Throughout the book, she tells you who the songs were about—guys who committed suicide, guys who did her wrong, guys who gave her a little pleasure and a lot of pain—but, really, they’re about you. She wrote songs about desire, about flirtation, about bad behavior that felt so good ... The book has a postscript—she advises readers to read Sexton and Plath and Ferlinghetti and Bukowski, to listen to Nick Drake and Miles Davis and Lou Reed. To go to the desert, ride on a Ferris wheel, protest a war, dance ... You could follow all her instructions and never become Lucinda Williams. That’s a miracle that could happen only once.
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