I spent endless days and nights sunk in an armchair in my bedroom, reading magazines, watching TV, listening to records, staring into space. My social contacts had dwindled to almost none the presence of other people made me nervous and paranoid.
It was particularly important to me because the fall of 1968 was such a terrible time: I was a physical and mental wreck, nerves shredded and ghosts and spiders looming and squatting across the mind. Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks was released ten years, almost to the day, before this was written. Lester Bangs re-reviews Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks (1979)
