As I lay in a cloud of a bed, wondering why I always wake up and feeling like shit, I decided against continuing on my slumberland journey only to awake, again, hating myself for wasting the day. Instead, though fighting with half my self, I literally ripped me out the sheets, laced up my boots, hoped on baby blue (my bike) and rode to a very well designed coffee shop off Lyndale and 24th, Urban Bean. And Thank little baby Jesus I did because I tell you, I found another piece of myself while sitting in those right angle stumps we call chairs. My accomplice: Shannon and the Clams. I popped in my rather unimpressive and actually a little broken earbuds, you know the ones that come with the purchase of anything that starts with i, of course, they almost always suck. Truthfully, the next 37 minutes I was lost in the creation of Sleep Talk, a 37-minute LP released in 20II. Though I was surrounded by humans pouring over the newspaper or immersed in whatever the falls upon their search bar, Iâm almost absolutely sure Shannon's husky, melodic voice slipped me into a dream of floating on surfboards and crying in the back of someone elseâs moms car. Just as I felt the choke of a little tear for real, resonating with the lyrics in Oh Louie âJust sayinâ your name hurts//I think youâd agree//We were two peas in a pod//But now the pods been stripped from the pea.â King of the Tuna came on and my stifled weeps were hijacked and taken over by a dark, powerful, dictoator-like feeling. Hereâs the thing you see, I intended to be engulfed in a disgustingly sweaty yoga class at this point in the day, itâs passed noon. But I drank two cups of coffee and forgot to go. Time doesnât exist when your stuck on the news section of Hardly Art. If youâre like me, and woke up feeling a littleâŠpointless, just get your fingers to a keyboard and muster the effort to find Sleep Talk, out there in the cyber word. Now, just listen, and feel whatever takes your over. Maybe youâll be like me and forgo your commitments right after you hit âreplay.â
