I am probably too old to "discover" Bob Dylan and feel a "strong affinity" to his music, listening to his albums "like whisky" late at night and waking up feeling like a freight train carrying the carcass of a whale had derailed and crashed into me while I was fast sleep and occupied in my undreaming of everything I had believed to be eternal and true.
There are no suitable idioms.
I want to take these sentences and crochet them into an afghan throw to wrap around this shrunken reality, to let the moonlight fall and seal my eyelids.
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