Music, music, music...

A 6:30AM start. Yes, on a Sunday. It just happened, it wasn't planned, but it was already light.

Two good exposes last night. The first one was the people who have infected Tom Waits' music over the years. It was fascinating but came to an end swiftly, at the turn of the century.

The second was a portrait of Nick Drake. Be a little careful with when you choose to watch this, it is a heartfelt window onto the sadness which can invade life.

I bought my first Tom Waits album, Rain Dogs, in an underground (physically) record store in Belgrade when it was Yugoslavia.

I have no such authenticity with Nick Drake. I, like many thousands of others, fell for the post-death marketing exposure of Pink Moon on Volkwagen's Cabriolet adverts.

Could more have been done for Nick Drake. Did we need to do any less for Tom Waits. I'm just ever so thankful, to have come across them both.

Here is a poem:

Bedhead

There is a warmth, a certain serenity

As if the star sign of Saturn alone should bring such peace

A carrier, a vessel to fill with echoes, a universe to populate

Dreamed up memories that oscillate among eons of beautiful visions

Soon to try to recall those instants

Yet never again to truly trespass on the clouds

Not to instil that voice of endearment

Fearful of making the call, under the ominous threat of rejection

Instead to read the chapter on depression

Settle on a preference for melancholy

Hang her scented lightness of cloth, on every resonant passage

Celebrate the star sign

That brought thought transference, and ultimate joy

Wake up and smell the coffee

Shower, eat, drive, meet, return

To sit where the ether can carry the birdsong

Where effervescent passages, of time past, of time present

Wander undisturbed, gentleness thus to be personified