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Someone needs to forcefully remove Mitski from my playlists

maybe if I just ended it they would finnaly understand

“i am the fire, and i am the forest, and i am a witness watching it.” such a great way to describe self destruction mitski ughhh ily

Mitski is the queen of making people depressed and cry (also 666 comment, sorry not sorry)

you have no idea the way you can someone feel by just saying something. it's getting so bad again and im so scared and I hate myself im so tired

i need to start naming these actual readable words

Mitski-Circle

Mitski - Door

Mitski - Because Dreaming Costs Money My Dear

it may be a little deeper than we originally thought // JIBRAL REUPLOAD

a hermit's requiem and lies we tell ourselves // JIBRAL REUPLOAD

quickstep down the liffey pirouette until your lungs give out // JIBRAL REUPLOAD

A dead bird lead to the formation of these lyrics - Better out than in

Candles 1

Puberty 2

A Burning Hill

Happy

Bury Me At Makeout Creek

Townie

Last Words of a Shooting Star

Thursday Girl

Jobless Monday

Carry Me Out

Be the Cowboy

Pink in the Night

Me and My Husband

Sometimes, Mitski feels life would be easier without hope, or a soul, or love. But when she closes her eyes and thinks about what’s truly hers, what can’t be repossessed or demolished, she sees love. “The best thing I ever did in my life was to love people,” she says. “I wish I could leave behind all the love I have after I die, so I can shine all this goodness, all this good love that I’ve created onto other people.” She hopes her newest album, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We, will shine love long after she’s gone. That’s precisely how it feels: like a love that’s haunting the land.

“This is my most American album,” she says. The music feels like a profound act of witnessing this country, in all of its private sorrows and painful contradictions. Sonically Mitski’s most epic and wise album, the songs introduce wounds and then actively heal them. Here, love is time-traveling to bless our tender days, like light from a distant star.

It's full of the ache of the grown-up, seemingly mundane heartbreaks and joys that are often unsung but feel enormous. It’s a tiny epic. From the bottom of a glass, to a driveway slushy with memory and snow, to a freight train barreling through the Midwest, and all the way to the moon, it feels like everything and everyone is crying out in pain, arching towards love. Love is that inhospitable land, beckoning and then rejecting us. To love this place, this earth, this America, this body takes work. It might be impossible. The best things are.

A Burning Hill

Mitski

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