1. Sunday, December 5, 2004

    bob dylan gave his first televised interview 

    in twenty years tonight on sixty minutes and he said that theres no way he could write some of those old classics today.

    he said he can do other things, but he said he couldnt pull off tunes like it’s alright ma or blowin in the wind today even though he wrote the latter in ten minutes thirty years ago.

    he said that those songs came from the great well-spring of creativity.

    a magical place.

    he said magic like four times.

    bob dylan one of the most articulate and prolific writers of all time boils it all down to magic

    cuz what else would you call it.

    bob dylan

    bringing it all back home

    cbs records, 1965

    “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 fool’s 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 to 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

    Made 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

    Goodness hides behind its gates

    But even the president of the United States

    Sometimes must have

    To stand naked.

    An’ 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

    Insure you not to quit

    To keep it in your mind and not fergit

    That it is not he or she or them or it

    That you belong to.

    Although 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 destinies

    Speak jealously of them that are free

    Cultivate their flowers to be

    Nothing more than something

    They invest in.

    While some on principles baptized

    To strict party platform ties

    Social clubs in drag disguise

    Outsiders they can freely criticize

    Tell nothing except who to idolize

    And then 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 gods, I scuff

    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

    ebay + shards of a dream + tiffany