Last night is a smoky blur – another session at the pub with Klaus
and his friends. But this is not one of those hangovers where you write the
day off to darkness. It is the more interesting kind, where destroyed
synapses are reconstructing themselves, sometimes missing their old paths
and making odd, new connections. I remember things I haven’t remembered
before – things that do not come out of the ordered store of
memories I call my past.


no pop, no style; all strictly roots.

Still can’t believe I have the weekends to myself for the first time in years. Finally allowing myself to remember what all the fuss is about [after so long chiding those who live-for-them]. So, allow me to sound smug for a moment as I say they’re especially good when: they last four days/you wake up on various sofas and find yourself watching Soccer AM with the giggles/you’re with your favourite old friends and new friends and family/your nails are neon and your dancing wheels are go/you play the taking-turns music game until daylight/you’ve tried to facetime everyone you know/you wake up to find the DJ’s business card in your purse. This is what they look like.



well, i don’t need your eternity or your meaning to feel free.