Irish Blood, Hellbound Heart
Sophie spent last night typing up some of her (annoyingly excellent) poems to put on her (so far incomplete) website while I failed to get a wireless network card to work under Linux. Leaving her to crawl back out of her bottle of Cabernet, I skulked off to bed, musing on how unimaginative I was and how everything I said that sounded witty was just a re-hashed mish-mash of stuff I’d heard and read, like Morrissey lyrics and Stephen King books. Which made me wonder what a collaboration between Morrissey and Stephen King would sound like:-
I would go out tonight
But there’s a demon underneath my sta-airs
Oh it’s really there
and I’m so scared
but nobody cares
Got up this morning to find the sofa covered in old poems and valentines from and to Sophie’s ex-paramours. Clearly, she’s longing for someone more creative and it’s time I started marking which CDs are mine. More importantly, making sure the Bonnie Raitt and Dean Friedman go with her.
I’m not one for Omens but the puppy-poetry woman was in the park again today. I went to stroke the dog’s nose and it symbolically ran off.
The whole dog, not just the nose
AND the woman was reading
a Stephen King.