site:whatgetsmehot.blogspot.com OR site:visualguidanceltd.blogspot.com 

 

DYLAN TO ENGLISH

THIS DATABASE IS PRESENTED AS AN ADJUNCT TO THE DYLAN TO ENGLISH DICTIONARY that presents contexts in which Dylan uses a word in a more esoteric way than it is commonly used - for example bundle can mean 14 bags of heroin rather than a package. This data base will allow the reader to search for a word and determine what it means by looking at the entire context in which it appears. It is meant to fill in the gap in the offical Robert Allen Zimmerman Website, bobdylan.com which contains only the lyrics to Dylan's songpoems and therefore falls under fair academic use: Notwithstanding the provisions of sections 106 and 106A the fair use of a copyrighted work, including such use by reproduction in copies or phonorecords or by any other means specified by that section, for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching (including multiple copies for classroom use), scholarship, or research, is not an infringement of copyright. In determining whether the use made of a work in any particular case is a fair use the factors to be considered shall include—
(1) the purpose and character of the use, including whether such use is of a commercial nature or is for nonprofit educational purposes;
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(3) the amount and substantiality of the portion used in relation to the copyrighted work as a whole; and
(4) the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work.
The fact that a work is unpublished shall not itself bar a finding of fair use if such finding is made upon consideration of all the above factors. Click HERE to return to Dylanology of click on the graphic above to go to THE BOB DYLAN LYRIC DATA BASE.

Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow - motion crawl or life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a - slidin' 'cause yer hands are a - drippin'

And yer sun - decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash - can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a - pourin'

And the lightnin's a - flashing and the thunder's a - crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a - shakin'

And yer whole world's a - slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee - deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a - watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a - flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight - blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled while facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul  you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm talking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am  I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm  all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a - sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a steam engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide - angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half - wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a - gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple - lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard - box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair - do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out - a paper mache

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty - star generals and flipped - out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand - box world

And you can't find it either in the no - talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of money and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AINT REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a - burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown

JOHN WESLEY HARDING LINER NOTES

There were three kings and a jolly three too. The first one had a broken nose, the second, a broken arm and the third was broke. "Faith is the key!" said the first king. "No, froth is the key!" said the second. "You're both wrong," said the third, "the key is Frank!"

It was late in the evening and Frank was sweeping up, preparing the meat and dishing himself out when there came a knock upon the door. "Who is it?" he mused. "It's us, Frank," said the three kings in unison, "and we'd like to have a word with you!" Frank opened the door and the three kings crawled in.

Terry Shute was in the midst of prying open a hairdresser when Frank's wife came in and caught him. "They're here!" she gasped. Terry dropped his drawer and rubbed the eye. "What do they appear to be like?" "One's got a broken vessel and that's the truth, the other two I'm not so sure about." "Fine, thank you, that'll be all." "Good" she turned and puffed. Terry tightened his belt and in an afterthought, stated: "Wait!" "Yes?" "How many of them would you say there were?" Vera smiled, she tapped her toe three times. Terry watched her foot closely. "Three?" he asked, hesitating. Vera nodded.

"Get up off my floor!" shouted Frank. The second king, who was first to rise, mumbled, "Where's the better half, Frank?" Frank, who was in no mood for jokes, took it lightly, replied, "She's in the back of the house, flaming it up with an arrogant man, now come on, out with it, what's on our minds today?" Nobody answered.

Terry Shute then entered the room with a bang, looking the three kings over and fondling his mop. Getting down to the source of things, he proudly boasted: "There is a creeping consumption in the land. It begins with these three fellas and it travels outward. Never in my life have I seen such a motley crew. They ask nothing and they receive nothing. Forgiveness is not in them. The wilderness is rotten all over their foreheads. They scorn the widow and abuse the child but I am afraid that they shall not prevail over the young man's destiny, not even them!" Frank turned with a blast, "Get out of here, you ragged man! Come ye no more!" Terry left the room willingly.

"What seems to be the problem?" Frank turned back to the three kings who were astonished. The first king cleared his throat. His shoes were too big and his crown was wet and lopsided but nevertheless, he began to speak in the most meaningful way, "Frank," he began, "Mr. Dylan has come out with a new record. This record of course features none but his own songs and we understand that you're the key." "That's right," said Frank, "I am." "Well then," said the king in a bit of excitement, "could you please open it up for us?" Frank, who all this time had been reclining with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them both up as wide as a tiger. "And just how far would you like to go in?" he asked and the three kings all looked at each other. "Not too far but just far enough so's we can say that we've been there," said the first chief. "All right," said Frank, "I'll see what I can do," and he commenced to doing it. First of all, he sat down and crossed his legs, then he sprung up, ripped off his shirt and began waving it in the air. A lightbulb fell from one of his pockets and he stamped it out with his foot. Then he took a deep breath, moaned and punched his fist through the plate-glass window. Settling back in his chair, he pulled out a knife, "Far enough?" he asked. "Yeah, sure, Frank," said the second king. The third king just shook his head and said he didn't know. The first king remained silent. The door opened and Vera stepped in. "Terry Shute will be leaving us soon and he desires to know if you kings got any gifts you wanna lay on him." Nobody answered.

It was just before the break of day and the three kings were tumbling along the road. The first one's nose had been mysteriously fixed, the second one's arm had healed and the third one was rich. All three of them were blowing horns. "I've never been so happy in all my life!" sang the one with all the money.

"Oh mighty thing!" said Vera to Frank, "Why didn't you just tell them you were a moderate man and leave it at that instead of goosing yourself all over the room?" "Patience, Vera," said Frank. Terry Shute, who was sitting over by the curtain cleaning an ax, climbed to his feet, walked over to Vera's husband and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Yuh didn't hurt yer hand, didja Frank?" Frank just sat there watching the workmen replace the window. "I don't believe so," he said.

On the slow train time does not interfere & at the Arabian crossing waits White Heap, the man from the newspaper & behind him the hundred Inevitables made of solid rock & stone  - -  the Cream Judge & the Clown  -  -  the doll house where Savage Rose & 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 & that she herself  -  -  not Orpheus yes">  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 & while the universe is erupting, she points to the slow train & prays for rain and for time to interfere  -  - she is not extremely fat but rather progressively unhappy . . . . the hundred Inevitables hide their predictions & go to bars & drink & get drunk in their very special conscious way & 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?" & the bartender, a good boy & one who keeps the buffalo in his mind, says, "I don't know, but I'm sure I've seen the other fellow someplace" & when Paul Sargent, a plainclothes man from 4th street, comes in at three in the morning & busts everybody for being incredible, nobody really gets angry  -  - just a little illiterate most people get & Rome, one of the hundred Inevitables whispers "I told you so" to Madam John . . . Savage Rose & Fixable are bravely blowing kisses to the Jade Hexagram Carnaby Street & to all the mysterious juveniles & the Cream Judge is writing a book on the true meaning of a pear  -  - last year. he wrote one on famous dogs of the civil war & now he has false teeth & no children . . . . when the Cream met Savage Rose & Fixable, he was introduced to them by none other than Lifelessness  - -  Lifelessness is the Great Enemy & always wears a hip guard yes">  he is very hipguard . . . . Lifelessness said when introducing everybody "go save the world" & "involvement! that's the issue" & things like that & Savage Rose winked at Fixable & the Cream went off with his arm in a sling singing "summertime & the livin is easy" . . . . the Clown appears yes">  puts a gag over Autumn's mouth and says "there are two kinds of people  -  -  simple people & normal people" this usually gets a big laugh from the sandpit & White Heap sneezes  -  - passes out & rips open Autumn's gag & 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 & Fixable come by & kick him in the brains & color him pink for being a phony philosopher  -  - then the Clown comes by and screams "You phony philosopher!" & jumps on his head  -  - Paul Sargent comes by again in an umpire's suit & some college kid who's read all about Nietzsche comes by & says "Neitzsche never wore an umpire's suit" & Paul says "You wanna buy some cloths, kid?" & then Rome & John come out of the bar & they're going up to Harlem . . . . we are singing today of the WIPE - OUT GANG  - -  the WIPE - OUT GANG buys, owns & operates the Insanity Factory yes">  if you do not know where the Insanity Factory is located, you should hereby take two steps to the right, paint your teeth & go to sleep . . . . the songs on this specific record are not so much songs but rather exercises in tonal breath control. . . . the subject matter  - -  though meaningless as it is  - -  has something to do with the beautiful strangers . . . . the beautiful strangers, Vivaldi's green jacket & the holy slow train

you are right john cohen  -   - quazimodo was right  -  - mozart was right. . . . I cannot say the word eye any more . . . . 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 yes">  there is only a series of mouths yes">  long live the mouths yes">  your roof top  -  - if you don't already know  -  - has been demolished . . . . eye is plasma & you are right about that too  - -  you are lucky  - -  you don't have to think about such things as eye & roof tops & quazimodo.

i'm standing there watching the parade/
feeling combination of sleepy john estes.
jayne mansfield. humphry bogart/morti -
mer snerd. murph the surf and so forth/
erotic hitchhiker wearing japanese
blanket. gets my attention by asking didn't
he see me at this hootenanny down in
puerto vallarta, mexico/i say no you must
be mistaken. i happen to be one of the
Supremes/then he rips off his blanket
an' suddenly becomes a middle - aged druggist.
up for district attorney. he starts scream -
ing 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 next fourth
of july. i look around an' all these people
he's talking to are carrying blowtorches/
needless t' 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
lastest works of art. do you need any help
with anything?''

(pause)

my songs're written with the kettledrum
in mind/a touch of any anxious color. un -
mentionable. 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 appollo

theather amazes me. why allen ginsberg was
not chosen t' 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' i
never drink milk. i would rather model har -
monica 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 / l ike the school
system, an invisible circle of which no one
can think without consulting someone/ in the
face of this, responsibility / security, success
mean 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 some -
times. 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 / sub -
tracted 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
anything 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"

DESIRE LINER NOTES

Where do I begin...on the heels of Rimbaud moving like a dancing bullet thru the secret streets of a hot New Jersey night filled with venom and wonder. Meeting the Queen Angel in the reeds of Babylon and then to the fountain of sorrow to drift away in the hot mass of the deluge... To sing praise to the King of those dead streets, to grasp and let go in a heavenly way  - -  streaming into the lost belly of civilization at a standstill. Romance is taking over. Tolstoy was right. These notes are being written in a bathtub in Maine under ideal conditions, in every Curio Lounge from Brooklyn to Guam, from Lowell to Durango oh sister, when I fall into your spacy arms, can not ya feel the weight of oblivion and the songs of redemption on your backside we surface alongside miles standish and take the rock. We have relations in Mozambique. I have a brother or two and a whole lot of karma to burn... Isis and the moon shine on me. When Rubin gets out of jail, we celebrate in the historical parking lot in sunburned California...

ALTERNATIVES TO COLLEGE

retreat by dawn but love this bed  -  -  this cult yes">  this wolf & cell of smelling mouth  -  -  tongue in hand & faint little lord, the bounty hunter playing flute & you, the younger, playing the tramp...one pale virgin with a plastic hammer FLASH & the cardboard bird & thousand teachers looking for Tibet & mathematics -  - they, constipated, moving slowly, bulky across the constipation ... this virgin eats her hammer & holy mackerel she's a college girl yes">  the pokypine attacking Down with Breath & she's killed by a flying tooth  -  - bounty hunter now reincarnated into a fire hydrant  - -  he sleeps on your dog  - -  neath your window  - -  Phoenix rising  -  -  he say, "God'll save the moon" & using this dawn for a blanket you part with sleep & accept this tomb  - -  this want of Recollection & reward & the star gazer making petty fun of the farmer, the angel, the generous cowboy & your father who is just another person... welcome this notorious moment wearing the robe & blindfold  - -  smile & let mad doctor sell his technicolor wigs to Maid Marian & you passing to dream with voices down the window but say farewell to health, fake laws, maturity & the visible imbecile becoming randolph ... enter with your sponge & friends & wave good - bye to gramma  Lover, she moves like the seasons  - -  she doesn't fight the clock   -  -  her  strength is in her weakness & that is why she is my lover... Penrod Cain yes">  they offend themselves & take responsibility they have no right to take & leading others' lives, they lose their own & break their thumbs &  dwell in madness & define this madness as success & they follow BLASPHEMY & touch of goodness exit  -  - cutting out the eyes of lambs & hanging in the evil hallway  - -  the dead shepherd in the closet ... the only floor, a floor of sound BLASPHEMY it leads them ... Lover, she knows better & doesn't fall for MATRON GIFTS disguised as book & proper hitchhiking with the gas mask on & thumbing the queens, the paul reveres & meet Nick the Nail for he exists & he's real like Sing Sing &  snowplows in the sewer ... Sunday comes & the old maid  -  - but are you joking  -  - she's just twenty - two & her name is Nancy or Peggy or Brunella & she squats in a cornfield & weaving brooms from roses, she reeks of heroes & paints her face the color of Custer's last massacre  - -  she peeks from tanks & repeats herself  -  - she stays away from the merry - go – round & you must love her too / she lives in armor & prejudice ... she is frightened of the clowns & may God have mercy on her soul  -  - may her pupils grow trees from their ears & shout about the eclipse, whimpers from the farm girls & the counter revolutionary crucifixion & damn the saints & make a profit the vandal from his gamut & baby cupid, the roustabout forcing you to store away velvet bonnet of barbarian funnel & drinking & drinking until pay day & graduation & Sunday coming & going just like Monday & some other people ... throbbing & to the pendulum strapped 'til Christmas may these teachers of the shade be rot for committing the problems of past & future & omitting the weather, the drunken eagle & the holy present ... Sunday being prisoner of the castle sleeping on & Nancy or Peggy or Brunella  -  -  she turning into twenty - three & you concluding that even gas masks can be worn in freedom, but who are you really talking & thinking about when you discuss your destiny? your problem? your freedom? ... Sphinx & the tango partner, her professor busy writing a book about the bums, sit like wallflowers & you being taught by Felix the Cat & how dare you have the

nerve to pass! how dare you search for pain! for self pity! for decisions!

Aunt Fang from the witch - hunt, her left jab weakened  - -  the flame in her arm & poor potbrain Shakespeare, a wire for his halo ... hand in hand, they whisper of cannibals & the poet & I WISH I WAS JAYNE  MANSFIELD/STANDING ON THE MOON / I'D ORDER ME A LEPRECHAUN / & SHOOT YOU WITH MY SPOON / while White Stoveman with earrings that jingle from his toes & who sings of Hiroshima & Tokyo & Hollywood happenings pulls out his leaflets, his plum & I WISH I WAS A DIPLOMAT / NOT A DOORMAT OR A MOVIE / I'D BURN MY OFFICE OFF THE EARTH / & MAKE THE WORLD MORE GROOVY / & ho ho ho amazing & get two corsets free with each butter sandwich & Plato with his flask of verbs building his buildings on ground where there is no ground at all & his mother in the tower wringing her head & moaning & oh great screech of help! & crippled mermaid singing & listen that's her singing now & she meows too ... (1) get yourself a harness. be avant garde. eat lots of mushrooms & end up as a country music expert (2) get yourself a torn calendar, some leftover birthday cake. buy a flagpole & you will indeed wind up as a good librarian (3) steal a pink rake. carry a burnt balloon. wash your neck with egg yolk & if you don't find yourself a successful plantation owner within a matter of time, then something is wrong ... on & on & on sweet mermaid she sings of ideals, different formulas & wild cookbooks / dark Scary, the weeper at the drop of anybody's hat but his, sentimental yes">  sentimental like the shock patient who recalls his refrigerator with a slight tear & Right Lie, himself being whipped to death by a pigtail  -  -  both of them

right now being pasteurized in a quart of milk & Gimmick hailing the armies of intelligence, Jerry Lewis & used french fries ... all right then, if you must go, go with the jack of spades, the honky tonk lady & take care of the woman at the well yes">  for kicks, see with your third eye & dream of being mr. deserted fox but dont depend on him. dont use him. dont count on him yonder at your funeral, you will see this pauper yes">  dressed like your face, he will have a wedding present for you  - -  it will be a mirror & in it, you will see the world as it sees you ... behind this mirror there will be a common worker looking like Little Lulu. he'll be teaching a boy scout the Ten Commandments & if you run from the mirror, they will both seize you & take you with them to the desert. they will stick a fishing pole in your hand & immediately tell you of backaches, Buicks, senate seats & ant poison  -  -  forks & knives  - -  Stork, the magic gladiator will appear from a trunk locker & say he brought you here & now he wants to collect & you saying "no no i'm a student! i'm a student of life!" & him saying "i'll give you a student of life! yuh just better pay up yuh dig, i'm the stork, yuh dig?" SHAZAAAAM & the might mirror cracking & you seeing yourself oh you can't believe it & you're vanishing  - -  the boy scout saying "fish! fish!" & you saying "help me, common worker!" & the common worker saying "call me C. W. yuh dig?" & you saying "owee strange & tell me what's happening!"  - -  Bull Flipt, the way out method actor who sleeps in peanuts to get the feel of being a hog & Sabu Jones

coming out of the subway & he say "now what's so important about being a hog & gimme some of those peanuts  -  -  I gotta go hunt me some tiger today Baby!" & the geese charging yes">  thinking they're scarecrows & you seeking goats in the midst of novelists who eat shot glasses yes">  write books about other people's masters  - -  each one in a mustache & wishing he was Frank Buck & you getting rather salty & everything begins & is forming into one Great big strangle - shape & the corpse, the voice  -  -  the struggle & you saying "is it true that children who die at birth really have committed suicide?" but there's nobody to ask ... forget these delusions find your opposite  -  -  be like Jonah  - -  go deep & there will be no pauper at your ceremony ... be him civilian yes">  disciple or bellydancer ... long live catastrophy Josie & the hermit, King of the Blues  -  - ragged at the motel  -  - a wheel being invented in the barn & here come the innkeeper with bars from the window ... Lady Chance & Superstition, the cleaning woman  - -  she holler fresh quarters f' sale & Ritz Deaf paying all he has to get into this dungeon & he cant even hear ... blank stares, caves & the in – crowd   grinning & banners with little bo peep  - -  simple simon & her come Standing Room Only ... he's wearing a sucker & conning for better or worse  -  -  he's blowing the toot toot  - -  Gigantic Push & the gingerbread sergeant growls & dies & the low rank gobble up the pieces & then they die from poison groin -  - malnutrition & thinking they're too smart & you with the dice & forever uniform ... receiving some degree & while giving it to your wall, somebody steals your enemy -  - your pride  -  - your existence  -  - your chum, Slop, leaving you to the dogs & defenders of mankind  - -  ghost of Einstein like the raven & Miss Prune the Terror. trying to convince you that there was no edgar allan poe & then you straightening the tie that either Eileen or Punk Roger gave you for pennies on the brain & saying "take me to your leader for change! i'm sick of these vincent price people!" ... Homer on the gallows  -  -  his feet swollen & you wondering why there is no eternity & that you make your own eternity & why there is no music & that you make your own music & where there are no alternatives & that you make your own alternatives

OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD

     All right, then  - -  next on the pole was Horseman and his friend

Photochick. Photochick is wearing a Hoover button in her mouth and

this keeps her lips together.

     Horseman was first up the pole and he's shouting back, "Hurry up,

Photochick. Get up here." But then his pants fall down. Photochick,

blinded reaches for her banjo and Horseman screams, "What are you doing? Get rid of that thing. Hurry. God, the cops are coming!"

     Photochick snarls. "Don't call me no God," and she stars in a'singing, "Coming through the rye, coming through the rye, oh yeah, baby - o, we all just coming through the rye." Horseman gives her a kick in the mouth and her lips pry open and she stops her singing. "Now get the hell up this pole" Horseman sighs, vomits and looks out toward the slums ... "Good God, there's a thousand angry plumbers all in chrome suits. They've smashed the gates." Photochick, she squints. Horseman looks down. His face is dirty. "Didja hear me? Stop squinting! Didja hear me?"

     "The sun's hot. I'm getting down off this pole" says Photochick.

Meanwhile, back at the kazoo factory, Prez is walking back and forth

dictating a letter. "Yes, I want the holes much bigger in these kazoos. I also want them cut sharper and to kind of pinch the tongue a little. I

want a higher pitch, perhaps like a girl screaming. Also in the ads, I

want to see a young hunchback. Perhaps with his nose broken. I want to see him sitting. Oh, I'd say, in front of a swamp with lots of mosquitoes. I want to see more of a poverty - type mood in the displays, also."

     SCREAM from the closet. "Who's in there?" says the Prez. "Could you check on that, please, Miss Flunk." Miss Flunk opens the closet. Tattler, the errand boy, falls out. His arm tied behind is back. His shoes gone. "What's the matter there boy! Speak up! I'll have you demolished!" says Prez. "Sorry sir. The dikes have broken down.  They're beating everybody up and putting them in the closets! Oh my Gawaud" says the Prez. "When? When has all this happened? Where are they finding all the closets? There aren't enough closets! Oh my Gawaud! What'll my wife say? Miss Flunk! Cancel my appointments for today. Order me my lunch?"

     Miss Flunk slowly puts down her pen. Shuffles up to the Prez. Punches him in the gut and heaves him into the encyclopedias. "What! What's happening here! What, dear Gawaud, is happening here?" Prez, in a gust of anguish.  "Get your hands behind your back, you fat fiend!" says Miss Flunk. "You're going into the closet." 

     BAP and the Prez lands in the closet. Tattler escapes out an air - vent. Miss Flunk take a bottle of ink and stars to polish her muscles. It begins to rain...

     Meanwhile, back at the pole, Horseman is shouting, "Don't get down Photochick! I want you! I need you! I love you!" Photochick shouting back, "The sun's in my eyes! I can't do a thing with it! I fear my banjo is missing."  The plumbers arrive. They take off their chrome suits. "What you guys want?" says Horseman. "We want you to ask each one of us for our autographs." says the chief plumber, who used to be one helluva banjo player himself and now spends his free time propositioning old ladies down on Highway 90. "That's what we want you to do."

     "Nonsense!" says Horseman. "Just a minute." says Photochick. "Hold it just a minute. I'm game. I'll do it. Who do I ask first?" "What do you mean YOU will!" growls Horseman. "I'll do it. I'll ask 'm. I wanna do it. I'll do it."

     "Good" says the chief plumber. "Now that we got that straightened out, we can chop down this pole without feeling too guilty and we won't have to join any lumberjack's union besides. " Good. Everything's looking good today and WHAM down comes the pole and they all walk back through the gates and go to the movies. Horseman and Photochick. They all sprawled out on the ground clutching the grass. A giant billboard sign faces them. It, being a musical instrument advertisement. Showing a picture of two women racing car drivers. Holding hands and each smoking a kazoo.

     The sign smiles handsomely and just squats there like the moon.

"Notice anything strange?" says Horseman to Photochick. "About what?" says Photochick. "About the pole being chopped down" says Horseman. "No. Nothing strange about that. Just that the sun's still in my eyes and that sign over there looks like it wasn't here before." "You mean that racing - car advertisement?" "I thought it was a government report  warning against cigars." "Oh, yeah" says Horseman. "Yeah, it is." "Yeah,  it is. I know it is." says Photochick, who begins now to look for her  Hoover button ... Meanwhile, back at the Newport Folk Festival...

BLOWIN' IN THE WIND

(Hootenanny Magazine, December 1963)

It aint no use in talkin about folk music  -

It aint no use in takin stands an sides an gettin all sweat about it  -

It don make sense really t learn names an shout labels an get yer -

self all confused -

It aint got no meanin at all t discuss an defend it  -

An it dont mean nothin t offend it  -

Of all the corners a the question there aint no answers noplace worth

lookin at seriously cause the question jus aint that almighty big

What folk music an what aint's got nothin t do with the world  -

It just aint healthy t let the music run yer life like that  -

Yer life's gotta run the music  -

You can't afford t let yer guitar own yer mind  -

Yer mind's gotta own that guitar  -

So what if other folks try an makes rules for it  -

So what if other folks try an boundary it all up  -

So what if other folks try an chain it down and tell yuh what's it all about  -

It don make no difference at all if yer own life is running things  -

But if the music's runnin you then yuh get swallowed up by all blabber talk  -

You don have t worry about that's folk music an what aint  -

Man, it's just a wide circle a silly tongues ant it aint important at all  -

Don let nobody block your head off  -

Don let no one weave a wall in front of yer eyes  -

Don let no one teach yuh what t call things  -

Just get up in the mornin an go  -

Just open your eyes an walk -

Forget the silly talk -

There's a million paths t take  -

There's a million miles t make  -

There's a million border lines t break  -

The shadow a the mountain sure moving an shiftin  -

Raindrops an snowflakes're free fallin an forever driftin

Tree top're wavin an shakin an the fog is liftin

The white line on the highway's reflectin  -

Behind the ditch broken down empty shack're still standin

Above the road an the cove caves're still hiden  -

In back a the fence the dogs're still barkin  -

The pacific Ocean is soundin and poundin

An the Monterrey sands're waitin

For yer bare feet t be walkin  -

There's train lines rattlin an there's whistle's screamin  -

The wind's jauntin an there's hitchhikers thumbin an bummin  -

The color a the sky's changin

An the color a the clouds're turnin

An the color a the ground's fadin

Fathers an mothers laughing an babies're cryin

Young girls're sighin

An ol men're dyin -

The dark nite's foldin an people're fightin an frightened

Ships're sailin an trucks're haulin

An New York City's crawlin

With hungry voices callin

An ol buildings fallin

An clothes lines're stretched an strung out

With all different colors a pants an shirts hangin  -

An the dirt in the alley's risin

An jackhammer dust's flyin -

An the Hudsin river're restin

An kid's voices're ringin

The hobo poet's whisperin and the bartender's not listenin  -

The East Side is sweatin an steamin

an fightin' t be breathin -

Forty 2nd Street's flyin an floatin and jumpin an twistin an explodin  -

Subways're loadin

Folks 'f all colors an creed're settlin an sittin on park benches an street corners an curbs an roof tops an bus stops  -

The back a the bar rooms're lined steady an standin full with road walkers an road workers an road poets an road painters with lonesome thoughts an hungry feelings  -

Junkies an flunkies line the wind along side ban - the - bomb demonstrators

Girls're hustlin for dollars on one side a the street an

Girls're sittin down for their rights on the other side a the street  -

The new Premise's playin

an Moondog's beatin his drum an sayin his lines  -

Lenny Bruce's talkin

an Lord Buckley's memory still movin

An Doc Watson's walkin

Ray Charles's shoutin an speakin

Bertrand Russell's yellin from across the ocean

an Julian Beck's tellin the same on this side a the sea  -

Jim Forman is livin an Ross Barnett's losin  -

Harry Jackson's paintin -

Maybelle Carter's really standin an really strummin

an Mike Seeger's really real  -

An Pete Seeger's really Pete Seeger  -

An Joan Baez is still unshattered

An Marlon Brando's on the good side  -

An the time's a rollin down every single street  -

There's a girl waitin on every single corner  -

An men're still breathin

An men're still breathin

An it's all music -

Every space a human life

It's all music -

An it don have t have no stamp 'f approval from nobody  -

It don have to be ok ed by no one  -

There aint no scholar that's smart enuff t invent the rules  -

There aint no lawmaker high enuff t chain it down with boundaries  -

There aint no guard that's good enuff t hold a gun on it  -

An there aint no gun that's got enuff bullets an shells t shoot it –

An it's yer life

Do it  -  don talk it -

Forget about the talkers -

They'll always be around

You won't ......

MY LIFE IN A STOLEN MOMENT

Duluth's an iron ore shipping town in Minnesota

It's built up on a rocky cliff that runs into Lake Superior

I was born there -  my father was born there  -

My mother's from the Iron Range Country up north

The Iron Range is a long line a mining towns

that begin at Grand Rapids and end at Eveleth

We moved up there to live with my mother's folks

in Hibbing when I was young -

Hibbing's got the biggest open pit ore mine in the world

Hibbing's got schools, churches, grocery stores an' a jail

It's got high school football games an' a movie house

Hibbing's got souped - up cars runnin' full blast on a Friday night

Hibbing's got corner bars with polka bands

You can stand at one end of Hibbing's main drag an' see clear past the city limits on the other end

Hibbing's a good ol' town

I ran away from it when I was 10, 12, 13, 15, 151/2, 17 an' 18

I been caught an' brought back all but once

I wrote my first song to my mother an' titled it "To Mother"

I wrote that in 5th grade an' the teacher gave me a B+

I started smoking at 11 years old an' only stopped once to catch my breath

I don't remember my parents singing too much

At least I don't remember swapping any songs with them

Later I sat in college at the University of Minnesota on a phony scholarship that I never had

I sat in science class an' flunked out for refusin' to watch a rabbit die

I got expelled from English class for using four - letter words in a paper describing the English teacher

I also failed out of communication class for callin' up  every day and sayin' I couldn't come

I did OK in Spanish though but I knew it beforehand

I's kept around for kicks at a fraternity house

They let me live there an' I did until they wanted me to join

I moved in with two girls from South Dakota

in a two - room apartment for two nights

I crossed the bridge to 14th Street an' moved in above a bookstore that also sold bad hamburgers basketball sweatshirts an' bulldog statues

I fell hard for an actress girl who kneed me in the guts

an' I ended up on the East Side a the Mississippi River with about ten friends in a condemned house underneath the Washington Avenue Bridge just south a Seven Corners

That's pretty well my college life

After that I thumbed my way to Galveston, in four days

tryin' to find an ol' friend whose ma met me

at the screen door and said he's in the Army  -

By the time the kitchen door closed

I was passin' California -  almost to Oregon  -

I met a waitress in the woods who picked me up

an' dropped me off in Washington someplace

I danced my way from the Indian festivals in Gallup, New Mexico

To the Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Louisiana

With my thumb out, my eyes asleep, my hat turned up  an' my head turned on

I's driftin' an' learnin' new lessons

I was making my own depression

I rode freight trains for kicks

An' got beat up for laughs

Cut grass for quarters

An' sang for dimes

Hitchhiked on 61 -  51  -  75  - 169  -  37  -  66 -  22

Gopher Road  -  Route 40 an' Howard Johnson Turnpike

Got jailed for suspicion of armed robbery

Got held for four hours on a murder rap

Got busted for looking like I do

An' I never done none a them things

Somewheres back I took time to start plain' the guitar

Somewheres back I took the time to start singin'

Somewheres back I took the time to start writin'

But I never did take the time to find out why

I took the time to do those things  -  when they ask

Me why an' where I got started, I gotta shake my head

an' weave my eyes an' walk away dumfounded

From Shreveport I landed in Madison, Wisconsin

From Madison we filled up a four - door Pontiac with five people

An' shot straight south an' sharp to the East an' in 24 hours was still hanging on through the Hudson Tunnel  - 

Gettin' out in a snowstorm an' wavin' goodbye  to the three others, we swept on to MacDougal Street

with five dollars between us  -  but we weren't poor

I had my guitar an' harmonica to play

An' he had his brother's clothes to pawn

In a week, he went back to Madison while I stayed behind an'

Walked a winter's line from the Lower East Side  to Gerde's Folk City

In May, I thumbed west an' took the wrong highway to Florida

Mad as hell an' tired as well, I scrambled my way back to

South Dakota by keepin' a truck driver up all day an' singin'

One night in Cincinnati

I looked up a long time friend in Sioux Falls an' was let down,

worried blind, and hit hard by seein' how little we had to say

I rolled back to Kansas, Iowa, Minnesota, lookin' up ol' time pals an' first - run gals an' I was beginnin' to find out that my road an' their road is two different kinds a roads I found myself back in New York City in the middle part a summer staying on 28th Street with kind, honest hard - working people who were good to me

I got wrote up in the Times after playin' in the fall at Gerde's Folk City

I got recorded at Columbia after being wrote up in the Times

An' I still can't find the time to go back an' see why an' where

I started doing what I'm doing

I can't tell you the influences 'cause there's too many to mention an' I might leave one out

An' that wouldn't be fair

Woody Guthrie, sure

Big Joe Williams, yeah

It's easy to remember those names

But what about the faces you can't find again

What about the curbs an' corners an' cut - offs

     that drop out a sight an' fall behind

What about the records you hear but one time

What about the coyote's call an' the bulldog's bark

What about the tomcat's meow an' milk cow's moo

An' the train whistle's moan

Open up yer eyes an' ears an' yer influenced

     an' there's nothing you can do about it

Hibbing's a good ol' town

I ran away from it when I was 10, 12, 13, 15, 151/2, 17 an' 18

I been caught an' brought back all but once

life

Do it  -  don talk it -

Forget about the talkers -

They'll always be around

You won't ......

Advice for Geraldine on her Miscellaneous Birthday

stay in line. stay in step. people

are afraid of someone who is not

in step with them. it makes them

look foolish t' themselves for

being in step. it might even

cross their minds that they themselves

are in the wrong step. do not run

nor cross the red line. if you go

too far out in any direction, they

will lose sight of you. they'll feel

threatened. thinking that they are

not a part of something that they

saw go past them, they'll feel

something's going on up there that

they don't know about. revenge

will set in. they will start thinking

of how t' get rid of you. act

mannerly towards them. if you don't,

they will take it personal. as you

come directly in contact face t' face

do not make it a secret of how

much you need them. if they sense

that you have no need for them,

the first thing they will do is

try t' make you need them. if

this doesn't work, they will tell

you of how much they don't need

you. if you do not show any sadness

at a remark such as this, they

will immediately tell other people

of how much they don't need you.

your name will begin t' come up

in circles where people gather

to tell about all the people they

don't need. you will begin t' get

famous this way. this, though, will

only get the people who you don't need

in the first place

all the more madder.

you will become

a whole topic of conversation.

needless t' say, these people

who don't need you will start

hating themselves for needing t' talk

about you. then you yourself will

start hating yourself for causing so

much hate. as you can see, it will

all end in one great gunburst.

never trust a cop in a raincoat.

when asked t' define yourself exactly,

say you are an exact mathematician.

do not say or do anything that

he who standing in front of you

watching cannot understand, he will

feel you know something he

doesn't. he will react with blinding

speed and write your name down.

talk on his terms. if his terms

are old - fashioned an' you've

passed that stage all the more easier

t' get back there. say what he

can understand clearly. say it simple

t' keep your tongue out of your

cheek. after he hears you, he can

label you good or bad. anyone will

do. t' some people, there is only

good an' bad. in any case, it will

make him feel somewhat important.

it is better t' stay away from

these people. be careful of

enthusiasm...it is all temporary

an' don't let it sway you. when asked

if you go t' church, always answer

yes, never look at your shoes. when

asked you you think of gene autrey

singing of hard rains gonna fall say

that nobody can sing it as good as

peter, paul and mary. at the mention

of the president's name, eat a pint of

yogurt an' go t' sleep early...when

asked if you're a communist, sing

america the beautiful in an

italian accent. beat up nearest

street cleaner. if by any

chance you're caught naked in a

parked car, quick turn the radio on

full blast an' pretend

that you're driving. never leave

the house without a jar of peanut

butter. do not wear

matched socks. when asked to do 100

pushups always smoke a pound

of deodorant beforehand.

when asked if you're a capitalist, rip

open your shirt, sing buddy can

you spare a dime with your

right foot forward an' proceed t'

chew up a dollar bill.

do not sign any dotted line. do not

fall in trap of criticizing people

who do nothing else but criticize.

do Not create anything. it will be

misinterpreted. it will not change.

it will follow you the

rest of your life. when asked what you

do for a living say you laugh for

a living. be suspicious of people

who say that if you are not nice

t' them, they will commit suicide.

when asked if you care about

the world's problems, look deeply

into the eyes of he that asks

you, he will not ask you again. when

asked if you've spent time in jail,

announce proudly that some of your

best friends've asked you that.

beware of bathroom walls that've not

been written on. when told t' look at

yourself...never look. when asked

t' give your real name...never give it.

PLANET WAVES (LINER NOTES)

Back to the Starting Point!

Back to the Starting

Point! The kickoff, Hebrew

letters on the wall, Victor Hugo's

house in Paris, NYC in early

autumn, leaves flying in the park, the

clock strikes Eight, Bong -  I dropped a

double brandy & tried to recall the events ...

beer halls & pin balls, polka bands, barbwire

& thrashing clowns, objects, headwinds, &

snowstorms, family outings with strangers  -

Furious gals with garters & smeared lips

on bar stools that stank from sweating

pussy  -  doing the Hula  -  perfect,

priests in overhauls, glassy eyed,

Insomnia! Space guys off duty with

big dicks & duck tails, all wired up &

voting for Eisenhower, waving flags &

jumping off of fire engines, getting

killed on motorcycles whatever  -

We sensed each other beneath

the mask, pitched a tent in the

street & joined the traveling circus,

love at first sight! History

became a lie! the sideshow took

over  -  what a sight ... the tresh -

hold of the Modern Bomb,

temples of the Pawnee, the

cowboy saint, the Arapshop,

snapshots of  -   Apache poets

searching thru the ruins for a

glimpse of Buddah -  I let out

for parts unknown, found Jacob's

ladder up against an adobe wall &

bought a serpent from a passing angel  -

Yeah the ole days are gone

forever and the new ones aint far behind, the

laughter is fading away, echoes of a star

of energy Vampires in the gone world going

Wild! Drinking the blood of innocent people,

Innocent lambs! The wretched of the Earth,

my brothers of the flood, cities of the flesh  -

Milwaukee, Ann Arbor, Chicago, Bismarck, South

Dakota, Duluth! Duluth -  where Baudelaire lived

& Goya cashed in his chips, where Joshua brought

the house down! From there it was straight up  - a little

jolt of Mexico and some good LUCK, a

little power over the Grave, some

more brandy & the teeth of

a lion & a compass

Your Wife With An 'S'

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