End of another weekend, and close to the end of a month, plus, close to the heat of summer — not so bad outside this late-afternoon Sunday here in California’s Central Valley, warmish, but breezy enough to be comfortable.
Next week, though, a rolling-thunder heatwave is expected, maybe triple-digit temperatures by Tuesday/Wednesday.

In rebellion against the horrible, sad shape of the world nowadays, a journey across a musical bridge into a couple/three songs I used to listen to a lot, but not so much anymore for a variety of reasons, and each carries the pigment of thought during the day. Music is an escape, a memory hole, a distant history of someplace or thing, or person. I grab onto a song and don’t let go until I’m either sick of it, or the mood has changed.
Music electrifies the brain, where the real living is lived.

The first one a testament to the wonderful staying power of Annie Lennox, and this particular song recreated from a throbbing, orchestrated plot to a deep-feeling acoustic call into the wild wind (I think it’s even better than their original nearly 40 years ago here):

Still packs an emotional;  eurythmic wallop — Annie’s got the pipes.

Noted this next song with a great h/t to Susie, where I came across it earlier this afternoon. More than a decade ago, I used to listen to it a lot at work, and it was what’s called, a haunting’ take on a breakup.
I have no idea of other music by this particular group, Gotye, and what they did next. The video at Susie’s place has a different vibe, and this one I’ve always liked — more musical:

Finally, this used to be a daily tune to carry me through the early stages of the pandemic, but haven’t heard it in some time. The anthem of my ‘Destination‘ musical series (last one here) and done by The Running Mates, my most recent, most favorite musical act (original by 4 Non Blondes here):

And what better way to close out this seeming nonsense than Miss Emily Dickinson’s take: “One Need Not Be A Chamber — To Be Haunted —” — our actual, real fears and ghosts are in our own mind:

One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted —
One need not be a House —
The Brain has Corridors — surpassing
Material Place —

Far safer, of a Midnight Meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior Confronting —
That Cooler Host.

Far safer, through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a’chase —
Than Unarmed, one’s a’self encounter —
In lonesome Place —

Ourself behind ourself, concealed —
Should startle most —
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror’s least.

The Body — borrows a Revolver —
He bolts the Door —
O’erlooking a superior spectre —
Or More —

Poetry and passion, yet once again here we are…

(Illustration out front: ‘Shelter in the Storm,” found here).