Gently, gently ... no hurry ... .. and with the headphones several times.
Who is immune to this spell, well too bad, is a kind of brain anorgasmia.
Gently, gently ... no hurry ... .. and with the headphones several times.
Who is immune to this spell, well too bad, is a kind of brain anorgasmia.
Things went more something like this.
empty summer and I wish I could say remote.
Estate bizarre substantial climate change.
From 49 ° to 4 ° of the Persian Gulf of the eastern Dolomites. Summer
cold and rainy, with showers, cumulonimbus clouds and icy winds to groppi from the north. For a while even
bora Trieste clear.
Estate soli.Improvvisamente difficult to bear and (almost) unexpectedly alone. Summer of great melancholy.
decide to scream my pain to the Web rather than the moon looks at me with that expression and I do not Boeotian commiserates even a little.
The Fifth Canto of Hell is close to my brush, it's me. I feel like a Drag Queen but much less coarse. I wanted a form of Diabolik.
Between 23.00 and midnight black hole at the center of the Latvian, uses little energy left to reload the home banking with my credit card revolving.
Registration and immediate payment for three months at a well-known portal for lonely hearts. Here I am, there are. Adottatemi distance. Help.
spoil the twenties and fifties, still dancing in the thirty-olds. Limited the geographical area at minimal.
but I do not make morphological limits. Even an army of Amazons, Dame of St. Vincent, gleaners, and unmarried former is something waiting there. The
nik is a good keyhole to spy and get an idea. Field Of Flowers, Micie Fru Fru, hopes intact Belle and Monelle, Arie clear, sweet and creamy, tender and moody Anto71, Mary64, Gigia70, Eyes of Giada226 (nik inflated) and Scorpioncini Amorosi, I feel like crying, but not for their ridiculous names. It is I who stagger and collapse.
I read a bunch of ads, I watch as many photino smiling or sad or funny. Not decide, is the effect of mega shoe store, there's too many to make a reasoned choice. Better than the corner shop: there are 3 pairs and you choose well. There are some chips to cover glamorous (but we are here?), Discarded for summary and without appeal. They will not have me among the legions of stray cats that run below. There are also mussels ahiloro hopeless. I decide not to decide at the time. I need someone to talk. And since the topic shall be free of these balls and foo.
I write three or four are the mails that went on the other but that also work on their own, as the episodes of Sex and the City. The target, date, time, sleep. Unaware.
Each of the people with whom I came into contact deserves a loving caress.
For gentleness and patience with which I have heard. For me to have opened a window into the garden of their lives, their secrets, their loves.
their distress. Their disenchantment. Their will to live.
Some of these women I have met. Others do not.
Here I want to tell the most mundane and bizarre Wed of the meetings that I did half of the Internet and that made me think and smile. It made me feel quite a mona, finally.
So you, nik from berries and wilderness, a little over forty, kindly answered a few lines to one of my mail delusional. I think I wrote him because of his ad funny and ironic about that concluded with "... and those who want pucca biscuit, know that the cafeteria is closed." Ipse dixit.
Exchange by return e-mail to some, a night in chat.
But I can not stand the chat because it absorbs too much attention to press quickly on the keyboard, I feel like a hamster on the wheel, always there to pursue a matter on which a party is in advance and the other in perpetual anxiety that can not do it to keep up and running after three stops away. Unable to deepen. The violet-lilac
frame appears his phone number. However not required. Topics
futile and fun, the girl is very bright, has the easy joke and a sharp tongue, not at all grumpy, bashful at all, one might say mature. Of course her daughter also of the pains of the heart, ca va sans dir.
lives on the waterfront in the north east, city strafrequentata by summer vacationers. But scassafottere rains, the roads are flooded well, and I almost feel just the lapping of my thoughts are that foam of waves, sea and sky black sage green and eggplant. In my head. I'm hurt.
He invites me to her. For over an hour away by car.
A bit of negotiation and we plan for an afternoon.
to meet, chat, spend an evening. I thought it would do me no harm, indeed, was what I wanted, right?
I wear jeans, my beloved leather cowboy boots, a shirt and childbirth. With the innocence of a young cow that goes on the truck to go to the slaughterhouse convinced a picnic.
I stop at the bar by Lucy, little woman, and so energetic, brisk and good counselor, I feel like a cup of coffee before the trip. The
Lucy dear, I put a generous amount of foam in splendid coffee to relieve, since it is aware of my misfortunes sentimental and when I'm drinking I get a message Page.
Toc toc. Who is it? E 'Miss wild berries.
"I do not even need to say .. bring a change of underwear! (...)". I swear I do not understand. I do not understand so clearly that I feel compelled to call and seek guidance sull'intendimento.
"But go, Oscar! .. What have you learned is that with this rain if you go somewhere and have at least dunk to change." "Ah, well, yes, understood."
Something eludes me. But even if
back to take shirt and pants would cost me only five minutes, I do not. I see no reason to support appropriate and sufficient. She is a
panterona panterona with eyes, a few chiletto out of shape and amazing breasts. Exaggerated. Sixth full, then tell me. Polite and friendly, he lives alone. Without a cat.
Great chat, dissects each their own emotional ups and downs, we discover that we know people in common, it makes me see the work he is doing at home and then we go for pizza. All regular, all right. I calm down and, ultimately, I'm fine. I can not think of anything else.
devouring the pizza you ordered at a table protected by a canopy outdoors, wear life jackets because the weather is really ungrateful. The pizzeria is half empty, despite the season.
little I eat because my stomach is squeezed by a period. We drink a couple of limoncello.
The pizzeria is very close to his house, so it decides to invite me for coffee on that one bar of the disorder. Well. In the meantime have been 22.00.
When he pulled out of the bathroom cabinet of a bunch of toothbrushes, strictly new and packaged to make me choose, I came to some doubt.
But I had not even so much resistance to his invitation to stay the night there. It all seemed peaceful. No one had expressed clear interest for the other.
Then, after coffee and chats that are longer and have a couple of glasses had become very late. Time was really crap. The 0.5 x1000 alcohol I had passed without any doubt.
right, rest. Thanks.
loves jazz. Jazz ordered not free. Puts on a CD at low volume low. In
mini, could not sleep even on the bench recovering from a cruise boat in Lampedusa, Tunis. Inaugurate the brand new toothbrush, I'm in pants and shirt and m'infilo in Latvian, on my side. She looks after some of the bathroom on the bedroom door in her nightgown cotton. Dissolves ponytail. Surreal scene. But there is a scene of Casa Vianello. I think I would have to read Gazzetta dello Sport (ever read in my life) and her novel of the Knights and Dragons.
He lies down on the bed and her tits sway dangerously. He still wants to talk.
And time goes slowly. And it is getting late into the night.
Slowly move the ironic-erotic discourse. It 's funny at times. She tells me her friend's son who has a room and fucks the tourists. During the day the trailer. When you close the door of the room downstairs and get it on the billiard table. Other employees observed the scene from the closed circuit surveillance. The show seems to go on stage regularly. She laughs and tells me "Varda 'ste forties now, there are those sluts around." Gliss. Then he tells me about a gay friend who taught her and some friends the excitement of lively oral sex performed on the partner taking a piece of candy in his mouth Fisherman's Friend. An experience to try at all costs. I am incredulous and a bit worried. I caresses his chest in a motherly way and light. When he pulls out from the bedside table the package of Fisherman's Friend I understand that there will be no escape.
Berries wilderness is a very passionate girl. But also very lonely. The us would want a cat.
I'm no expert, but I think if you pull one in the house because you want to fuck, then you should not confuse sex with everything else. On this
boys are often later. The girls are reaching them quickly, skipping steps, for better or for worse. However
me, the Fisherman's Friend does not like. Now I know.
Things went more something like this.
empty summer and I wish I could say remote.
Estate bizarre substantial climate change.
From 49 ° to 4 ° of the Persian Gulf of the eastern Dolomites. Summer
cold and rainy, with showers, cumulonimbus clouds and icy winds to groppi from the north. For a while even
bora Trieste clear.
Estate soli.Improvvisamente difficult to bear and (almost) unexpectedly alone. Summer of great melancholy.
decide to scream my pain to the Web rather than the moon looks at me with that expression and I do not Boeotian commiserates even a little.
The Fifth Canto of Hell is close to my brush, it's me. I feel like a Drag Queen but much less coarse. I wanted a form of Diabolik.
Between 23.00 and midnight black hole at the center of the Latvian, uses little energy left to reload the home banking with my credit card revolving.
Registration and immediate payment for three months at a well-known portal for lonely hearts. Here I am, there are. Adottatemi distance. Help.
spoil the twenties and fifties, still dancing in the thirty-olds. Limited the geographical area at minimal.
but I do not make morphological limits. Even an army of Amazons, Dame of St. Vincent, gleaners, and unmarried former is something waiting there. The
nik is a good keyhole to spy and get an idea. Field Of Flowers, Micie Fru Fru, hopes intact Belle and Monelle, Arie clear, sweet and creamy, tender and moody Anto71, Mary64, Gigia70, Eyes of Giada226 (nik inflated) and Scorpioncini Amorosi, I feel like crying, but not for their ridiculous names. It is I who stagger and collapse.
I read a bunch of ads, I watch as many photino smiling or sad or funny. Not decide, is the effect of mega shoe store, there's too many to make a reasoned choice. Better than the corner shop: there are 3 pairs and you choose well. There are some chips to cover glamorous (but we are here?), Discarded for summary and without appeal. They will not have me among the legions of stray cats that run below. There are also mussels ahiloro hopeless. I decide not to decide at the time. I need someone to talk. And since the topic shall be free of these balls and foo.
I write three or four are the mails that went on the other but that also work on their own, as the episodes of Sex and the City. The target, date, time, sleep. Unaware.
Each of the people with whom I came into contact deserves a loving caress.
For gentleness and patience with which I have heard. For me to have opened a window into the garden of their lives, their secrets, their loves.
their distress. Their disenchantment. Their will to live.
Some of these women I have met. Others do not.
Here I want to tell the most mundane and bizarre Wed of the meetings that I did half of the Internet and that made me think and smile. It made me feel quite a mona, finally.
So you, nik from berries and wilderness, a little over forty, kindly answered a few lines to one of my mail delusional. I think I wrote him because of his ad funny and ironic about that concluded with "... and those who want pucca biscuit, know that the cafeteria is closed." Ipse dixit.
Exchange by return e-mail to some, a night in chat.
But I can not stand the chat because it absorbs too much attention to press quickly on the keyboard, I feel like a hamster on the wheel, always there to pursue a matter on which a party is in advance and the other in perpetual anxiety that can not do it to keep up and running after three stops away. Unable to deepen. The violet-lilac
frame appears his phone number. However not required. Topics
futile and fun, the girl is very bright, has the easy joke and a sharp tongue, not at all grumpy, bashful at all, one might say mature. Of course her daughter also of the pains of the heart, ca va sans dir.
lives on the waterfront in the north east, city strafrequentata by summer vacationers. But scassafottere rains, the roads are flooded well, and I almost feel just the lapping of my thoughts are that foam of waves, sea and sky black sage green and eggplant. In my head. I'm hurt.
He invites me to her. For over an hour away by car.
A bit of negotiation and we plan for an afternoon.
to meet, chat, spend an evening. I thought it would do me no harm, indeed, was what I wanted, right?
I wear jeans, my beloved leather cowboy boots, a shirt and childbirth. With the innocence of a young cow that goes on the truck to go to the slaughterhouse convinced a picnic.
I stop at the bar by Lucy, little woman, and so energetic, brisk and good counselor, I feel like a cup of coffee before the trip. The
Lucy dear, I put a generous amount of foam in splendid coffee to relieve, since it is aware of my misfortunes sentimental and when I'm drinking I get a message Page.
Toc toc. Who is it? E 'Miss wild berries.
"I do not even need to say .. bring a change of underwear! (...)". I swear I do not understand. I do not understand so clearly that I feel compelled to call and seek guidance sull'intendimento.
"But go, Oscar! .. What have you learned is that with this rain if you go somewhere and have at least dunk to change." "Ah, well, yes, understood."
Something eludes me. But even if
back to take shirt and pants would cost me only five minutes, I do not. I see no reason to support appropriate and sufficient. She is a
panterona panterona with eyes, a few chiletto out of shape and amazing breasts. Exaggerated. Sixth full, then tell me. Polite and friendly, he lives alone. Without a cat.
Great chat, dissects each their own emotional ups and downs, we discover that we know people in common, it makes me see the work he is doing at home and then we go for pizza. All regular, all right. I calm down and, ultimately, I'm fine. I can not think of anything else.
devouring the pizza you ordered at a table protected by a canopy outdoors, wear life jackets because the weather is really ungrateful. The pizzeria is half empty, despite the season.
little I eat because my stomach is squeezed by a period. We drink a couple of limoncello.
The pizzeria is very close to his house, so it decides to invite me for coffee on that one bar of the disorder. Well. In the meantime have been 22.00.
When he pulled out of the bathroom cabinet of a bunch of toothbrushes, strictly new and packaged to make me choose, I came to some doubt.
But I had not even so much resistance to his invitation to stay the night there. It all seemed peaceful. No one had expressed clear interest for the other.
Then, after coffee and chats that are longer and have a couple of glasses had become very late. Time was really crap. The 0.5 x1000 alcohol I had passed without any doubt.
right, rest. Thanks.
loves jazz. Jazz ordered not free. Puts on a CD at low volume low. In
mini, could not sleep even on the bench recovering from a cruise boat in Lampedusa, Tunis. Inaugurate the brand new toothbrush, I'm in pants and shirt and m'infilo in Latvian, on my side. She looks after some of the bathroom on the bedroom door in her nightgown cotton. Dissolves ponytail. Surreal scene. But there is a scene of Casa Vianello. I think I would have to read Gazzetta dello Sport (ever read in my life) and her novel of the Knights and Dragons.
He lies down on the bed and her tits sway dangerously. He still wants to talk.
And time goes slowly. And it is getting late into the night.
Slowly move the ironic-erotic discourse. It 's funny at times. She tells me her friend's son who has a room and fucks the tourists. During the day the trailer. When you close the door of the room downstairs and get it on the billiard table. Other employees observed the scene from the closed circuit surveillance. The show seems to go on stage regularly. She laughs and tells me "Varda 'ste forties now, there are those sluts around." Gliss. Then he tells me about a gay friend who taught her and some friends the excitement of lively oral sex performed on the partner taking a piece of candy in his mouth Fisherman's Friend. An experience to try at all costs. I am incredulous and a bit worried. I caresses his chest in a motherly way and light. When he pulls out from the bedside table the package of Fisherman's Friend I understand that there will be no escape.
Berries wilderness is a very passionate girl. But also very lonely. The us would want a cat.
I'm no expert, but I think if you pull one in the house because you want to fuck, then you should not confuse sex with everything else. On this
boys are often later. The girls are reaching them quickly, skipping steps, for better or for worse. However
me, the Fisherman's Friend does not like. Now I know.
But who am I doing this.
Why do I feel this need for a long time, which is not a desire, is really a need?
To write about this man. Knowing how easy it would slide down the slippery slope of exaltation.
Knowing that I run the risk of being superficial.
that the topic is thorny. Very.
That is, for me, like putting on a boat and get lost in a big sea, that you do not know the boundaries.
has always fascinated me.
Since I was a kid. Since
grandmother Marille (Marille German for apricot. I had the great privilege of having a grandmother Apricot), now very old and tired, I listened with my cassette recorder with the Philips, with a single mono speaker, and he called Modafil , for some mysterious assonance heard in the head. Modafil! as the famous magazine of home seamstresses.
He is a liar. Introverso.Un an anarchist, indeed certainly an egotist. A misogynist. Crazy. An inconsistent. A careless. A moody
unbearable. Egocentric. An unreliable. A fanatic. A depressed. A loner. A spirited. A possessed.
a creep.
He has eyes that see the milky sap flow in trees. Sprinkle the blood capillaries.
He lifted the heavy lid of stone worn smooth from above the black souls. He feels all the pains of life, not to hear at all.
to him and start all over.
I write this because I have always had a missionary vocation. To help others to open the door. That door that mysteriously
for me has opened up a universe of priceless poetry and literature and music together.
Both concentrated and dense that exceed the specific gravity of mercury.
So dense that attracted me like a black hole attracts matter, eats in total darkness.
Patrick Humphries writes:
"Without Bob Dylan, rock and roll as we know it would not exist.
His music is the source from which smiling all the rivers and tributaries and the currents of modern songs.
Each ebb and flow of popular music in the last four decades can be heard here.
These songs in their time have forever changed the musical horizon. And yet there cast their shadows.
All this from one man.
(...) He gave pop music a whole new vocabulary, brought poetry in rock, irrevocably transformed the music profile, inspiring future generations of musicians.
Its importance as an artist goes beyond his work. Above all it was a catalyst.
Without the influence of Dylan probably would not have gone beyond the Beatles "She Loves You" and the Rolling Stones would have been one of the many cover bands in south London.
As Bruce Springsteen says: "Bob freed our minds like Elvis (Presley) has freed our bodies."
It's not just Springsteen to declare himself a disciple of high-profile Dylan: REM, Sheril Crow, U2, Elvis Costello, David Gray, Sinead O'Connors, Beck, The Clash, Tracy Chapman, Mark Knopfler, among others, testify to his influence in their lives and in their music.
It 'true that Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Tom Waits would have never picked up a guitar without Dylan.
Dylan is the statue of liberty boat that greets each of singers and songwriters who is at sea. Listen
Dylan in concert, till today, still astounding for the intensity of his songs and it is a fact that today, after forty years no one else manages to produce songs of such complexity and depth.
No one can compete with his eloquence and his enthusiasm for words. This is a man intoxicated
by language, drunken encounter power of poetry with music.
Dylan has enriched our language, our music and our culture.
He did so with wit, intelligence, a simple sense of absolute poetic genius. "
Well, yes I know. It 'so much. It seems too much.
But if you feel this vibration that resonates and makes you fall into either or yourself out there, you know what I mean.
This vibration of this item that contains the America, Africa, Northern Europe and all skin colors of the world.
This voice makes me shiver when the "s" to pronounce "z" and cut like a scalpel souls, bodies, thoughts, loves, pains.
A preliminary of this kind, vague, do you have Eric Clapton when he sings ".. and I say yes (yeszz..) you were wonderful tonite".
Dylan was the only songwriter who was nominated for the Nobel prize for literature for the lyrics of a song.
"Visions of Johanna." This is the song.
But that does not have the pretension to explain it. You can dissecting, slicing, looking from a distance with a telescope. O
closely with a microscope. Never reveal it at the bottom.
The license, to users of the great eternal and universal poetry you enjoy the emotions it arouses.
With no further right, no chance of being able to explain, deploy, own.
You can not project the spherical surface of the earth on a map. No, you can not.
Those papers that we see and use, conical projections, Mercator and other types of cards, are the product of artifice.
are adaptations. Compromises.
In fact if you use them for air navigation over long distances you have to keep in mind a parallel and virtual reality: the great circle and rhumb lines. Want angles real? Do you want the real distance? Both no. It is not possible.
The same goes for poetry. Contemplala from a distance, keeping his chin resting on his clasped hands.
not to deploy. Not for the price of doing another thing from what it was.
I read a lot about Dylan.
I also own the Bible. The Dylan's Bible mean. (A gift of love) and 'a huge volume of millecinquecentopagine trechilidipeso. Lyrics 1962-2001.
Incomplete, of course. The songs are almost all.
With all the translations of famous literary experts. There was one that suits me.
I'm okay with any.
I'm not with explanations in many scholarly footnotes, the most imaginative.
must accept the fact that this extraordinary genius is not commensurable. Like any genius.
What is true is that it draws from as low as a corsair looting, plundering as predator, like a murderous gang raid.
In the history, geography, literature, the souls, bodies, in the Gospels, in the miseries of the wretched. In
arrogance and opulence of the hypocrites. In the effort of living.
I was a teenager and listened to "I Want You" on the jukebox in the air of smoky bar on a Saturday night. The juke box with the heavy red rotellona to select the songs, the glass tilted and labels yellowing of the songs written by hand. The couple was
"Mr. Tamburine Man" in the celestial version of the Byrds. What kind of atmosphere, people!
I was being kidnapped by the sounds even without being able to understand a single word of English:
"The guilty undertaker sighs The lonesome organ grinder cries
the silver saxophones say I should refuse you .."
"The guilty undertaker sighs on, the organ grinder crying solitary and the silver saxophones say, I should not take you back with me ... "Dylan had twenty years the voice of a man through and through. In high school he attended in Minnesota, played piano in a school band of adolescents: a teacher said he heard a scream come out of his mouth and savage and inhuman to be "horrified".
this man so loved and was loved back equally. But the two women had lost both the fundamental. and Suzie Sara. They have inspired both, I think, at least a hundred songs. In fact, the pundits speak of a "cycle of Suzie" and a "cycle of Sara." Then dozens of stories that did not, however, have restored the peace he sought.
Suzie Rotolo, Italian-American girl with whom he divided the year in Greenwich Village, but poor in a room that contained the happiness of a great love, Suzie she left for Italy to study. Never came back from Bob. He met an Italian and married him. He still lives in Italy. Botta
lethal.
Sara gave him four children and at one point a kick in the ass, probably deserved.
The peace movements have made a flag, have always tried to get hold of him. That, indeed, has never been close to these movements, and indeed it dissociates.
I distance myself from everything and everyone, man. The businessmen's
prepare the steps of the concerts and he systematically change on stage lights already on, driving me crazy musicians. It breaks the songs and make them unrecognizable to the point that you do not know what you're listening to.
Clear the tracks, ties and every impression, every day.
But I imagine the cheek of soggy bass that Gambetta and his party and vibrates at a frequency of a dragonfly buzz, when it attacks "Thunder on the mountains."
And I hear something that is beyond my imagination and my ability to understand, when his voice intones "Trying to get to heaven."
And this is enough for me. I just guess.
But who am I doing this.
Why do I feel this need for a long time, which is not a desire, is really a need?
To write about this man. Knowing how easy it would slide down the slippery slope of exaltation.
Knowing that I run the risk of being superficial.
that the topic is thorny. Very.
That is, for me, like putting on a boat and get lost in a big sea, that you do not know the boundaries.
has always fascinated me.
Since I was a kid. Since
grandmother Marille (Marille German for apricot. I had the great privilege of having a grandmother Apricot), now very old and tired, I listened with my cassette recorder with the Philips, with a single mono speaker, and he called Modafil , for some mysterious assonance heard in the head. Modafil! as the famous magazine of home seamstresses.
He is a liar. Introverso.Un an anarchist, indeed certainly an egotist. A misogynist. Crazy. An inconsistent. A careless. A moody
unbearable. Egocentric. An unreliable. A fanatic. A depressed. A loner. A spirited. A possessed.
a creep.
He has eyes that see the milky sap flow in trees. Sprinkle the blood capillaries.
He lifted the heavy lid of stone worn smooth from above the black souls. He feels all the pains of life, not to hear at all.
to him and start all over.
I write this because I have always had a missionary vocation. To help others to open the door. That door that mysteriously
for me has opened up a universe of priceless poetry and literature and music together.
Both concentrated and dense that exceed the specific gravity of mercury.
So dense that attracted me like a black hole attracts matter, eats in total darkness.
Patrick Humphries writes:
"Without Bob Dylan, rock and roll as we know it would not exist.
His music is the source from which smiling all the rivers and tributaries and the currents of modern songs.
Each ebb and flow of popular music in the last four decades can be heard here.
These songs in their time have forever changed the musical horizon. And yet there cast their shadows.
All this from one man.
(...) He gave pop music a whole new vocabulary, brought poetry in rock, irrevocably transformed the music profile, inspiring future generations of musicians.
Its importance as an artist goes beyond his work. Above all it was a catalyst.
Without the influence of Dylan probably would not have gone beyond the Beatles "She Loves You" and the Rolling Stones would have been one of the many cover bands in south London.
As Bruce Springsteen says: "Bob freed our minds like Elvis (Presley) has freed our bodies."
It's not just Springsteen to declare himself a disciple of high-profile Dylan: REM, Sheril Crow, U2, Elvis Costello, David Gray, Sinead O'Connors, Beck, The Clash, Tracy Chapman, Mark Knopfler, among others, testify to his influence in their lives and in their music.
It 'true that Van Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Tom Waits would have never picked up a guitar without Dylan.
Dylan is the statue of liberty boat that greets each of singers and songwriters who is at sea. Listen
Dylan in concert, till today, still astounding for the intensity of his songs and it is a fact that today, after forty years no one else manages to produce songs of such complexity and depth.
No one can compete with his eloquence and his enthusiasm for words. This is a man intoxicated
by language, drunken encounter power of poetry with music.
Dylan has enriched our language, our music and our culture.
He did so with wit, intelligence, a simple sense of absolute poetic genius. "
Well, yes I know. It 'so much. It seems too much.
But if you feel this vibration that resonates and makes you fall into either or yourself out there, you know what I mean.
This vibration of this item that contains the America, Africa, Northern Europe and all skin colors of the world.
This voice makes me shiver when the "s" to pronounce "z" and cut like a scalpel souls, bodies, thoughts, loves, pains.
A preliminary of this kind, vague, do you have Eric Clapton when he sings ".. and I say yes (yeszz..) you were wonderful tonite".
Dylan was the only songwriter who was nominated for the Nobel prize for literature for the lyrics of a song.
"Visions of Johanna." This is the song.
But that does not have the pretension to explain it. You can dissecting, slicing, looking from a distance with a telescope. O
closely with a microscope. Never reveal it at the bottom.
The license, to users of the great eternal and universal poetry you enjoy the emotions it arouses.
With no further right, no chance of being able to explain, deploy, own.
You can not project the spherical surface of the earth on a map. No, you can not.
Those papers that we see and use, conical projections, Mercator and other types of cards, are the product of artifice.
are adaptations. Compromises.
In fact if you use them for air navigation over long distances you have to keep in mind a parallel and virtual reality: the great circle and rhumb lines. Want angles real? Do you want the real distance? Both no. It is not possible.
The same goes for poetry. Contemplala from a distance, keeping his chin resting on his clasped hands.
not to deploy. Not for the price of doing another thing from what it was.
I read a lot about Dylan.
I also own the Bible. The Dylan's Bible mean. (A gift of love) and 'a huge volume of millecinquecentopagine trechilidipeso. Lyrics 1962-2001.
Incomplete, of course. The songs are almost all.
With all the translations of famous literary experts. There was one that suits me.
I'm okay with any.
I'm not with explanations in many scholarly footnotes, the most imaginative.
must accept the fact that this extraordinary genius is not commensurable. Like any genius.
What is true is that it draws from as low as a corsair looting, plundering as predator, like a murderous gang raid.
In the history, geography, literature, the souls, bodies, in the Gospels, in the miseries of the wretched. In
arrogance and opulence of the hypocrites. In the effort of living.
I was a teenager and listened to "I Want You" on the jukebox in the air of smoky bar on a Saturday night. The juke box with the heavy red rotellona to select the songs, the glass tilted and labels yellowing of the songs written by hand. The couple was
"Mr. Tamburine Man" in the celestial version of the Byrds. What kind of atmosphere, people!
I was being kidnapped by the sounds even without being able to understand a single word of English:
"The guilty undertaker sighs The lonesome organ grinder cries
the silver saxophones say I should refuse you .."
"The guilty undertaker sighs on, the organ grinder crying solitary and the silver saxophones say, I should not take you back with me ... "Dylan had twenty years the voice of a man through and through. In high school he attended in Minnesota, played piano in a school band of adolescents: a teacher said he heard a scream come out of his mouth and savage and inhuman to be "horrified".
this man so loved and was loved back equally. But the two women had lost both the fundamental. and Suzie Sara. They have inspired both, I think, at least a hundred songs. In fact, the pundits speak of a "cycle of Suzie" and a "cycle of Sara." Then dozens of stories that did not, however, have restored the peace he sought.
Suzie Rotolo, Italian-American girl with whom he divided the year in Greenwich Village, but poor in a room that contained the happiness of a great love, Suzie she left for Italy to study. Never came back from Bob. He met an Italian and married him. He still lives in Italy. Botta
lethal.
Sara gave him four children and at one point a kick in the ass, probably deserved.
The peace movements have made a flag, have always tried to get hold of him. That, indeed, has never been close to these movements, and indeed it dissociates.
I distance myself from everything and everyone, man. The businessmen's
prepare the steps of the concerts and he systematically change on stage lights already on, driving me crazy musicians. It breaks the songs and make them unrecognizable to the point that you do not know what you're listening to.
Clear the tracks, ties and every impression, every day.
But I imagine the cheek of soggy bass that Gambetta and his party and vibrates at a frequency of a dragonfly buzz, when it attacks "Thunder on the mountains."
And I hear something that is beyond my imagination and my ability to understand, when his voice intones "Trying to get to heaven."
And this is enough for me. I just guess.
