Yesterday I hunted down Spanish Pipedream by John Prine, because my poor deprived family had never heard it. Also I didn’t want them to think I made it up. I couldn’t help singing about eating peaches and finding Jesus after our trip to the farmer’s market. (Mmm. Peaches. Mmm.)
And now today I have the Dead Milkmen’s Thing That Only Eats Hippies in my head. I don’t know what to blame that on. Possibly my tragic music choices in the 80s. Except I don’t regret listening to all sorts of crazy stuff that encouraged me to experiment creatively and make wild combinations that might work together. Also, it’s impossible to be all grim about the creative process when it involves things like big lizards in your backyard or bitchen Cameros. If writing seems too heavy to you today, I recommend a John Prine and/or Dead Milkmen antidote.
Or you could just find a farmer’s market and eat some peaches.
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