The name of this blog is a quotation from Bob Dylan. It is from a letter he wrote in Broadside Magazine, January 1964. Here is a shortened version:
for sis and gordon an all broads of good sizes
let me begin by not beginning
let me start not by startin but by continuin
it sometimes gets so hard for me
I am now famous
I am now famous by the rules of the public famiousity
it snuck up on me
an pulverized me ....
I never knew what was happenin
it is hard for me t walk down the same streets
I did before the same way because now
I truly dont know
who is waitin for my autograph...
I dont know if I like givin my autobiograph
oh yes sometimes I do ....
but other times the back of my mind tells me
it is not honest.... for I am just fulfillin
a myth t somebody who'd actually treasure my
handwritin more'n his own handwritin....
this gets very complicated for me
an proves t me that I am livin in a contradiction....
t quote mr froyd
I get quite paranoyd....
an I know this isn't right
it is not useful healthy attitude for one t have
but I truly believe that everybody has their fears
everybody yes everybody....
I do not think it good anymore t overlook them
I think they ought t be admitted....
an I think that all feelings should be admitted....
people ask why do I write the way I do
how foolish
hos monsterish
a question like that hits me....
it makes me think that I'm doin nothin
it makes me think that I'm not being heard
yes above all the mumble jumble an rave praises
an all the records I've sold.... thru all the packed
houses I play.... thru all the communication systems
an rants an bellows an yellin an clappin comes
a statement like "Why do you do what you do"
what is this?
some kind of constipated idiot world?
some kind of horseshoe game we're all playin
respondin only when a ringer clangs
no no no
not my world
everybody plays in my world
aint nobody first second third or fourth
everybody shoots at the same time
an ringers dont count
an everybody wins
an nobody loses
cause everybody lives an breathes
an takes up space
an cant be overlooked
an I am a people too
I cannot pretend I'm not
an I feel guilty
god how can I help not feel guilty
I walk down on the bowery and give money away
an still I feel guilty for I know I do not
have enuff money t give away....
an people say "think a yourself, dylan, you're
gonna need it someday" an I say yeah yeah
an I think maybe about it for a split second
but then the floods of vomit guilt swoop my
drunken head an I spread forth more gut torn
bloody money from the depths of my forsaken
pockets.... an I whisper "ah it's so useless"
man so many people need so many things
an what am I anyway? some kind of messiah walkin
around....?
hell no I'm not
an I ask why dont other people with things give
some of it away
an I know the answer without lookin
security security security....
everybody wants security
they want t be secure
they want t be protected
an I say protected?
protected against what?
protected against starvin I guess
an power too
an protected against the forces that they know will
get them if they lose their money
ah why does it have t be like that?
man why are these walls built?
who is this god that is so feared?
certainly not in my life this isnt
yes I have my fears but mine are the fears of
the mind. the fears of the head
a lonely person with money is still a lonely person
I had never had much money before
an so it is easy for me I guess t spend it
an overlook it
but I'm sure that many other people could overlook
some of theirs too
I'm not speakin now of the century ridin millionares
but rather of "get theirs and get out" people
I dont understand them
I dont understand them at all
there's many things I admit I dont understand
I dont understand the blacklist
I dont understand how people against it go along
with it
I'm talkin about the full thing
not just a few of us refusin t be on the show
I'm talkin about the people that stand up
against it violently an then in some way have something
t do with it....
not just the singers mind you
but the managers an agents an buyers an sellers....
they are the dishonest ones
for the are never seen
the play both sides against each other
an expect t be respected by everybody
the heroes of this battle are not me an Joan
an the Kingston Trio nor Peter Paul an Mary
for none of us need it go on that show
none of us really *need* that kind of dumbness
but there's some that could use it
for they could use the money
I mean people like Tom Paxton, Barbara Dane,
an Johnny Herald.... the are the heroes if
such a word has t be used here
they are the ones that lose materialistically
ah yes but in their own minds they dont
an that is much more important
it means much more
we need more kind a people like that
people that cant go against their conscience
no matter what they might gain
an I've come to think that that might be the most
important thing in the whole wide world....
not going against your conscience
nor your own natural senses
for I think that that is all the truth there
is.... an no more
thre all the gossip, lies, religions, cults
muths, gods, history books, social books,
all books politics decrees, rules, laws,
boudarie lines, bibles, legends, an bathroom
writings, there is no guidance at all except
from ones natural senses
from being born
an it can only be exchanged
it cant be preached
nor sold
nor even understood....
my mind sometimes runs like a roll of toilet paper
an I hate like hell t see it unravel an unwind
at my empty walls
I'm movin out a here soon
yes the landlord has beaten me it hurts me t tell you.
this place I'm typin in is so filthy
my clothes cover the floor an once on a while
I pick up somethin an use it for a blanket....
the damn heat goes off at ten
that's mornin wise
gushes of warm smelly heat always wake me up
when I sleep here
the plaster falls constantly
an the floor is tiltin an rottin
but somehow there is a beauty to it
columbia records gave me a record player
oh the goodness of some keeps on amazin me
an sometimes I play it.
gettin back t the landlord tho
he is really too much
he owns I guess three buildings
I pay him way too high
an I'm gettin screwed an I know it
an he knows it
but I just dont have the time t go down t the
rent control board. I been told they'd get after
him but I'm so lazy. when sue was here he was
gonna jack up the prize cause he said I never told
him I had a wife. you really got t see this place
t believe it. I ought a've jacked him up a long
time ago an used him for heat. last year he put
in a new window (there was a god damn hole in the
other one) man it was like I asked 'm for his blood relation
or something (which he'd probably give away)
anyway the record player's one now
an I'm listenin t Pete sing Guantanamera for
the billionth time. I don't have many folk music
records (I dont have many records really) but
I do have that one of Pete's.
god it's like I go in a trance
he is so human I could cry
he tells me so much
he makes me feel so good
it's as tho all of the things that're sold t make
one feel better, aint none of it worth while.
all the cars, an clothes, an trinkets an food,
an jewels an diamonds an lollypops an gifts of
glad tidings, just dont do nothin for the soul.
I believe I'd rather listen to Pete sing Guantanamera than t
own everything there is t own,...
(that's my own private selfishness shinin thru there)
yes for me he is truly a saint
an I love him
perhaps more than I could show
(as always is the case ha)
I think of love in weird terms.
sometimes I even feel guilty about it
because I know I love sue
but I should love everybody like I love sue
an in all honesty I dont
I just love her that way
an I say what way?
an a voice says "that way"
an I get quite up tite
an I know I have a long way t go
when the day comes when I can love everything
that breathes the way I love sue then
I will truly be a Jesus Christ ha ha
(but I dont wanna be a Jesus Christ ha ha)
an so I am again contradictin meself
away away be gone all you demons
an just let me be me
human me
wild me
gentle me
all kinds of me
saw the last issue of broadside
an especially flipped out over
"talkin Merry Christmas"
I have never met Paul Wolfe but I'd like to
he has an uncanny sense of touch
as for Phil, I just cant keep up with him
an he's gettin better an better an better
(spoke with someone who was with him in Hazzard
named Hamish Sinclair.... an englishman
of high virtues and common tongue)
I want t get over an see Phil's baby
I'm told the girl came out yellin about
the bomb. good girl
my novel is going noplace
absolutely noplace
like it dont ever tell a story
it's about a million scenes long
an takes place on a billion scraps
of paper.... certainly I can't make nothin out of
it.
(oh I forgot.
hallelujah t you for puttin Brecht in your
same last issue. he should be as widely known as
Woody an should be as widely read as Mickey Spalline
as an widely listened to as Eisenhower.)
anyway I'm writin a play out of this here so called
novel (navel would be better I guess)
an I'm up to my belly button in it.
quite involved yes
I've discovered the power of playwritin means
as opposed t song writing means
altho both are equal, I'm wrapped in playwritin
for the minute my songs tell only about me an how
I fell but in the play all the characters tell how
the feel. I realize that this might be more confusin
for some but in the total reality of things it might
be much better for some too. I think at best you could
say that the characters well tell in an hour
what would take me, alone, two weeks t sing about
I shall get up t see you one of these days
just cause I haven't in a while please dont think
I'm not with you. I am with you more'n ever.
yours perhaps is the only paper that I am on the
side of every single song you print an I am with with with you
my nite is closing again now
an I shall drift off in dreams
an climb velvet carpets up t the stars
with newsweek magazines burnin an disappointin
people smoulderin an discustin tongues blazin
an jealous mongrel dogs walkin on hot coals
before my smilin unharmful eyes
(of such nitemares)
an I shall wake in the mornin an try t start
lovin again
I got a letter from Pete an he closed by sayin
"Take it easy but take it" I thought about that
for an hour or more when I reached my conclusion
of what it really meant I either cried or laughed
(I cant remember which) I will repeat the same an
add "give it easy but give it" an I'll think about
that for an hour an at the either cry or laugh
(I'll write you another letter an tell you which
one it is)
all right then
faretheewell
shaloom an vamoose
I'm off again
off t the hazzards an lost angels an minneapolicemen
an boss town an burnin hams an everything else
combines and combustioned for me....
tryin t remain same at all times
love t agnes
she is one of the true talents of the universe
I've always thought that an would like t see her
again some time
love t everybody in your house
see yuh
softly an sleepy
but ready an waitin
Bob Dylan
(c) Bob Dylan, 1964
