I know I really shouldn't, by inevitably I always do.
I have been reading this book tonight:
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Autumn de Wilde's book on Elliott Smith.
I got to listening to the accompanying CD. And it doesn't matter which live recording or studio album I'm listening to, Elliott Smith just gets it and as such has accompanied all too many of my dark times - yet I cannot think of him and his music and those albums without the greatest sense of love and contentment.
I've forgotten the reason for my blog post now, cuz I've got too wrapped up in the music. Blah, maybe written diaristic communication like this really isn't my forte at all...
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