Bob was way ahead of the game even in those days, he could run rings are those interviewers much more than he did, God bless you Bob for the man you were and are still to this day , You have produced the greatest works which will be talked about, and played in 500 years time, he will be rightly placed along side the greatest artists of all time
This black Detroit 60's chick can't wait to see my handsome curly haired boy timmothee chalamet play my handsome curly haired man Bob Dylan in a complete unknown. His music and writing is iconic and l have and will always love Dylan and his songs.
Just because he does want every to know everything about his life good on him he doesn't court publicly either he is not in your face bragging about what he.s got and where he.s been
Bob was way ahead of the game even in those days, he could run rings are those interviewers much more than he did, God bless you Bob for the man you were and are still to this day , You have produced the greatest works which will be talked about, and played in 500 years time, he will be rightly placed along side the greatest artists of all time
Bob being so innocent and real in this Amazing interview absolutely Brilliant and showing a Wonderful Young Man ❤❤❤❤❤
Bob is so Sassy
100% accurate :D
This black Detroit 60's chick can't wait to see my handsome curly haired boy timmothee chalamet play my handsome curly haired man Bob Dylan in a complete unknown. His music and writing is iconic and l have and will always love Dylan and his songs.
(completely) One of a Kind
The Dylan Sutras
(in memorium: David McFedrin & Scarlett McKeachern)
I
last night i came across Bob Dylan, in the alley
playing poker with mah-jongg tiles
and a cellar of kosher salt, and he explained
how to cure meat, and all the sins of man
with just a song, and where to find the forgotten
Rites of Spring;
and as the light
beneath the East River emerged into morning
the children sang,
of Truth and the times before Man’s cruelty
had made the Earth fallow and
unproductive.
II
this morning in the River’s light
i saw and heard Bob Dylan screaming & stalking
out of the alley, throwing a fit and the stolen mah-jongg tiles
back at his childhood friends, sitting drunk
on stolen wine and the follies of youth.
he swore he was fed-up with humanity
and its heinous addiction to death and war,
and power; he snapped every pencil on Earth, broke
every lying instrument of musical denial,
and skulked-away, muttering about the Failure
of God and All Light.
III
i found Bob Dylan sitting at a card table
munching salted mah-jongg tiles, mushrooms and bitter
(Russian folk songs and) fruits; he wept, right there, for hope
lessness, and lectured on the curing of meats, and
the recurring itch of war,
and of the need for love, and then, of the pain of living.
i left him there in the rotting stench
of uneaten garbage and the Fall of Man;
and i went looking for the bus to daylight,
the Lost Tablets of (all-Powerful) Stones,
and the last day, when all guns were memories,
and when school teachers taught First Aid, and
common decency.
IV
i am Bob Dylan and my centuries’ old bones
can no longer hold the shape of man
erect or a stringed instrument of any kind;
“i cannot write”, i said, “one more song
to tell of a past full of Sunday morning light,
or warn of the poison pellets (once more) flooding Our
waters”.
“i will not even try, ever-again, to save
this planet from the cancer of Man,
will not give hope to one more generation
or new-born child; No, i will never again sing
of a dove in the sand, or a Man
of peace, or love.”
V
when i got to heaven, God
was Bob Dylan, with (just about) Everything blowin
around in the Celestial Wind (which is, in fact) what we call
Time; every mah-jongg tile ever carved, or struck is
on the wall behind Him, in their Absolute order, and Every
soul, of Man has been cured; and each and Every moment was filled
with music, echoing, “...you’ve gotta Serve Somebody...”
the demented smile on His (not)face belonged
in an interview, in an airport, in SanFran, in the sixties,
and i, was, paralyzed as Every single fact fit into perfect
place and the Son smiled as well, seeing deep in my eyes
the same startled (incredulous, suspicious, but no-longer-stuck-
in 3D dichotomies) light of revelation that every soul
before me had worn; able to see, finally, the Whole Picture.
and we sang of peace and glory, of love and complex Simplicity,
we sang the final song of Life.
© Copyright 2022 christo (christo13 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Iconic - "of or pertaining to a portrait". He's not being iconic, he's being adolescent. To this day.
Just because he does want every to know everything about his life good on him he doesn't court publicly either he is not in your face bragging about what he.s got and where he.s been