“Wallflower”
Bob Dylan
The Bootleg Series Vols. 1-3 – 1971
We beat our heads into the ground. Why was it always so funny? When his face crushed the pavement, beating it into a bloody pile? "She's flowing like the Santiam!" Cups spill blood (wine) that's fortified with iron. His homework reads like Bill Gate's receipts, his temerity only matched by his uselessness. His ability to do nothing busily. But Oh! what fun it is! Everyone should be enslaved by drunkeness for a fortnight, then set about the ears for industry. Working at capacity? Fuck that: working at gluttony. Give anyone the seven deadly sins (minus pride) and you'd be in Utopia. The utopia that Heironymous Bosch paints. Thats the funny part – irony. What cruelty that accompanies ecstasy! Blood, wine, blood, whiskey, then blood again.
Those simple delights. Like a cup of Ramen in the morning. Or a pretty girl. Or non-existence.
“Just like you I'm wondering what I'm doing here.”
No comments:
Post a Comment