I wandered around the net today, linking random connections together. Richard Thompson, John Martyn, Nick Drake.
When I visited Nick Drake’s official site (sadly out of date) I found this lovely image dominating the front page.
A lovely, weathered, black leather notebook.
Nick Drake strikes me as a person that is a lot like I could have been. Painfully shy, suffering from depression, trying to get the ideas out in a world that was not his. When he died in 1974, he was ignored and forgotten.
Now that he is all the rage again, it important to go back and consider his life. Consider what he made in a few short years. The stories he tore out of himself, willing to share this one aspect of his life with us.
The rest, well, they are hidden in the little black book.