My dad doesn't even like Rod Stewart.
I logged onto Facebook a few minutes ago to find out that there is now available a sneaky leak of one of the songs on the album.
Listening to it now.
Sometimes my dreams interact too closely with my everyday life.
Last night I also dreamed I got lost in a sudden snowstorm, on foot. Last night I fell asleep reading Wuthering Heights.
Today I'm dreaming, too.
Not of Rod Stewart, though. Instead, dreaming of memories, and favorite people, refurbished, restored barns at the end of quiet country lanes, snowflakes, rainfalls, pitfalls, and the liquidy, sticky, dreamy sequences brought on by the combination of homemade pancakes and Avett Brothers songs.
Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered Am I.
Also, suddenly extremely tempted to cut my hair in this fashion, though I know that's a terrible, terrible idea.
Mostly I think I need to write. Really write. I need to walk and to write and to lock myself in that dangerous world of raw inspiration, and not come out for a very, very long time. It is late October, and the familiar insomniac insanity is starting to settle in.
No comments:
Post a Comment