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Everyone choose your Fantasyland.

Sometimes I go to Hogwarts or Narnia or The World of Two Moons or Oz or Never-Neverland, but my Fantasyland of choice will always be the mystical 70's New York about which I so often rhapsodize. I was born just too late for it, but it doesn't matter because it never really existed. It's the 70's New York of "The Wiz" (my music for the day, the "Tornado" theme being particularly good in this blustery, evil cold), of "Free to Be, You and Me", of "Godspell", of "Sesame Street". It's colourful and groovy in a cheesy way that makes you feel good to be alive and happenin', my man. There are bright patchwork bellbottoms on bright patchwork people, and they sing and swing their hippie-hair or fluff their afros and wink and the happy children trippin' down the street. Drugs don't hurt anyone, baby. No one is hungry. Everyone sings and some people strum guitars. And the people sing,

don't you carry nothin' that might be a load,

and the people sing,

every boy in this land growns to be his own man,

and the people sing,

and I know I'm gonna make it this time, this time I'm gonna make it,

and the people sing,

you've got to stay bright to be the light of the world, so let your light soul shine before men,

and the people sing,

can you tell me how to get, how to get to

sha na na na naaaaaaaa...

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:40 AM | shower me with attention