October 13th, 2016

Bob Dylan - Johanna's Visions - Melbourne 1966

Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we’re all doin’ our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin’ you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind

In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman’s bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the “D” train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it’s him or them that’s really insane
Louise, she’s all right, she’s just near
She’s delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna’s not here
The ghost of ’lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He’s sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I’m in the hall
How can I explain?
Oh, it’s so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, “Jeeze
I can’t find my knees”
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

The peddler now speaks to the countess who’s pretending to care for him
Sayin’, “Name me someone that’s not a parasite and I’ll go out and say a prayer for him”
But like Louise always says
“Ya can’t look at much, can ya man?”
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev’rything’s been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain
  • Current Mood
    contemplative contemplative

a Golden Age

It is 1:25 PM Thursday afternoon in the cold wave. Outside it is cloudy and cold. I am expecting it to snow this month.

I have been basically napping all day. I can't seem to wake up today. All I want to do is sit in our easy chair and doze. I have those days where all I want to do is doze.

I got up this morning around 5:44 AM. I got up because I was having weird dreams and I was cold. It is getting that time of the year to put on our bed flannel sheets.

So I got up made a pot of coffee and ate once again toasted frozen waffles for breakfast. After a morning meal I messed with our main computer and then sat in the living room recliner and dozed till Carol got home from work.

After Carol went to bed I wrote in my paper diary, messed with our main computer and then slept some more. I have read a little of the book, "The Village: A History Of Greenwich Village" by John Strausbaugh. I got out to look at today, "Chronicles: Volume One" memoir by Bob Dylan. I am glad Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize for Literature this year.

Last night is a blur so I won't try to pierce the fog and recreate what took place last night.

I suppose I will close to feel cold and wonder what went wrong. It does look like next week the builders are going to start tearing out the kitchen and rebuild Carol a new one. If it makes my wife happy then how can I complain. To me everything in this world sucks due to sin. I only want perfection and nothing else.
  • Current Music
    K.F.R. ' Ø '