So I returned to New York City today after a weekend of writing in the country. I was greeted by cult members who painted my afternoon with things like triple olive, dirty vodka martinis and cigars on my balcony.
Consequently, I napped around 6pm… that happened.
Viva public holidays!
Never the less, I awoke at midnight, wandered Peanut around 9th avenue, bought a cherry coke and came back to my apartment with one major thought:
I’ve been on a bit about Mumford and Sons lately, I had a conversation around midnight-thirty with someone close to me that went something like:
Mate – “Mumford Sons are like Graveyard Train.”
Me – “Yeah, I love banjos. I like the guy’s voice in Graveyard Train better… but I love them both.”
Mate – “Of course you do, that’s because they’re…”
Me – “Miserable?”
Mate – “Pretty much.”
I ordinarily struggle with lyric-filled songs. Words outside of thoughts make my brain too loud and tend to distract me. Unless, the words can adequately maintain a fair round of cat’s cradle with my guts… and make me shake my head… and grind my teeth.
I like songs like that. And songs like this:
So pour one down your throat, and the nexton my grave – drink to me darling, to all of them days. To all that was lost that I thought would be saved.
It’s 1am. I think I’ll work on my book.