Monday I failed in my attempts to get pre-sale tickets for Ray LaMontagne. He is playing in L.A. is November, the venue only has 2000 seats. I'm pretty bummed that every time I try to see him, the tickets sell out and I can't get any. He isn't playing a San Diego show. I think I listen to Ray LaMontagne every single day. He has a song for every mood. His voice strikes a resonant chord in my soul and just gets to me. I listen to him while I'm writing as well. I even thanked him at the back of half life of memory since I was listening to his music while I wrote many of the poems. Single tickets are already going for $130 on craigslist. Scalpers=lame.
My dreams last night were incredibly intense, I kept waking up to think of them and this morning I am somewhat dazed by what my mind comes up with. My dream world is a very, very interesting place and I am constantly awed by the fact that I go to the same "world" nightly; that I have a home there and friends who don't exist in my waking life. I could draw a map of where I go when I sleep, that is how real it is. For some reason. it is always dusk there.
I'm going to listen to some audiobooks today of gorgeous writing to get the rhythm back into my head. I'm choppy for some reason. Time to get back to the meditation. Oh my love-hate with meditating! Those first 10 minutes my mind is freaking out over trying to reign in silence are the worst.