Recently I've been wanting the world to carry on carrying on without me in it. A goldfish, disparate, slow-dancing around green fronds and a castle in my fishbowl (through the looking glass) not remembering anything having conspired more than three seconds ago so my world would be immediate, nothing more or less. More so now than ever I have words and ideas that limp towards each other only to come close and realize that they are on the end of their tether and fade apart it is as if I can feel my thoughts dying (if I sound moribund I am not, quite the contrary actually).

Meredith Godreau is a wonderful singer and lyricist and these lyrics hit so close to home. I don't think I will ever cease being fascinated by the process of turning feeling to word to song to feeling made possible only by the intimate triangle that is the internal scapes of the singer, the audience and the external, wondrous manifestation that is the song.

Now time, like an ocean, knows tide, like a notion, to toss about the house, and lose inside the couch; and piles of our thoughts run miles in the dark, just trying to get home.