witches’ tits are distinctly warmer

 
I have occasionally opined since moving to California that while I don’t miss New York’s sweltering midsummer, I did kind of miss real winter.

Ladies and gentlemen, the gods are not mocked:



Good lord ouch. I think whatever I was missing involved a lot more snow and hot chocolate, and a lot less icy knives being driven into my eyesockets.

Meanwhile, in lieu of anything actually interesting to say, here’s what’s been in my head for the last 48 hours. Buy the album.

Weird to Be Back (Firewater, from “The Golden Hour“)


Well I just touched down today
And it’s strange to say but
It’s great to see ya
I’ve been so long away
And I’ve been so long alone

Sorry for the delay
Oh turbulance and misconnections
Life’s a one way plane
Man it’s weird to be back home

So I just dropped in today
To check on all my old obsessions
Everything’s the same
Or maybe just a little worse

Just crashed in to say
No brass band, ticker tape parade
Must’ve been delayed
Man it’s weird to be back
Weird to be back home
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