My house is haunted. There are rooms I cannot enter, and every night I speak with ghosts. We bicker in the shower and argue at the cutting board. Their forms vary, appearing sometimes as others and sometimes myself, come to resurrect some buried humiliation from my past.

One of the most frequent questions I get is about how I’ve been able to pick up temporary work throughout my travels without falling afoul of the law.

I like to keep Earwyrms open as a outlet where other writers and critics can submit their playlists and essays as well. This week's was written and curated by Ben Kasl, a writer and improviser living in Chicago.

The following is excerpted from On Tyranny, written before the new rules of the pandemic.

I'll be clear: Black lives matter. Abolish the police. All cops are bastards. Amplify black voices. This week's is a playlist of black artists who deserve to be recognized, based on this thread by Moses Sumney.

Everyone I know is reading Normal People by Sally Rooney. These rare times when a book becomes this popular might be our brightest moments, even if the work in question is sometimes frustrating.

Michael Jordan is the concept of celebrity writ large, a name we're demanded to reckon with whether we know shit about him or not. He was first to mutate from person to brand, foretelling the rise of our culture of influencers.

This week, I finally saw My Dinner with Andre. It'd been sitting on my watchlist for years, collecting dust as I could never find it, until the combination of the Criterion Channel and my appalling privilege in a global pandemic gave me time at last to sit and watch.

I can't stop looking in the mirror. No longer can I stand my phone, so I've returned to the original screen. I watch my arms grow thinner, my eyes sink deeper, my bones reveal their contours like roots pushing up on the sidewalk.

Haven't felt this alien since middle school—I ask permission to go outside, walk the halls half-asleep and wonder what it could feel like to be held. Months into quarantine, I see now I'm guilty of taking touch for granted. The line between forgetting and never knowing is thin as worn chiffon.

Short issue this week, I have 198 unread emails and still have to pick an outfit for cocktails tonight with a little owl named Blathers. Here's an update on my favorite songs of 2020 that haven't made Earwyrms yet.

Fiona Apple only releases one album a decade, and she just delivered a new one last night. Fetch the Bolt Cutters completely derailed any plans I had for this issue.

One hundred Earwyrms! Can you believe it? One hundred weeks of passing off the same seven Frank Ocean songs as a new playlist. For #100, I couldn't resist going back through my favorite issues and compiling them here—most of my 30 million subscribers missed the early ones. Here are my worst quotes:

Today, I am pleased to deliver our second annual dispatch of the softest music I know. Here you'll find a soundtrack for warm baths, for jigsaw puzzles, for balconies, for open windows, for big headphones to drown out your roommates.

I am going to melt into my walls. I can feel them sucking me in, Jumanji-style, dissolving me like white flour in an arid breeze. When it's safe to come out and I don't show up, they'll find a greasy silhouette, tombstone-shaped, just above my bed.

The real reason I had no time to write was I got so sucked in to making the damn playlist. It had to be longer this time, both because I had so much material (it was the year of my musical awakening) and because we could all use a longer escape.

Spring break is dead; long live spring break. With no more travel and everyone indoors, I've made a playlist for us to have spring break at home. Wishing the best to all and everyone we know. Stay safe and stay sane!

Noise has always been electric. Before we held the sky's secret power, we considered thunderheads in the distance. Jellyfish clouds teetered thousands of feet above town-less prairie. Lightning sprang down in yellow bullets, so close we could play cat’s cradle with the trails.

This Valentine's Day, Hulu released a new TV version of High Fidelity. I told myself I wouldn't watch it. Its existence felt like a trick, its timing too convenient. It only took me two nights to cave. I set down the movie to watch the whole thing twice; some will disagree, but I think it's fantastic.

You get to visit the Georgia Aquarium for free on your birthday, so I went yesterday. It was fitting, as one of the first Pisces; I felt like I should climb into the tank myself. The ocean has always been a haven for the cold and lumpy and weird.