vendredi 7 août 2015

Your Ghost

I have been re-reading Kristin Hersh's brilliant memoir Paradoxical Undressing.

I first read it on holiday in Greece a few years ago, and I loved it.  That was a nice holiday.  This morning, reading on the 07:01 to Blackfriars, through sleepy eyes, my plane ticket stub fell out into my lap.

20th May - it didn't say the year.  Maybe 2011?  I can't be sure now.

I have long been in the habit of using such things as makeshift bookmarks.  Occasionally this has caused embarrassment - a friend borrowing a book and finding a love letter within its pages.  Usually just baffling - train tickets from unremarkable and long-forgotten journeys, the details of which I cannot recall.

It's been a long week.  I feel uncharacteristically tired.  Train strikes and too much work and stress and sh*t.

Reading Kristin Hersh, and all that other stuff, this song is in my head.  I remember a whole day once of listening to it on repeat, on vinyl (a record and a record player that weren't mine), in the flat in Market Street.  A sunny Saturday.

I used to have a Throwing Muses album cover on my bathroom wall.  I don't any more.

It's still a beautiful song.

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