I used to listen to The Who’s Odds and Sods – this song in particular- laying in bed in my room, ignoring the world and its abysmal caring, wishing I had dope to smoke and a woman to lay in the grass with to stare at all sorts of stars.
The Who is the penultimate band. Unadulterated liberty.
“…the writer is a duelist who never fights at the stated hour, who gathers up an insult, like another curious object, a collector’s item, spreads it out on his desk later, and then engages in a duel with it verbally. Some people call it weakness. I call it postponement. What is a weakness in the man becomes a quality in the writer. For he preserves, collects what will explode later in his work.” — Anais Nin (Diaries)