"...so tightly bound
1/23/22
Notes into the void...
"The Aspern Papers" got me thinking, not for the first time certainly, what will happen to the missives I wrote and recordings I made for you (as well as songs you wrote unbeknownst to many that pertained to "us" or "and/me.") Today, at 79, it's hardly a surprise my communications would just"disappear"in the existence in this surreal sphere.
It might have been sooner, a year and half ago, but the universe deemed otherwise. As it turned out -- probably "from the frying pan into the fire" So much for trying to take matters into my own hands, as the failed. The universe had other plans, that and an unenlightened society doesn't make it easy. Also, turns out it hasn't made the slightest difference because, my dear, not a thing has transpired in the land of insistent sun and occasional disasters, just to keep us frail beings on our toes?
Was it lack of inspiration, ambition, simply because of the result of the thirty years in this inane environment which (which was ineventful, short of catalysmic hurricanes), or on your end, that you didn't want to share, or thought I didn't.
Bottom line I can state simply that I did everything I ever wanted since Woodstock 1967, with often unlikely, unerving and unintended results.
How many can say that as "she" privately crowed into the wind but had no proof to show for it.
You mentioned that there was, after all, enough proof. Yes evidence exists -- but largely on your end. Will my missives to you be burned by you, or at your passing, by your family -- the well kept privacy, the great secret? Certainly destroying art is sacrilge and any bio facts about artists revealed "after the fact," as facts -- well you mentioned that "they'll have plenty say after I'm gone," or something to that effect, (never mind dozens of biographies and Chonicle I.)
Do regret lack of recognition? It wasn't me who ever set out to make a name for myself. All that had mattered to me was how it was received by you. You well know this-- therein trust.
Things and people pass and even E.M. (our go-between for a while), according to Wikipedia is elderly and how MUCH did he (or "his people") I know anyhow? Should Googles go defunct that will be that (never bothered with a "cloud.") Would a slew of returned, signed by P.O. registered mail (which I still have) to various of your addresses still bear weight?
Mayhap some eager beaver in future may display interest and dig deep and contact my relatives (For the record, NOT related to any DALLAS, one of several names I carried since youth.)
What does it matter? The deeds were done and written firmly into the fabric regardless. Have I run out? High time I say. It's your songs that will, no doubt, speak about posterity and other matters -- not only of beauty and wisdom.
2/18/22
It won't be long now d.m. Not only once a day, but many times a day you drift into my thoughts. Dreams, however, have taken a back seat for a while -- until last night.
"Our ages were uncertain, your performance stellar and passionate. The audience was engaged and enthusiastic. I was seated near the stage, far from the nosebleed section of that one time in L.A. You gave me a significant look in the dream, which made my heart pound.
Suddenly, in a raging fury the self prolcaimed empress of folk music came charging across the stage. Why would that be? I was never particurlarly envious of her (although there were plenty others) and she would hardly be aware of some obscure "admirer." Or, maybe someone spilled the beans, or, perhaps you felt the time has come to let "them" see the light of day and let "them" know the what really transpired. True, privacy was always a important for us both and nothing would have transpired without discretion (such as was possible under the circumstances), but what waves could it make at this point?
Nothing in the media about you and so one must assume you venture forth still. In reviewing music of my youth, you, mon cher, you stand one and above everone else, as always and I wish you, whatever you wish all the best you may still desire.
2/7/22
ARS GRATIA ARTIS
Art for art's sake—the usual English rendering of l'art pour l'art, a French slogan from the early 19th century—is a phrase that expresses the philosophy that the intrinsic value of art, and the only 'true' art, is divorced from any didactic, moral, political, or utilitarian function. Such works are sometimes described as autotelic, a concept that has been expanded to embrace "inner-directed" or "self-motivated" human beings.
Something stolen: (paraphrased
"Self protective instinct. as well as be wary of treacherous instinct
Capable -- I hardly ever felt degraded or exploited.
Putting a nuzzle on rationalizations
Regretting less, discriminating more
Account settling/inventory taking: less defensive and less self-depreciation but ever more realistic ("she sure was" LOL) about what can't be wished for or litigated (I'd never would have, or would ever take you to court dear heart).
More concerned about quality of life rather than shelf life (no choice really.)
Repulsing self hatred, sadness, fatigue, weakness (ha!), Trying to forge order from chaos (oh really)
Sensing imminent possibility of death each day (facing invevitability ain't hard when it's staring you right in the face.))
Outsmart stubborness --yet still absorbing, processing, organzing." Is any of this anywhere near Zen?"
It may be apparent this individual is currently still merely middle aged! :-)
Keep on keepin on d.m.
Hazel by Bob Dylan
It was always you!
She actually didn't say that...however what a lovely way it was said. Someone mentioned not to ever fall in love with a singer, for it will haunt one the rest of one's life. Well, true enough. Makes me wonder just who haunted who -- that is to mention that what she actually said was: "I will haunt you until the day you die." Well guess what? Never could forget you. Reports are you're still walking the earth, d.m., but do you still know who you are honey and do I occasionally grace your mind? Thank my lucky stars for the thrill and the glory you sent my way. I only yearn now that very soon "Any day now I shall be released." Be that as it may darlin' always and ever "Beyond Here Lies Nothing."
9/9/21 Bird on a Wire Simone Istwa
9/8/21
Shelter from the Storm
Bob Dylan
'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm.
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on a noneventful morn
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation an' she gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
9/3/21
TO REMEMBER AND BE REMEMBERED
(Written 7/22/91)
Treason knocks on the windows of my being with reckoning and ever present contention. Lost are the shrill cries of children mocking the freewheeling attitudes, leaving to bear the brunt of our isolation in the ashes of our unredeemed realities. Granted, the wayfarers have no guideposts to leave upon the highways of our insurrection, in the gutters of our violated attitudes.
Narcissistic pandering flirts with pressures and unrequited desire. Forgone conclusions are rampant upon a bed of troubled accomplishments and seasoned, weathered annunciations flee the bereft hardened criminality of our battered psyches. Happenstance masquerades as fortune, devotions entice and then ensnare and then lie in wait behind the shiftless nerve and sinew of our contemplations.
Leave be the worshipers of treadmill reasoning, the pall bearers of insufficient logic. Attain the magic portals leading toward awakening, there to whisper of favorite shrines and crystal plentitudes. Feature yourself liberated from the nervous constant chatter of fervent reformers, tracing their steps in ancient, shattered ruins of freedom's toil.
The intellect's ranting, raving with insatiable appetite sees not the latent truths delivered with the stamp of the gods' expertise and assurance. The hectoring missives, the cloying accolades lie upon the temple floor, grief stricken journeymen protest their fates but we, in time and space may yet retain our views with grace.
Instinctively, courage leads the hesitant upon opportunity's fortuitous summoning. But no, the answer is too easily revealed, the door too quickly thus unlocked. A tragedy in the making thus ensues, for blindness foreswears the light, the stubbornness the solution, for trice called for, trice denied is all the fates allow before the final curtain.
Queens of Swords
aka, Alexandra S. Haberl von Heidenreich (Lukas-Dallas)
10/25/21
Then, now and as long as granted
(written somewhere along the line)
In the sphere of our astral beginnings, there along with the wasted memories, adhere languid blue sojourns of your unique homage to allegory. The rules of the game remain the same, the objectives now but anachronisms, as wraithlike patterns grey and whither and Occam's razor still applies.
The scalded idiot child twice shy finds diminished the relentless need to review. So intensely was it lived, the imagery, the mastery, no reminders are required of one's heart's desire. Thus when "to feel my love," turns up per chance, unexpected tears prove to be the acid test, even as energy succumbs to unwillingness and irony glints with grim and baleful satisfaction -- a matter of love...or theft?
Seldom is form as important as function. We took the starlight and returned it to the heavens. We climbed upon the golden calf and rode it into the ground. If joy was in the mix, it took a sabbatical. For only fever and lightening and risk drove the chariot that worked its magic, to make us think a tender touch was just somewhere down the road.
We set aside self made obstacles and championed the heart of the matter, as if in soul alone we dwelled and in spirit entwined we are bound to perish. And now the crushing weight of yearning abides safely in familiarity's domain. And passion, it lives on, secure in that what was once, is now bequeathed to the world in songs to reach hearts untouched -- to celebrate a tale untold.
9/29/21 More under new post: "Prelude". 10/25/21 --Please NOTE "Prelude" deleted, for various reasons, mostly too intimate. You d.m. get it mon frere.
"NO TIME TO THINK" by "Dylan" just about adds it up. Video available on internet -- a treasure trove for the inquisitive.
***
You know the only thing I took, got, or kept was the idiot's last name. I use my son's name instead. My so-called maiden name was a burden.
AlexRa is still in the basement but things have gotten somewhat out of hand and believe it's time to turn the page...this minute being ours. (9/27/21
Oh well by 2010 Alexandra, inspired by Bob Zimmerman, since 1968, had for some time earned her own "Persona," (for her written work and audio tapes for him), that of "Queen of Swords," (whose little known Tarot description is also known "as a woman of sorrow.")
Written near end of May 2020
REFLECTIONS OF A RECLUSE
The balm of a balladeer's sonnets linger in the antiquity of sheltering eaves.
Charged by the thrust of an impetuous breeze, spring air bursts through an open window. On the wall a tapestry trembles and subsides. The door shudders. The lock is undone.
Dense omnipresent atmosphere foretells a settling of nature's accounts -- an imminent downpour.
Nature's supremacy, the planet's mighty seniority becomes evident. A hurricane's sudden violent destruction arrives and destroys.
In one of earth's cribs, a tropical hotbed recently bereft of mature growth that once flourished, fauna and flora are once again granted the benediction of shade.
Stately heritage oaks that once enveloped the sequestered woman's bailiwick, are but embroidered recollections. Bare branches attest now to history serving merely as perches for small hunger driven creatures.
Shadowed by relentless memory, pursued by cherished aspirations. instead of heaven's portal, consorting with sinewy necessity, sacrifice and practicality's demands dictated their terms.
Waiting in the wings, her heart engaged by a Zeitgeist elusive and unattainable, substitute partners, restlessness and the prospect of conquest that her body alone invited, fashioned a latticework devoid of solicitude or satisfaction.
Years crept by into decades and sabotaged plans, enfeebled the lady's will, curtailed desire and devoured her resilience.
Reach exceeded her grasp in the mews of evermore, while her compromised self all the same chose to scorn remorse. Recollections of sincere, if demoralizing journeys of intent loomed ominously and soliloquies of plundered meaning's inadequate consolation.
As if star power seduced and tested, life gave way to stifling crest fallen inertia in the ever ripening harvest of defaults.
Unbelievable that the rose madder note sent him reeking of a lack of possibilities from her fractious, enervated self could have engendered a significant, surprising and passionate response, by one who managed to invade her innermost sphere of content, expression and imagination...as if seduction hadn't taken place long ago.
Further down the line, a mangled phone call, which she regards to this day with regret and an ill considered matrimony that resulted in unforeseen consequences, creating sorrow, anger and disappointment.
Fairness was compromised, but songs triumphed as art relentlessly, shamelessly took advantage and yielded success.
Payback was long in coming but there is no misinterpreting the current dark, bitterly hostile and contrary signals of the virtuoso's priority and fondness...all too clearly delineated.
Self-hatred one's own perceived failures or foolishness is one of the most virulent of agitations and apt to disguise many animosities, laying guilt trips and finding fault with others.
Renegade times come and go. To declare evil (did the devil make them do it?) harrowing and monstrous...is obvious, but challenges remain regardless and miscalculations drift by -- or may be accorded to the set-in-stone matters of destiny to define.
Had he ever known, she wonders, that although frustration certainly held court, Blood and Rain was, not to put too grand a definition to the theme, intended to be simply a literary exploration.
Massacred hearts enkindled the summit of her aspirations and the conquest of her desire's attention -- the fundamental pursuit of happiness. Hedonistic pleasures beckoned no more and age, from which no recovery is to be had, left her yearning for a hallowed moment of a body without pain.
Throughout always the commotion of her silent pleading. His sonnets flattered and seduced and his wraithlike midnight bells reassured as much as disturbed.
His is the uneasy, edgy gait of a fluent, brilliant, changeable talented nature, to be kept up with, or be left behind.
She, impressionable, genuine and adventurous, although introspective and susceptible to melancholy restlessness is idealistic and altruistic enough to have taken it on the chin and tenacious enough to have stepped up to the plate.
As if invited, unasked for determination maintained her imagination, but for which the pure essence of peacefulness had to be forfeited.
Did they truly benefit...wavering, wondering insoluble and inconsolable?
How untenable their onerous insecurities, for which they were, by nature and history, unaccountable. How bleak the resulting torment of their heartfelt cerebral affair.
Time severed them from unfulfilled promises. Even so, an illusionary air still tarnishes the present.
Animated by a complex, riveting domain, without seemingly negligible effort, he permitted her, for a time, the noteworthiness of inclusion--the construct of his world. Intriguing, mysterious situations seemed inevitable in retrospect. It may be assumed -- its inherent responsibility a bi-product of his consent and encouragement.
Engaging with him in the fanfare and turmoil of fantasy was to be her consolation for having had no rewarding face-to-face chapter in the many headed immortal hydra of reality.
While tending the romance of myth, companionless she eventually tumbled into commonplace existence and became in possession of the dubious compensation of the monotony of normalcy.
However along with tragic circumstances, she cohabited with the tender care of their entanglement, that when thus interlaced with feelings and thoughts, perpetuated a tightly meshed cause and effect foundation.
The onslaught of self, the duplicitous,, invasive free will and unnegotiable fate allowed for no contest and left her the awesome helplessness of a life in whose development desired permission was never to be granted.
The percentage of partnerships imprinted with temporary release, swerved and diverged between targetless poles. A relentless seeking and longing ambition to defend, attain, sustain and improve required inspiration, stamina, emotional resource and reckless persuasion -- all the way to a defeated end.
Left to ponder past experience and witness the stagnation of her irresolute and meager options she was to confront that which was diminished and proved insubstantial.
Fragility and uncertainty accompanied every endeavor. The prospect of giving in or giving up was tantamount and inconveniently challenged her mental reservoir, submerging inclination in the concept of resolution of doing anything purposeful --or having any say in the matter. The winner viewed as victim, as some would have it.
Feelings of facing a final exit scramble daily for recognition and are an ever abiding reminder. A consoling matter, one could think, but even if so, any actions toward that end require resolute stratagem, accompanied not so much inclination but allotted to the right time , as well as stunned by the demise of others, be it quick, remarkable, horrendous, humiliating or painless.
Unknowing as babes even that undeniable future, soon to take place, remains unknown and presents a surreal possible scenario. Its powerful certainty only serves to chaff her inwardly and is the lone survivor of her floundering pensiveness.
What she leaves behind may speak volumes or engage the eye -- or be delegated to pass along market avenues or trash, never again to surface. Or in slow decay it may emerge as earth and there start anew to last and transform through plant, animal or human lives for centuries -- unearthed perhaps one day as evidence of one that has left tracks and traces.
Not so for the wizard, who made his mark on the world, at a cost only he may be able to determine. Certainly all outward appearances leave him no room for complaint.
Hope, the double sided mistress of rescue, desperation and misapprehension traveled the distance. How enduring and reassuring when all was already lost and that his responses and talent took the reins to nourish desire.
How lewdly hope must have reeled to lead unsuspecting fools with illusionary promises wherein trust allowed itself to be seduced by vapors, the pretense of clarity and the unfeigned grappling endurance that must thrive in prisons.
Forever in a phase of Lent, never his lips to know, his jeweled lyrics laid at her locked door. However let us not come with our needs, but endeavor to be our own best friend and with that humongous and somewhat pitiful aspiration may our silent, invisible gods, allow us perhaps some foothold in sanity so highly prized.
Be that as it may, throughout emerged the recognition of what remains -- that neither of these two beleaguered wildings might not have been able to do without the other.
Their private friendship, upon which hope and affiance nevertheless existed, through its embellishments and concrete stronghold allowed art as well, more than once, to provide an armature.
Today, lonely and by preference isolated, the enduring, surprisingly celibate, anchoress awoke to a oft told song of a sailor's skirmish with the sea, only to give way to the deep. Her irresistible impulse was to share with one, who she knew would appreciate theme and timbre.
Suddenly she recognized the first few strains of what was to her well known sound, the master's original steel tipped fail proof mercurial silver wizardry, followed by two enthralling songs that had not yet been written or heard (in the way of dreams--lyrical, tender and reminiscent of summertime, they echoed their souls' yearning.)
Three brief subconscious sleeping dreams manifested -- unbidden, untrammeled and unrestrained, bringing longed for and loving welcome. In this mysterious, obscure, convoluted experience, fulfillment and a touching recognition was ensconced in her psyche, revealing a journey of completion.
By
the Queen of Swords, et al
"Oh, the leaves began to fallin'
And the seas began to part,
And the people that confronted him were many.
And he was told but these few words,
Which opened up his heart,
"If you cannot bring good news, then don't bring any."
From The Wicked Messenger by Bob Dylan
***
May 24, 2021
BOB DYLAN IS 80!
Regard for a Renaissance Man
light workers came out of the woods
spirits expressed keen interest --
like legend's romantic escape & myth,
you inspired, enriched & entertained--
with luck on your side, the world noticed.
your gavel came down denouncing evil,
angrily you declared outrage against war,
hatred, vengeance & false dealing.
aided and abetted by song & message,
peaceful plans surfaced -- actions followed.
beside those who passed unremarked,
within the center of our excessive era,
you parlayed recognition with ease.
legendary talent & effort were yours.
triumphantly, you met your calling.
a star -- spellbinding, unique & immortal,
doing what you do best with style,
your extraordinary role suited you well--
bound to where no one & nothing is lost,
linked to the universe -- forever reborn.
for those who could not -- or did not speak,
you touched our lives without colliding.
with a fabled storyteller's wit & wisdom,
you intuitively reflected & captured love --
channeling us toward hope's ideal.
throughout the confines of sentient will,
fervently seeking, bent on discovering
elusive mysteries yearning for release,
you persued & realized your dreams --
admiration & acclaim streaming around you.
from the back of beyond to fame & fortume,
you put your hand to the wheel & survived.
your intimate yet universal songs held sway.
against all odds, you reached your eight decade.
thank goodness for years of listening pleasure.
master, musician & wordsmith par excellence
your influential, passionate & memorable life,
sparked by inexorable forces of creation.
held in high esteem, you are cherished--
a trillion words of praise tumbling at your feet.
"Hazel"
Keep on keepin' on d.m.!
Or, in other words (to borrow a phrase, way before I knew you dear heart - "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," and man it hurts.)
God's Gonna Cut You Down
You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Go tell that long tongue liar
Go and tell that midnight rider
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
Well, my goodness gracious, let me tell you the news
My head's been wet with the midnight dew
I've been down on bended knee
Talkin' to the man from Galilee
He spoke to me in the voice so sweet
I thought I heard the shuffle of angel's feet
He called my name and my heart stood still
When he said, "John go do My will!"
Go tell that long tongue liar
Go and tell that midnight rider
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down
You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Well, you may throw your rock, hide your hand
Workin' in the dark against your fellow man
But as sure as God made black and white
What's down in the dark will be brought to the light
You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Sooner or later God'll cut you down
Go tell that long tongue liar
Go and tell that midnight rider
Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
Tell 'em that God's gonna cut you down
John R Cash
***
Written near end of May 2020
***
AlexRa's in the Basement
Thinking of you every day, every way. Alive and kickin'? Still know who you are? :-) Here -- hospice is a blessing. I guess. Kismet will have its say.
***
"It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)"
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fools gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.
Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel the moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.
So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
And goodness hides behind its gates
But even the President of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.
And though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.
Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Ensure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.
But though the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destiny
Speak jealously of them that are free
Do what they do just to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.
While some on principles baptize
To strict party platforms ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And say "God Bless him".
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.
Old lady judges, watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False goals, I scoff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child's balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fools gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.
Temptation's page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel the moan but unlike before
You discover
That you'd just be
One more person crying.
So don't fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It's alright, Ma, I'm only sighing.
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don't hate nothing at all
Except hatred.
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It's easy to see without looking too far
That not much
Is really sacred.
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
And goodness hides behind its gates
But even the President of the United States
Sometimes must have
To stand naked.
And though the rules of the road have been lodged
It's only people's games that you got to dodge
And it's alright, Ma, I can make it.
Advertising signs that con you
Into thinking you're the one
That can do what's never been done
That can win what's never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you.
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy
Ensure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to.
But though the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destiny
Speak jealously of them that are free
Do what they do just to be
Nothing more than something
They invest in.
While some on principles baptize
To strict party platforms ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And say "God Bless him".
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society's pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he's in.
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it's alright, Ma, if I can't please him.
Old lady judges, watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn't talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony.
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer's pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes
Must get lonely.
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards
False goals, I scoff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
What else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only.
Bob Dylan
"Hazel" Looks Back
il faut reculer pour mieux sauter
I still hear you mon cher brother.
A whisp of nostalgia from New York City, 1965 (wrong place /wrong time --but not for you obviously.)
Or, one could say, decades later, Van Nuys is a million miles from Malibu.
'Well, I've tried to get closer but I'm still a million miles from you. I'm driftin' in and out of dreamless sleep" Bob Dylan
" From that day forward spent n frigid isolation -- the first and last refuge of the disappointed."
Well, perhaps there is some truth in that, but your songs, they never disappointed. Small wonder you "believed" in them.
If the early 80s (where I landed & was unintentionally stranded in L.A. (and one more year Big Sur & Monterey) were truly lost years for me -- "Down in the Grove, Shot of Love, Infidels and Empire Burlesque" are more than memorable, however.
Moving right along 1989/1990, -- "Oh Mercy" (Shooting Star, Where Teardrops Fall, Man in the Long Black Coat, Most of the Time and What Was it You Wanted" ... and "Under the Red Sky" -- (Unbelievable, God Knows & Born in Time) had me thinking you'd be knocking down bedroom doors. ("So a kingdom was lost—all for want of a nail.")
"Forgive me, baby, for what I didn't do/For not breakin' down no bedroom door to get at you."
"Every time you leave and go off someplace/ Things fall to pieces in my face" from "Everything is Broken."
____________________________________________
***
"Idiot Wind"
Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press
Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out quick, but when they will I can only guess
They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me
I can't help it if I'm lucky
People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act
Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts
Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at
I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me even better than that
Sweet lady
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth
Blowing down the back-roads heading south
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe
I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike
I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like
There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pouring out of a boxcar door
You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars
After losing every battle
I woke up on the roadside, daydreaming about the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are making me see stars
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies
One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzing around your eyes
Blood on your saddle
Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb
Blowing through the curtains in your room
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe
It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart
You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart
Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped
What's good is bad, what's bad is good, you'll find out when you reach the top
You're on the bottom
I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind
I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes
Don't look into mine
The priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the
Building burned
I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the
Springtime turned
Slowly into Autumn
Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe
It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe
I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read
Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishing I was somebody else instead
Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy
I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory
And all your raging glory
I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free
I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me
You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above
And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love
And it makes me feel so sorry
Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats
Blowing through the letters that we wrote
Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves
We're idiots, babe
It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves
Bob Dylan
***
Me? Nothing has changed, never really does around here -- except for a tornados and hurricanes. But needs must and I must let nature take its course. Something's gonna get you sooner or later. Alas too alarming to be called ironic...."blood on my saddle" apparently is to be instrumental in my demise.
***
"The Goddess Companion by Patricia Monaghan. Never mind the author, but it IS interesting to note the Goddess is ancient and much celebrated.
***
Shivoham - Journey Into Bliss
Almost like a lullaby, "A Journey Into Bliss," for me, will sometimes entice my nemesis, Morpheus, now that "sleeping like a baby" has become a long lost memory.
Ancient chants seem to capture so well the bitter sweet condition of our ephemeral lives, the concept of infinity, immortality, the vastness of the cosmos and its mysteries. Other times its just annoying to listen to.
Oh yes, d.m. to share -- take it or leave it. I well know G.H. and others revisited this realm in the 60s. Some creations are immortal. Leave it to me to state the self-evident. LOL
"A woman who stops to give something for nothing is either worth her weight in gold or doesn't have enough sense to get out of the rain"
I said that.
***
I put the following up a couple of weeks ago. Then decided to delete it and today May 19, 2021 put it back. Figure I got still plenty of secrets to take to my grave. Also get the "feeling" Bob Dylan is currently "insulated." Still know who you are Bob?
It's as far from "literary" ya gonna get.
Peggy Gossips:
Before mon frère either one of us forgets who we are?
So I did gird up my loins," as the saying goes and watched the documentary of the Rolling Thunder Review, which became available on Netflix in 2019 -- in small increments I might add.
Why? Too painful by far. Of course almost 50 (46 to be precise) years later my impressions/viewpoint has changed. Nevertheless. Why did I have to limit my "exposure", my "involvement"? Because why would I want to do that to myself, at this point in particular?
Because you, d.m., you are passion, you are drama, you are theater---you are myth.
Back in the day when I felt I had achieved the most extravagant compliment and extreme acknowledgement -- a significant "nod" from the master, as it were, after Blood on the Tracks" came out, I thought we would do the great connect, however I soon believed you looked up an old flame instead and just took off. Appears you had fun too. Had no idea of the state of your marriage at the time.
Thing is, women always seem to forgive you no matter what (and there goes a spoiled baby:-).)
Turns out, although I might have knocked your door in the Village many a time, living around the corner as I was but I didn't. Call it respect if you want and although you met me twice in the morning (one of the only suggestions of mine you heeded I recall.) Maybe like you, never knocking down a bedroom door, or in the seven years in historic BH, a teenage kid hanging around wasn't too inviting either.)
True I was crazy about you but I had to go to work, with a child to support and all and the Summer of Love was long past. Ironic that an "au pair," made a name for herself (such as it was.) Nothing I ever aspired to. I got my wish alright.
Well I suppose when you put a surprisingly "reticent" person and a polite one together, they might achieve all manner of things, but probably not intimacy.
$50,000 gown? Still second hand rose at the Salvation Army and designer Goodwill. Pathetic or heroic? I mean 40 years of toiling in offices (mostly tedious.) I was never tempted to sell myself -- I just liked nice looking men. (Need I mention backup singers and "I'm in love with a woman who doesn't even appeal to me."?)
The ancient lizard brain at work, no doubt. Pick a herd, pick the strongest and most attractive. Of course, times and values have changed. Bringing home the big bucks has taken on a whole other meaning. Be that as it may, a good provider is an endangered species. Don't speak to me of "husband material."
Suffice to say, I had my days in the sun too and there are "silver linings."
It is solace for me to think that you might (or should) feel reassured that at least I wasn't a gold digger. Poor but proud marches on. Ah Karma. Like that bully of a country boy's heaven on earth, "on the outskirts of town" being destroyed by Hurricane Michael. You'll get no schadenfreude from me...just sayin'.
Town of Woodstock circa 1967-68 -- wrong place at the wrong time, or vice versa? I sometimes wonder why the powers that be aren't weary of toying with us. Oh it's destiny --a much more reposeful notion.
Re the "Review" again -- I was envious of SR, who I might have condescendingly referred to as your "fiddle player" once. Turns out I had no need to feel second best, as she apparently had other interests. I also envied PS for having been able to hang out with you at the Bitter End a couple of times and me having been there more than once and living right there! But I was duty bound to get some sleep & go to work. Turns out, her recitation of a "sister" was stupid (let's not even mention the Nobel Prize flub.)
Never much was jealous of JB, don't know why. I wasn't a fan. It must be said though that much later, her song "Diamonds and Rust" is by far one of the most beautiful love songs. I deplore not having had the talent to have given you something of that caliber. But then really, her message was "thanks but no thanks," -- something despite my Blood and Rain I never would or have "said" to you. The dressing up as you she did and the somewhat disconcerting dance, I feel, she was a woman still in love, desperate to guess what you might want.
We may look back but we never may really go there again. "A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall," Alas.
The wife? No mention or reference on tour. Chronicles I mentions only "wife" giving neither credit nor discredit. Discretion the better part of valor or just that secrecy is a prerequisite. I get that. Songs like "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight, (which you'll recall I sang "with you" once) and "Sarah" can't be disputed and Lord knows "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands" is irreplaceable.
Ancient history, as is my sad and sorrowful tale of love miscast.
Create? The meaning of life? Possibly. Certainly for you.
Spontaneous, ad lib stuff though and ordinary people doing ordinary stuff and an assortment of characters thrown in, may seem inviting and controversial -- avant garde even. I'll say only "to each his own."
What is important for me to state is (read it or not) that for the documentary your performance of "Isis," was superlative, as was "Oh Sister" and "One More Cup of Coffee" Well outtakes still make a great performance video.
P.S. Me? "They" (Powers that Be?) wouldn't let me succeed in cashing in my chips a year and a half ago. Besides it's a sin and against the law. That's the South for you.
Nothing has changed, never really does around here -- except for a tornados and hurricanes. But needs must and I must let nature take its course. Something's gonna get one sooner or later. Alas too alarming to be called ironic...."blood on my saddle" apparently is to be instrumental in my demise.
Oh by the way --titles of songs memorable more so than poetry sometimes:
"You Always Hurt the One You Love" (the one you never meant to hurt at all!)
***
Peace will come
With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire
But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall
And cruel death surrenders with its pale ghost retreating
Between the King and the Queen of Swords
With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire
But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall
And cruel death surrenders with its pale ghost retreating
Between the King and the Queen of Swords
From Changing of the Guards by Bob Dylan
(Of COURSE many a person has used that moniker, as millions borrowed "ISIS".
Most celebrated in later years the albums "Blood on the Tracks," and "Time Out of MInd." The whole story?
Mr. Dylan is adept at keeping secrets...especially of those who sailed with him. (Many people who knew anything at all are gone or close to dying, so I would not be surprised, if I ever would get to know...that all will be buried in the sands of time.
AlexRa's artwork might survive. Who is to say? Art sometimes for centuries, other times on the trash heap tomorrow.
***
Who? Oh that? That's just "Hazel," the little nobody (in the early 1980s, at about 40 years of age or so).
Lost in a dream in California, in Los Angeles for five years -- the lost years. With nothing, with nobody, without a plan -- destined.
Back then -- when miracles seemed still a possibility -- before promises and hope were lost?
Beyond here lies nothin'
Nothin' but the moon and stars
Down every street there's a window
And every window's made of glass
We'll keep on lovin' pretty baby
For as long as love will last
Beyond here lies nothin'
But the mountains of the past
Well, my ship is in the harbor
And the sails are spread
Listen to me, pretty baby
Lay your hand upon my head
Beyond here lies nothin'
Nothin' done and nothin' said
Nothin' but the moon and stars
Down every street there's a window
And every window's made of glass
We'll keep on lovin' pretty baby
For as long as love will last
Beyond here lies nothin'
But the mountains of the past
Well, my ship is in the harbor
And the sails are spread
Listen to me, pretty baby
Lay your hand upon my head
Beyond here lies nothin'
Nothin' done and nothin' said
by Bob Dylan
***
She don't belong to anyone, why not give her to me?" B. Dylan
Blame it on fate, d.m. if all else fails.
Calliope: In Greek mythology, Calliope is the Muse who presides over eloquence and epic poetry; so called from the ecstatic harmony of her voice. Hesiod and Ovid called her the "Chief of all Muses". "Mother of Muses"
In "real life" a gorgeous white cat found its way into my life on Bleeker St. I named her Calliope. She fell out the window three flights down, but survived to return to her owner.
It's become too difficult, I suspect: "Better seal up your lips if you wanna stay in the game."
You say it so well. Just how I'm feelin'
"Got a mind that ramble, got a mind that roam
I'm travelin' light and I'm a-slow coming home" B. Dylan
____________________________________________________
February 24, 2021
No news is good news?
Sorry Darlin'...it's just that I'm "busy dying""
"6th Avenue Heartache"- The Wallflowers
The following though was "the line that was drawn on me" for sure ---among others.
"Wheels on Fire" Bob Dylan
February 16, 2O2
"You're Gonna Make Lonesome When You Go"
- Bob Dylan
I've seen love go by my door
It's never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow
I've been shooting in the dark too long
When something not right it's wrong
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Dragon clouds so high above
I've only known careless love
It's always hit me from below
This time around it's more correct
Right on target so direct
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Purple clover Queen Anne lace
Crimson hair across your face
You could make me cry if you don't know
Can't remember what I was thinking of
You might be spoiling me too much love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Flowers on the hillside blooming crazy
Crickets talking back and forth in rhyme
Blue river running slow and lazy
I could stay with you forever
And never realize the time.
Situations have ended sad
Relationship have all been bad
Mine've been like Verlaine's and Rimbaud
But there's no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.
Yer gonna make me wonder what I'm doing
Staying far behind without you
Yer gonna make me wonder what I'm saying
Yer gonna make me give myself a good talking to.
I'll look for you in old Honolulu
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now I know
But I'll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go.
***
Why the following tragic song? Because it's beatiful.
February 5, 2021
Born in Time by Bob Dylan
Man in the Long Black Coat by Bob Dylan
Crickets are chirping, the water is high
There’s a soft cotton dress on the line hangin’ dry
Window wide open, African trees
Bent over backwards from a hurricane breeze
Not a word of goodbye, not even a note
She gone with the man
In the long black coat
Somebody seen him hanging around
At the old dance hall on the outskirts of town
He looked into her eyes when she stopped him to ask
If he wanted to dance, he had a face like a mask
Somebody said from the Bible he’d quote
There was dust on the man
In the long black coat
Preacher was a talkin’, there’s a sermon he gave
He said every man’s conscience is vile and depraved
You cannot depend on it to be your guide
When it’s you who must keep it satisfied
It ain’t easy to swallow, it sticks in the throat
She gave her heart to the man
In the long black coat
***
Shooting Star by Bob Dylan (Cover)
***
Dust in the Wind - Kansas
You are an ineffable, intrinsic part of my life.
__________________________________________________
January 23, 2021
I’m glad to see you’re still alive,..."
from "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" by Bob Dylan
"We learn to live and then we forgive..."
from the exquisite "When the Deal Goes Down" by Bob Dylan
In the still of the night, in the world's ancient light
Where wisdom grows up in strife
My bewildering brain, toils in vain
Through the darkness on the pathways of life
Each invisible prayer is like a cloud in the air
Tomorrow keeps turning around
We live and we die, we know not why
But I'll be with you when the deal goes down
We eat and we drink, we feel and we think
Far down the street we stray
I laugh and I cry and I'm haunted by
Things I never meant nor wished to say
The midnight rain follows the train
We all wear the same thorny crown
Soul to soul, our shadows roll
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
Well, the moon gives light and it shines by night
When I scarcely feel the glow
We learn to live and then we forgive
Over the road we're bound to go
More frailer than the flowers, these precious hours
That keep us so tightly bound
You come to my eyes like a vision from the skies
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
Well, I picked up a rose and it poked through my clothes
I followed the winding stream
I heard the deafening noise, I felt transient joys
I know they're not what they seem
In this earthly domain, full of disappointment and pain
You'll never see me frown
I owe my heart to you, and that's saying it's true
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
***
"What can be aid at all can be said clearly and what we cannot talk about we must pass over in silence."
Ludwig Wittgenstein - Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
____________________________________________
"Don't Look Back" Series
Archive One of Two Parts (Dates?) & 15 pages that may not see the light of day
Sample Serve from "A Complete Unknown"
"All I Want to Do"
Blood in Vain
The Light and Grace of Starless Wanderers
"... not dark yet"
"With one hand waving free"
...'Til the wheels fall off"
Long Have I Desired
"Bottom of the barrel"
Dylanesque- Troubador at the Helm
Re: Bob Dylan
January 2016
Pertaining to" Lay Lady Lay" - The Subtext of her Life
For Whatever It's Worth
Down the Road
Down The Highway
***
"You pressed me once, you pressed me twice,
You hang the flame, you'll pay the price,"
You hang the flame, you'll pay the price,"
Born in Time (another lovely song
"Unbelievable"
______________________________________________________-
This day, in particular, we remember to count our blessings
And be grateful for our family, friends, good health & fortune
We are thankful we are all able to gather here together
As we remember the good things we've shared in the past
Good times, good food and most of all -- good company
This day we send blessings to those who by fortune have less
Those who find themselves cold, hungry, homeless and alone
We hope that their strength, luck and opportunities improve
And that they, too, will soon find kindness and companionship
For as the seasons turn, so too, do the fortunes of humankind
We give thanks to Mother Earth for providing for us
The light, warmth, shelter and nourishment required for life
We're grateful for the bounty of nature and all its creatures
We're thankful for our animal companions and all we have
For the blessings of love, safety, beauty and comfort.
AlexRa
In Every Grain of Sand (Bob Dylan)
1:30 a.m.
"Legend remains victorious in spite of history." Sarah Bernhardt. True enough for thyself, be is a consolation, although it needn't be for an extraordinary life lived.
Me? quand même (to have disregarded an impediment, among other things. Loosely "against all odds")
___________________________________
Bob Dylan - "Forever Young"
Stayin' young....a lovely thought -- a mean trick y'all. Nobody can pull it off, except in your mind maybe.
Call Me the Breeze Lynyrd Skynyrd- -
***
"Under Your Spell"
Something about you that I can't shake
Don't know how much more of this I can take
I'm under your spell.
I was knocked out and loaded in the naked night
When my last dream exploded I noticed your light
Baby, oh what a story I could tell.
It's been nice seeing you you red me like a book
If you ever want to reach me you know where to look
Baby, I'll be at the same hotel.
I'd like to help you but I'm in a bit of a jam
I'll call you tomorrow if there's phones where I am
Baby, caught between heaven and hell.
But I will be back I will survive
You'll never get rid of me as long you're alive
Baby, can't you tell.
Well it's four in the morning by the sounds of the birds
I'm staring at your picture I'm hearing your words
Baby, they ring in my head like a bell.
Turn back baby wipe your eye
Don't think I'm leaving here without a kiss goodbye
Baby, is there anything left to tell ?
I'll see you later when I'm not so out of my head
Maybe next time I'll let the dead bury the dead
Baby, what more can I tell ?
Well the desert is hot the mountain is cursed
Pray that I don't die of thirst
Baby, two feet from the well.
Bob Dylan
______________________________________
September
From "It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)' Bob Dylan
"Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fools gold mouthpiece
The hollow horn plays wasted words
Proves to warn
That he not busy being born
Is busy dying.
***
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks
They really found you.
_________________
til I Fell in Love With You by Bob Dylan
Well my nerves are exploding
And my body is tense
I feel like the whole world
Got me pinned up against the fence
I been hit too hard
Seen too much
Nothing can heal me now
But your touch
I just don't know what I'm gonna do
I was alright 'til I fell in love with you
Well my house is on fire
Burnin' to the sky
Well I thought it would rain
But the clouds passed by
And I feel like I'm comin'
To the end of my way
But I know God is my shield
And he won't lead me astray
Still I don't know what I'm gonna do
I was alright 'til I fell in love with you
Boys in the street
Beginnin' to play
Girls like birds
Flyin' away
When I'm gone
You will remember my name
I'm gonna win my way
To wealth and fame
Yet I just don't know what I'm gonna do
I was alright 'til I fell in love with you
Well junk's pilin' up
Takin' up space
My eyes feel
Like they're fallin' off my face
Sweat fallin' down
I'm starin' at the floor
I'm thinkin' about that girl
Who won't be back no more
I just don't know what to do
I was alright 'til I fell in love with you
Well I'm tired of talkin'
I'm tired of tryin' to explain
My attempts to please you
They were all in vain
Tomorrow night
Before the sun goes down
If I'm still among the livin'
I'll be Dixie bound
Still I just don't know what I'm gonna do
I was alright 'til I fell in love with you"
***
Deeply delving. No good news anywhere it seems. (Nobody I know has Covid perhaps) "Everything is Broken" Dismay the universe wouldn't take me. What purpose yet dear heart? Letting nature take its course, a misery. No touch if not agreeable. No matter -- only peace to be found in meeting
...no matter what.
August 2020
"When The Deal Goes Down"
In the still of the night, in the world's ancient light
Where wisdom grows up in strife
My bewildering brain, toils in vain
Through the darkness on the pathways of life
Each invisible prayer is like a cloud in the air
Tomorrow keeps turning around
We live and we die, we know not why
But I'll be with you when the deal goes down
We eat and we drink, we feel and we think
Far down the street we stray
I laugh and I cry and I'm haunted by
Things I never meant nor wished to say
The midnight rain follows the train
We all wear the same thorny crown
Soul to soul, our shadows roll
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
Well, the moon gives light and it shines by night
When I scarcely feel the glow
We learn to live and then we forgive
Over the road we're bound to go
More frailer than the flowers, these precious hours
That keep us so tightly bound
You come to my eyes like a vision from the skies
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
Well, I picked up a rose and it poked through my clothes
I followed the winding stream
I heard the deafening noise, I felt transient joys
I know they're not what they seem
In this earthly domain, full of disappointment and pain
You'll never see me frown
I owe my heart to you, and that's saying it's true
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down.
Where wisdom grows up in strife
My bewildering brain, toils in vain
Through the darkness on the pathways of life
Each invisible prayer is like a cloud in the air
Tomorrow keeps turning around
We live and we die, we know not why
But I'll be with you when the deal goes down
We eat and we drink, we feel and we think
Far down the street we stray
I laugh and I cry and I'm haunted by
Things I never meant nor wished to say
The midnight rain follows the train
We all wear the same thorny crown
Soul to soul, our shadows roll
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
Well, the moon gives light and it shines by night
When I scarcely feel the glow
We learn to live and then we forgive
Over the road we're bound to go
More frailer than the flowers, these precious hours
That keep us so tightly bound
You come to my eyes like a vision from the skies
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down
Well, I picked up a rose and it poked through my clothes
I followed the winding stream
I heard the deafening noise, I felt transient joys
I know they're not what they seem
In this earthly domain, full of disappointment and pain
You'll never see me frown
I owe my heart to you, and that's saying it's true
And I'll be with you when the deal goes down.
Bob Dylan
.
"And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love, and it makes me feel so sorry"
Key West USA
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