Which I am attempting to combat (or maybe indulge) – as I do battle with deadlines, the prose form, and the blues in the night (not to mention my fury at the fucking Democrats caving to Bush on Iraq) – with “Sappho” by Mengin, and “Tombstone Blues” by Bob Dylan, plus what are probably the most totally unsuitable combination of drugs and stimulants. This may be a moment of self-revelation on part of the artist, and, believe me, they don’t happen too often round here so make the most of it."Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge"
The secret words are Bloody Misery
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2 comments:
Hey, hang in there.
I wonder if you realize how much you give people -- with this blog, for a start. You have a lot of friends.
You'll be hearing from us.
Bloody right
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