Friday 13 February 2015

Night and day.

I'm listening to Billie Holiday while I sit in the sun, dress hiked up to my knees, Adirondack chair finally dry, laptop in place. Boots off. Stockings off. Brain off.

If I had a cup of coffee this would be perfect. 

But I don't. Not saying if someone handed me one I wouldn't drink it because I would right this second. Hell, yes, I would. 

I think I like Billie's Gloomy Sunday better than Pallbearer's. Wait until I tell that to Teflon Jesus. He will laugh and then probably agree with me. Everyone loves Billie. We play her records on the porch in the evenings when it's not too chilly but when it's just chill. When it's almost dark but not quite dark and everyone is home, quiet and thoughtful, listening to the needle scratch the vinyl into our brains where it will rest until awakened by a feeling or a memory or a dream. Isn't that how music is suppose to work?