Do you ever have those dreams where you feel something intensely artistic and when you wake up, you can remember everything; the words, the visuals, the emotion; but you can't seem to put them together? And you're suddenly awake at 3:30 and you just can't get back to sleep. She was a poem, but I can't remember the order the words went in. Reminds me of the William Gibson story about the girl who dreams for a living; it's her art.
Bob Mould is not coming anywhere near me, and I'm feeling sadder and sadder about it.
Ah, some dreams are probably best forgotten about. Eh, I've got work to do!