The Message Column

Rock n Roll

gets peace prize.

No one wants war.

Seriously, though, Dylan is an awesome poet.

I always wondered if he was a realative of Ethel Merman? They both had the same last name.

Manic genius often likes solitude. The world is full of manic genius. Mr. Dylan is just a working man, singing for his supper, in one sense. But we are fools to imagine that we could know him without us letting him in all of his faculties. He moves people with words and takes the times to perfect and perform them. There is a kind of manic personality, the lonely writer, the tradition of wonderers, the tradition of the bard. Pepole have to be real, if you want to say anything real. That is why bot process writeing, or spam insertion writing sucks to bad, because it is inauthentic and has a 'fake' aura.

A real man being real? He knows he ain't no prize. you want to drag him to a ceremony? He might already have a gig going on. If you approached him through his agent? I don't know how that works. Chumlee was able to get a scribed album from Mr. Dylan. It's putting someone out, in one sense, to ask for someone to scripe your item with their signature. Usually a person whose sought for that does provide a time that he/she/? allows the public to present a current copy of some item, that was probably just purchased, and they will scribe it for you in a robotic way.

But the pawn stars bit seemed scripted. If not, they had to have had some kind of agreement, between gentlemen, because it kind-of has to be that way for a performer to show up in a production. The performer is a public person who also has a private life. He/she/? has to maintain a distance between a private and apublic persona, but an authentic bard, or gonzo journalist, almost has to live on the surface. If pepole are nice, and that is a necessary quality for a personality to have long-term and enduring fame and well-felt banter about him. Pepole know his/her/? work. They seek him out when he's at the coffee house. He wonders in, through the back door now. No one shuve in his face something to sign, he's not doing that now. He's got a look about him, he's done this before. There are tens or scores of tens in this room here to hear him play, and they all think that they might know some little thing about him, what it is to be human, to shine with the gifts of God given Spirit, and to be aware of that shine in everything around, and then to see the world seeing you like that, handing you things that you surely don't need. Ya, I know. you love me too, you love me and I love you but I don't know you and I can't come because you're not the only one who wants to hand me free corn, since the day that I was born, all alone at a factory job hearing the music in the machines wonder along the river lawn deep within a dream. And when the whole world is dancing, then maybe no body is throwing bombs? Unless you are Fred Astaire, with fire crackers, on the forth of july, everyone is happy, the flocks of geese are flying high way above the town the mountaian and the far away sky.

So if you are a working musician, and you have a full list of shows that you need to do, and you've already got a list of friends who you want to go and visit, a world of people who treat you special because they know the special part of you that you share with your friends and family, you maybe don't want to jaunt off and make a fool at the stage place in some far off city where you don't know anyone and the things that are about, and around, are unfamiliar and you did all that already, eatting candy.

Dylan paints his masterpiece with his life, by being authentic, by not trying to live up to a prize. He gets the prize because of his poetic life, a life just like anyone elses in every way that matters and remarkible because he uses those given gifts, and respects the world who sees it as something. We see it as something, what he does. And he has to be doing it, in one sense, to be himself. So what can he do more than just keeping being as he always is? Eveyone has demands and ya, the world thinks I'm awesome. and so I have to understand that flattery is often self serving for the flatterer. Blah blah blah.

Some people tell me that they don't like Dylan. They don't mean the man, but his music. They've got nothing personal against him, but he's not their cup of tea. Fine, and no one cares to know whatever, we don't care. What they like, what I like? It's been hard at times because it's varied and sometimes experimental and you need to be in that zone, in one sense. Dylan and the Dead was a thing, and I wasn't partiucalarly impressed but it was cool for them to tour together. I'd say I was jaded. They were being awesome. and then I sound like a sycophant.

Blah blah blah. I go on and on. Dylan's awesome. Even if you don't like all his songs. He writes great lyrics that move people. We all, in some sense, seem to know a little bit about him. People obcess on him. He's a down to earth man. He doesn't relish unwarrented attention. He wants you to approach him as . . . he comes. IN ohter words we make this hero up in our heads and we base who we imagine he is on that and we expect him to be that but he can't be that, he has to be himself. So if he as a manic season, and puts out a theme album or two, that are a little bit hard to listen to, and aren't widely played, he's fine. He must be touring because he likes it.

Yup, all us bored people. We don't want war either. We love Dylan. We don't know all his songs. We love the annecdotes we here, he seems such an authentic lonely travellor. He's a bard, for sure, an unknowible who we all know. And if you display undue affection he might shy off, be reluctent. He might not respond even if there were a million dollar prize and a trip to the big European capital.

No one wants war.

1:45 AM EST

18 Oct 2016

The whole crowd
is getting 
jiggity-oh

ewe ah
ewe ah
ewe ah
ewe ah
  

Rock and Roll wins the Peace Prize
Praise the Lord for all Alive!

The humble poet plays his song astage,
a vain rockstar really.

vainity is the trait that makes him great
in his humility.

Contridictions don't make anysense at all
but it often seems to come out that way.

The thing about phrasing words,
is that the phrasing doesn't have to make sense,
and the statements, alided, might be contridictions,
but people figure it out.

Poetry
isn't a contract
no one says you have to
no one sends you to a prison
in real life by poem.

In this poetic moment
"you've been served!" slap!


At times
when it's raining
he feels poetically sad
and great gloom poems
drift down the river valley
on Jack's Birthday
I'd call to you
but I wouldn't want to bother you
in a solemn moment
or chase you
with your old art recordings,
the cover of a song
the way the sky looked
in 1963
not finding anything
in eyes (a concept not mine)



With the fading day
he's got his hum going on
no telling
what kind of night it's going to be.
This town 
at twilight
glows like a jack-o-lantern,
October
rain
poets walk the sidewalk
visiting the nostolgia
that we once held as dear.


When you rake leaves
if you don't put them in a barrol
or a bag
or a box
or wrap them up in a tarp
they'll blow away
all your work wasted
unless they are wet with rain,
stomped upon by rattling feet
school yard, 
play yard,
farmers field
old stone walls
waste places aside the orchard
where the foxes have holes
and the birds of the air
make temporary perches
huddled together by the storm.


My poetry is trapped
in some past dream of you,
a blanket,
some matches,
a roll of stamps.
He had them, she'd used some of them.
They were old.


If you trap your mind in a box
outside of process
and leave it there for atime
necessary meditation
the song might go on for a while.
You're not playing it in your mind anymore.
My poetyr is more like talking to myself,
or the crowd talking to itself.
A sudden distraction,
a big wind blowing in
thunder booming lightning
and no one remembers the words to the song
the spell is now broken
we can't expect the people to piece all the old potshards back together.

What I wanted from her
I got from the other one,
she was kinder,
more fragile,
but I never thought to be mean
and break her.
She wouldn't have been broken
elastic.

When you're mean to me
it's all just a reflection
of what you want for yourself,
what you think you really deserve,
no one really wants it,
don't treat anyone like that.


If the play had gone on
he wasn't going to be able to sit there for very much longer.
The band had some insturments out of tune.
He wanted to put his fingers in his ears.
If the sound had been louder
He'd have dashed off for the exits.

But listen to the sermon
that you don't agree with
and realize the grief,
follow along.
Soon the service will be over
you can dash off to your car
out of the 100 degree heat
and change out of these sticky clothes.
summer attire.


If the tire isn't full
it takes more gas to drive to Maine.
I don't drive to Maine anymore,
don't have any friends there anymore.
If I go for a driver
I'd like the car ready
I don't go for a drive
conserve my desires, 
rushing off to no where
doesn't lead me anywhere but home
so why go anywhere?

But we need to sometimes,
we all have our own pilgrimages,
keep it holy,
take a vacation
to the Vacation State.

Unmongering

 
 ewe ah
 it's a due dang diggy
 I know
 I know
 I know 
 I know
 
 

how about an excerpt?

Be your own Nememsis

Instead of trying to attack and destroy the people who you imagine have deep held fallacies that you loath, do that to yourself and attack the fallacy that you ahve the right or obligation to do such an attack on some other person. Be your own worst enemy in the sense that when you deserve to loose the debate, your own best interests will kick in and demand that you adhere to truth and reject fallacy and thus loose, in one sense, but win a much better future in every other sense. Be your own nemesis and demand that you adhere to the values that matter, and give truth and only truth as testimony with in the courts of great importance.

But even that inner skeptic needs his voice tamed. Sometimes overthinking things results in mission failure. Sometimes it really is time to launch and hesitation is mission failure. With some things, like nuclear weapons, any launch or use, or even testing or development of them is mission failure. It is societal failure of the gravest kind. The use of these devices is well known to be taboo. Even discussin their use or none use, like this here, can only be presented by the friendliest of expectations.

Replace Your Own Bad ideas

Instead of trying to replace the bad ideas of your readers for some fowl paid-for message, and being a shill, replace your own fallacies with truth and be of the future.

Sept 19, 2016

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If I could write 
show tunes
in the past
everybody'd be dancing
Even the band, with their
big drums
would be marching through


Hollywood songs
on a mobile stage
banging a gong
reciting a sage
Travelling show
where does it go?

everyone's singing along
come on home
she's tripping, 

The lights light up the whole scene
the train station,
the bus stop
the taxk stand
and the midnight
rock club.

If I could write show tunes
in the past
I'd have to invent
a time machine
I'd have to invent
a time machine
I'd have to invent
a time machine

Let Hollywood be
your time machine
Let Hollywood be
your time machine
Everybody'd be 
dancing

woo ewwe

Let Hollywood be
your time machine
Let Hollywood be
your time machine
Everybody'd be 
dancing

woo ewwe

Hollywood, Florida?

woo ewwe

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My tiny font thought
fills up the page
like anti-spam
saying nothing
but 
"here I am!"

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord!
  for    because    
 Easter  He's so awesome! 
  welcome to The Message Column!

      🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
      ♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

repeat:
delete delete
 
 

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🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

     
Vote Once
One Vote
here is a fresh link, a new path to some older content:
   photo pile!
   
 

 
 Let's write this year
 where we don't have a war
 ewe ahh ewe ahh ewe ahh
 
 Let's write our story
 where we don't have a war
 ewe ahh ewe ahh ewe ahh
 
 Let's write the story
 where nations stay friends
 ewe ahh ewe ahh ewe ahh

 Let's write our story
 where we don't have a war
 ewe ahh ewe ahh ewe ahh
 
  

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

Kafka wrote comedy. Orwell was a pessimist. Depends who you ask.

Truck-u-later

in this column Truck-u-later steps in deeper . . .

I'm weary of the election, so I'm not going to write about who to vote for. If you haven't figured it out by now, I don't want to addle you anymore than the season addles. The viciousness and slander of politics is a horror to behold. I canceled my cable to do away with the constant drone of fowl on-message parroting by the swacking-head press.

Let's not have a war.

Oct 17, 2016

Billion dollar car-ride, they are driving me too far!

Delete Kruft.

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for his    for his    for his
 unfailing  unfailing  unfailing
   love!      love!      love!


the poet won the prize for literature!

  well, nothing more here today.