It’s a beautiful day. I have all the words piled up, stuffed, caused to collapse reflecting those Lucinda Williams vibes still running through my veins. But not now. In the very early morning I saw a ship appearing out of a milky horizon. My borrowed blue metallic caravan did a risky thing tonight, wild camping in the Netherlands. Before sleep, a cold swim, and Björn Meyer’s forthcoming „Provenance“ from discreet loudspeakers. Where-am-I-drifting-music. I can’t get enough from small waves‘ tender touch. There’s an anti-nostalgic side in everything. That’s the way the mind works suddenly turning a different page. Remember Sgt. Pepper, remember „A Day in the Life“. The song is overpoweringly heartsick, John sings in his most spectral voice, treated with what he calls his „Elvis echo“, a la „Heartbreak Hotel“. As the hours go slowly by, and in the company of appel pannenkoek and Bessen Genever, one of the darkest albums of the ’70s springs to mind, Neil Young’s „On The Beach“. Beauty hurts, and darkness works as medicine. I blame it on C.J. Box’s „Paradise Valley“ that a serial killer visited me tonight. Learned my lesson, do love all these empty pages of a fucking beautiful day, all these empty pages …