Internets, please allow me to introduce you to Louise Kelly. Wheezy, meet The Internets.

I could rave on and on about how much I love this girl and how wonderfully talented she is and that I just don’t get it why you aren’t down on your knew begging, mercy, please release an album so that I can feel my God-lovin’ ears with your fancy schmancy tunes.

I could tell you that this woman has jazz-arms, and I love the way they flail when she gets excited, and that those scrunched up black eyebrows have got to be the secret behind that awful note she belts out, perfect, leading to beautiful.

I could tell you she’s amazing, makes a mean pancake, and that I think she was a woman way before the rest of us were, and that she always seemed to know how to drew beauty from suffering, or that snorting coffee backwards whilst laughing so hard my sides hurt can make another person vomit.

I could share with you the wordless ways that she taught me a little bit more about life, and that I drew so much from her grays, for they were filled with light.

I could tell you that I bang my head against random objects trying to get why you haven’t yet heard of her.

I could tell you that this person is an outrageous fruitcake and braver than most.

I could tell you about the time I thought my heart would explode within me, hot tears over mango lassi, chutney and samosas.

I could tell you that at a time we were intimate enough to leave the bathroom door open, and that I miss those days.

I think I’d rather just let you listen to her.