I do not RP; please don't ask.
Also, I have ZERO tolerance for drama.
Anyone who tests me will be blocked and reported; no exceptions!
I only now understand and appreciate it, and the reason is because I have reached a point in my mind when I have tried to change things, and struggled with it, found I can't change certain things and that really the only things I have power over is myself which ironically is usually what people struggle to control. We want to feel happy but we are depressed. We hate our life but are unwilling to do anything about it. We want to make change but find a million excuses why we can't. Change is such a hard thing.
i'm standing there watching the parade
feeling combination of sloppy john estes. jayne mansfield. humphry bogart.
mortimer snerd. murph the smurf and so forth
erotic hitchhiker wearing japanese blanket. gets my attention by asking didn't he see me at this hootenanny down in puerto vallerta, mexico.
i say no you must be mistaken. I happen to be one of the Supremes
then he rips off his blankets an' suddenly becomes a middle-aged druggist. up for district attorney. he starts screaming at me you're the one. you're the one that's been causing all them riots over in vietnam. immediately turns t' a bunch of people an' says if elected, he'll have me electrocuted publicly on the fourth of july. i look around an' all these people he's talking to are carrying blowtorches
needless to say, I split fast go back t' the nice quiet country. am standing there writing WHAAT? on my favorite wall when who should pass by in a jet plane but my recording engineer "i'm here t' pick up you and your latest works of art. do you need help with anything?"
my songs are written with the kettle drum in mind.
a touch of any anxious color. unmentionable. obvious. an' people perhaps like a soft brazilian singer . . . I have given up at making any attempt at perfection
the fact that the white house is filled with leaders that've never been t' the apollo theatre amazes me. why allen ginsberg was not chosen to read poetry at the inauguration boggles my mind.
if someone thinks norman mailer is more important than hank williams that's fine. i have no arguments an' never drink milk. i would rather model harmonica holders than discuss aztec anthropology
english literature. or history of the united nations. i accept chaos. I am not sure whether it accepts me. i know there're some people terrified of the bomb. but there are other people terrified t' be seen carrying a modern screen magazine. experience teaches that silence terrifies people the most . . . i am convinced that all souls have some superior t' deal with
like the school system, an invisible circle of which no one can think without consulting someone
in the face of this, responsibility
security, success means absolutely nothing . . . i would not want t' be bach. mozart. tolstoy. joe hill. gertrude stein or james dean
they are all dead. the Great books've been written. the Great sayings have all been said
I am about t'sketch You a picture of what goes on around here sometimes. though I don't understand too well myself what's really happening. i do know that we're all gonna die someday an' that no death has ever stopped the world. my poems are written in a rhythm of unpoetic distortion
divided by pierced ears. false eyelashes.
subtracted by people constantly torturing each other. with a melodic purring line of descriptive hollowness—seen at times through dark sunglasses
an' other forms of psychic explosion. a song is another that can walk by itself
i am called a songwriter. a poem is a naked person . . .
some people say that i am a poet
(end of pause)
an' so i answer my recording engineer
"yes. well i could use some help in getting this wall in the plane."
On the slow train time does not interfere and at the Arabian crossing waits White Heap, the man from the newspaper and behind him the hundred Inevitables made of solid rock and stone—the Cream Judge and the Clown—the doll house where Savage Rose and Fixable live simply in their wild animal luxury…. Autumn, with two zeros above her nose arguing over the sun being dark or Bach is as famous as its commotion and that she herself—not Orpheus—is the logical poet “I am the logical poet!” she screams “Spring? Spring is only the beginning!’ she attempts to make Cream Judge jealous by telling him of down-to-earth people and while the universe is erupting, she points to the slow train and prays for rain and for time to interfere—she is not extremely fat but rather progressively unhappy…. The hundred Inevitables hide their predictions and go to bars and drink and get drunk in their very special conscious way and when tom dooley, the kind of person you think you’ve seen before, comes strolling in with White Heap, the hundred Inevitables all say “who’s that man who looks so white?” and the bartender, a good boy and one who keeps a buffalo in his mind, says “I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ve seen the other fellow someplace” and when Paul Sargent, a plain-clothes man from 4th street, comes in at three in the morning and busts everybody for being incredible, nobody really gets angry—just a little illiterate most people get and Rome, one of the hundred Inevitables whispers “I told you so” to Madame John…. Savage Rose and Fixable are bravely blowing kisses to Jade Hexagram-Carnaby Street and to all the mysterious juveniles and the Cream Judge is writing a book on the true meaning of a pear—last year, he wrote one of famous dogs of the civil war and now he has false teeth and no children…. when the Cream met Savage Rose and Fixable, he was introduced to them by none other than Lifelessness—Lifelessness is the Great Enemy and always wears a hip guard—he is very hipguard…. Lifelessness said when introducing everybody “go save the world” and “involvement! that’s the issue” and things like that and Savage Rose winked at Fixable and the Cream went off with his arm in a sling singing “summertime and the Livin is easy”…. the Clown appears—puts a gag over Autumn’s mouth and says “there are two kinds of people—simple people and normal people” this usually gets a big laugh from the sandpit and White Heap sneezes—passes out and rips open Autumn’s gag and says “What do you mean you’re Autumn and without you there’d be no spring! you fool! without spring, there’d be no you! what do you think of that???.” then Savage Rose and Fixable come by and kick him in the brains and color him pink for being a phony philosopher—the then Clown comes by and screams “You phony philosopher!” and jumps on his head—Paul Sargent comes by again in an umpire’s suit and some college kid who’s read all about Nietzsche comes by and says “Nietzsche never wore and umpire’s suit” and Paul says “You wanna buy some clothes, kid?” and then Rome and John come out of the bar and they’re going up to Harlem…. we are singing today of the WIPE-OUT GANG—the WIPE-OUT GANG buys, owns and operates the Insanity Factory—if you do not know where the Insanity Factory is located, you should hereby take two steps to the right, paint your teeth and go to sleep…. the songs on this specific record are not so much songs but rather exercises in tonal breath control…. the subject matter—tho meaningless as it is—has something to do with the beautiful strangers…. the beautiful strangers, Vivaldi’s green jacket and the holy slow train
you are right john cohen—quazimodo was right—Mozart was right…. I cannot say the word eye anymore…. when I speak this word eye, it is as if I am speaking of somebody’s eye that I faintly remember….there is no eye—there is only a series of mouths—long live the mouths—your rooftop—if you don’t already know—has been demolished….eye is plasma and you are right about that too—you are lucky—you don’t have to think about such things as eyes and rooftops and quazimodo.
- Bob Dylan, 1965
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