Man on Wire

I'm back from a long sunny weekend in central Washington watching every band I've ever and never heard of lull me along. I am constantly torn between what is starting to feel like the incessant but useless roar of the city, and the terrifying quietness of life outside the city. And how happy that outside life seems to make me when I'm in it, with the city a fun, irrelevant memory. Sometimes I worry that I'm afraid of my own contentment because I know that I'm my most creative, resolved and enterprising when I'm stuck, confused, frustrated or even sad. Or maybe that's the wrong assessment. Nevertheless, it's the nagging feeling when I feel like I want to move to New York and live it up, scene it all, slash, move into a cabin and read books until the sun goes down over and over.

I bought a notecard today with a Dylan Thomas quote on it, and as cheesy as cards with quotes on them can be, this hit so sweetly close to home, that I bought it:

"I love you more than all the flannelette and calico, candlewick, dimity, crash and merio, lussore, cretonne, crepon, muslin poplin, ticking and twill in the whole Cloth Hall of the world. I have come to take you away to my emporium on the hill, where the changes hums on wires. Throw away your little bedsocks and your Welsh wood knitted jacket, I will warm the sheets like an electric toaster, I will lie by your side like the Sunday roast."