So, today’s post will be perfectly normal – you know me – and nothing esoteric or anything sounding too weird. There’s the right time for weird, and for no weird, though the blessed thing is I may start typing with the crossed-fingered vampire sign held up – weird shall not enter, Ha!, you need an invite, weird – and all of a sudden weird has snuck in through a secret passageway in the third-floor bedroom closet.
And it’s all weird, all the time. Just like AM radio – all music, all the time. Maybe on a summer beach blanket. With summer girls. Possibly on my bed, in my room, before the basketball game, lonely and dark.
Just like Van Morrison was singing in ‘Caravan”. Turn it up.
Though, maybe not.