every time I’m around people I love or think I could love, I scream out how truly tragic I’m feeling, and when they look at me with their unsympathetic lips, I tell them I’m just kidding, and they laugh and I laugh, and they send whiskeys my way and, in remuneration, I slide over all the square napkins I can find with my name and phone number written on them, and all in all I could tell you it’s painful and describe my melancholy with all kinds of metaphors, but to tell you the truth, nothing is ever that bad, nothing is worth all that trouble, but still, isn’t it a just little bit sad, that once people start taking you seriously, they stop laughing at your jokes?