Stories of the Street
Mg
i have been listening to this song a while and it doesn't make much sense
to me.
Can anyone help me? I'd love to hear your interpretations...
Mg
Patricia Darling
That doesn't, however, mean I'm confident anyone else would agree with my interpretation - which is partly
from history events, partly from "what I think L.C. is really like" and certainly in part my feelings
being an associative filter through the literal content.
Also:
I am not sure I'm up to having my first posting to this group (second posting to *any* newsgroup) be a
song interpretation critiqued by "G.M." greg at magpie.com.
ARE NEWBIES WELCOME HERE?????
P. Susanne Darling
P.S. What is this "Walkabout" supposed to stand for, please??
P.P.S. What in the name of Lenny is the reference to "get a country" supposed to mean?
~greg wrote:
> "Mg" <matjaz_...@hotmail.com> wrote in message news:01bfcbf5.16973ea0$5302...@helena.arnes.si...
> matjaz?
>
> reminds me of a poem i wrote in highschool.
>
> interpret this, and you'll be a banana tree.
>
> (hint: Assassin = hashish,
> 'thou are that' = Tat Tvam Asi)
>
> Assassin - gmw
> ------------------
> So I devised a mathematics of your eyes
> And called this truth the only lie between us.
> With multiple spasms of resignation,
> After each after shock of recognition,
> I heard The Assassin preaching,
> On a podium of poison,
> A platform a depravity and deprivation,
> Preach castration,
> With waving to Attman, who is Brahman,
> And thou, who art that,
> On the summit of The Only Way,
> Through the hierarchy of ecstasy,
> Above the city of our essences.
>
> But all his words can barely crawl
> Around the small of night,
> Dangling lights scream tease them,
> Oozy-eyed whores sneeze at them,
> Economics bleeds them
> To give a god,
> And webs the cracked skull
> When one does charge
> Out like a leech from Loch-ness.
>
> To forgive, To forget, To let go,
> These were the words
> He pretended to teach.
> ----------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Ok.
> If it's not in Stranger Music,
> then i don't really want to hear about it.
>
> Nadel says:
> " 'Stories of the Street' documents <Walkabouts> Cohen's despair <surprise> and dislocation
> during his early days in New York <good place for an 'event'>. As he says at
> the beginning of <Walkabouts> the song, 'the stores of the streets are mine,' elaborating his
> experiences in narrative: 'I lean from my <Walkabouts> window sill / In this old hotel I chose /
> One had on my suicide / One hand on the rose.'
> 'Sister of Mercy' ......"
>
> And if that doesn't make it <Walkabouts> clear enough for you,
> then there is something *really really* wrong with you,
> something wrong <Walkabouts> in your brain, and you should look into it,
> and write about it.
>
> Other than that, the song is <Walkabouts> obviously full of impossibly
> obscure <Walkabouts> Canadian <Walkabouts> references - red & green stuff -
> - get a country!
>
> ~gregoric
>
> ps
> Walkabouts.
Bill Van Dyk
Newbies definitely welcome. Hope you'll be patient with the occasional
ruckus that breaks out here and hang around. The stories of the street make
their way onto the internet.
Bill.
Patricia Darling <pdar...@mb.sympatico.ca> wrote in message
news:39382F24...@mb.sympatico.ca...
m.p
----------
In article <8h7m67$27b$0...@216.155.32.239>, "~greg"
<g...@magpage.com> wrote:
>
> "Mg" <matjaz_...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
> news:01bfcbf5.16973ea0$5302...@helena.arnes.si...
>> Hi everyone
>> i have been listening to this song a while and it doesn't
> make much sense
>> to me.
>> Can anyone help me? I'd love to hear your interpretations...
>>
>> Mg
>
>
>
>
>
> matjaz?
>
> reminds me of a poem i wrote in highschool.
>
> interpret this, and you'll be a banana tree.
as long as you offer the fruit on the tree, for the
first 3 years, to its rightful owner, you 'll be
al;right, i suppose...
>
> (hint: Assassin = hashish,
> 'thou are that' = Tat Tvam Asi)
greg, i have often wondered if when Dylan sings
something like:
'there is a woman on my left ( on my laps?)
and she has assassin eyes'
he refers to the last lingering vestiges of a social
phenomena
or to some look in eyes, done in by the hashish?
maybe you would know? if i can think of anyone who might
know, it could be Jack and you.
words gleam like blades of knives in your hand
high school> really?????
>
> Ok.
> If it's not in Stranger Music,
> then i don't really want to hear about it.
>
> Nadel says:
> " 'Stories of the Street' documents <Walkabouts> Cohen's
> despair <surprise> and dislocation
> during his early days in New York <good place for an 'event'>.
Cuba ain't bad either another. Same goes for Nashville.
Different flavors. And I bet Cohen would not mind Tel
Aviv either. How about Amman or Rabat?
> As he says at
> the beginning of <Walkabouts> the song, 'the stores of the
> streets are mine,' elaborating his
> experiences in narrative: 'I lean from my <Walkabouts> window
> sill / In this old hotel I chose /
> One had on my suicide / One hand on the rose.'
> 'Sister of Mercy' ......"
Oy, i know the feeling. I used to ran into it a lot in
my youth. in my young youth and old youth. after too. no
more. finito. that's way behind me. now i am
;))))))))))))))
>
> And if that doesn't make it <Walkabouts> clear enough for you,
> then there is something *really really* wrong with you,
> something wrong <Walkabouts> in your brain, and you should
look
> into it,
> and write about it.
that might get boring, no ???
>
> Other than that, the song is <Walkabouts> obviously full of
> impossibly
> obscure <Walkabouts> Canadian <Walkabouts> references - red &
> green stuff -
> - get a country!
>
>
> ~gregoric
>
> ps
> Walkabouts.
>
>
>
>
>
>
what about the ps ?
m.p
----------
In article <39382F24...@mb.sympatico.ca>, Patricia
Darling <pdar...@mb.sympatico.ca> wrote:
> This has been my favorite L.C. song for a long time.
> That doesn't, however, mean I'm confident anyone else would
> agree with my interpretation - which is partly
> from history events, partly from "what I think L.C. is really
> like" and certainly in part my feelings
> being an associative filter through the literal content.
> Also:
> I am not sure I'm up to having my first posting to this group
> (second posting to *any* newsgroup) be a
> song interpretation critiqued by "G.M." greg at magpie.com.
> ARE NEWBIES WELCOME HERE?????
usually, ... yeah... at least usually,,,unless you step
on one of our tigers' tails and it wakes up. Then it's
better to dodge for a little while, climb a tree, and
later slide down again
> P. Susanne Darling
>
> P.S. What is this "Walkabout" supposed to stand for, please??
> P.P.S. What in the name of Lenny is the reference to "get a
> country" supposed to mean?
>
>
> ~greg wrote:
>
>> "Mg" <matjaz_...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
> news:01bfcbf5.16973ea0$5302...@helena.arnes.si...
>> > Hi everyone
>> > i have been listening to this song a while and it doesn't
> make much sense
>> > to me.
>> > Can anyone help me? I'd love to hear your
> interpretations...
>> >
>> > Mg
>>
>> matjaz?
>>
>> reminds me of a poem i wrote in highschool.
>>
>> interpret this, and you'll be a banana tree.
>>
>> (hint: Assassin = hashish,
>> 'thou are that' = Tat Tvam Asi)
>>
>> Ok.
>> If it's not in Stranger Music,
>> then i don't really want to hear about it.
>>
>> Nadel says:
>> " 'Stories of the Street' documents <Walkabouts> Cohen's
> despair <surprise> and dislocation
>> during his early days in New York <good place for an
> 'event'>. As he says at
>> the beginning of <Walkabouts> the song, 'the stores of the
> streets are mine,' elaborating his
>> experiences in narrative: 'I lean from my <Walkabouts> window
> sill / In this old hotel I chose /
>> One had on my suicide / One hand on the rose.'
>> 'Sister of Mercy' ......"
>>
>> And if that doesn't make it <Walkabouts> clear enough for
> you,
>> then there is something *really really* wrong with you,
>> something wrong <Walkabouts> in your brain, and you should
> look into it,
>> and write about it.
>>
~greg
> greg, i have often wondered if when Dylan sings
> something like:
> 'there is a woman on my left ( on my laps?)
> and she has assassin eyes'
>
> he refers to the last lingering vestiges of a social
> phenomena
>
> or to some look in eyes, done in by the hashish?
i don't know this line,
- if it's from the late 60's, i'd go with your first suggestion,
- that there were any number of women 'on the left' who
had 'assassin eyes' - quite literally.
if it's 'lap' --- i don't remember if charlotte was on marat's lap in the tub,
or if drugs were involved.
- whatever - poor ol' marat.
-------
Dylan started thinking about the eyes of the assassins,
on the night of june 12th, 1963, when Medgar Evers was killed.
He wrote 'Only a Pawn in Their Game' that night.
"A bullet from the back of a bush took Medgar Evers' blood.
A finger fired the trigger to his name.
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man's brain
But he can't be blamed
He's only a pawn in their game."
----
Reminds me that LC wrote Sisters Of Mercy in one night.
- sometime before 1967 (when the record came out)
- "in a snowstorm in Edmonton" when he
"was on tour, singing in college towns just by" himself.
So, him, too, around '63? (a guess and a question.)
~~~~~~~~
> high school> really?????
no. a year later. i don't know.
i messed up senior year and had to take a test
to get out of doing those things twice,
- and my graduating class consisted of two
people, and we didn't have a prom,
and so i'm so ashamed, and i got no closure,
no fire-walk, no sweet romantic barfing eve/morn prom,
and i'm so ashamed. and thank you again.
someone has said that the essence of evil is found in reminding,
-but i can't remember who
- maybe someone will ...?
~~~~~
i think the flaky reason i dropped that 'poem' here,
(via it's homemade parachute), other than the other
reason, is that it was written about the same year
LC wrote his 'Stores of The Street' -
- to which song, for reasons i can't express clearly enough,
or strongly enough, i react in the same way i react to chlorine gas.
and just when i realized this, there happened to be a copy of my
assassin 'poem' in my hands, and it was like G-d speaking
- and, like, like he made me do it.
anyway, i think both 'poems' are almost equally bad, - for
different reasons.
~
and you brought this on yourself, dear,
---here is some more from my old 'poem':
-------------------------------
Assassin stayed the inert hour
And swollen is the sense of innerness
Smelling sense has crush on flower
And blushes like a bitch.
Hot heavy ribbon
Fly by my tongue.
Genie gyrate
In my lungs.
Then there'll be no needing
Her gamete
With your hot breath on me
Life's ends meet.
-----------------------------
etc.
It was supposed to be about the imagined consolations
of hashish, as replacement for a friendly girl i best knew
up on west rock (hierarchy of ecstasy). The idea that
the assassin could help kill the attachment (wave bye)
by opening other worlds, strange, mystical, oriental, cruel,
but interesting, other worlds.
The girl part of the 'poem', the begining of it, went like this:
(and i know i recycled a line from this a few months ago
-so dont' remind me - )
----------------------
She said it couldn't lie.
Something between us couldn't lie.
I knew only she knew it was a thing alive,
And held us each at bay.
I think she knew no small anxiety.
'Til at length there leapt a spark,
Her flesh to mine it's strength,
And at that length no lie held us tugging blind,
At lengths encased in ceaseless fog
'Til somewheres south of Brobdingnag
It stopped to rain,
It held us each in line - though not in fact,
In fact I had seen her with her eyes
And she me with mine.
In her chambers - dripping stockings
Tethered to the bulb - la donna
Strums the webs - of grease and silk.
Stand here - in the intrigue
Or aside - in glass eye whoredom.
But her mind has grown fat
And cannot move it's weight
Too stripped and tragic
In her hours - dripping clocks.
So i devised a mathematics of her eyes
And called this truth the only lie between us....
....."
------------------
etc.
phew.
~greg
"Mg" <matjaz_...@hotmail.com> wrote in message news:01bfcbf5.16973ea0$5302...@helena.arnes.si...
> Hi everyone
> i have been listening to this song a while and it doesn't make much sense
> to me.
> Can anyone help me? I'd love to hear your interpretations...
>
> Mg
Stories of the street
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The stories of the street are mine, the Spanish voices laugh.
The Cadillacs go creeping now through the night and the poison gas,
and I lean from my window sill in this old hotel I chose,
yes one hand on my suicide, one hand on the rose.
------------------------------------------------------------------
The rose is the vaginal labia - that's it, nothing else, end of story - whatever Renaldo & Clara
tried to make of it. The vaginal labia are also called "the wheel". But "the rose"
isn't "the wheel". The vaginal labia is/are. This will be come clear in time. Pay attention now.
( Aside: ---The only intriguing thing about that, the metaphor, that i know of,
has to do with the word 'subrosa': meaning "confidentially; secretly; privately."
---- literally, "under the rose" - "from the ancient use of the rose
at meetings as a symbol of the sworn confidence of the participants."
-- Which doesn't explain why. The secret to the why is in the "under".
The rose in question is painted, or in relief, on the ceiling, and the
participants are "under" that rose - and that means they are under
the same vagina - ie, they share, symbolically, a single mother, ie,
- they are brothers and sisters. And so 'subrosa' means 'family business'.
---end Aside)
But Cohen meant something much more complicated than that.
Cigarettes have always been called "nails in you coffin" - suicide sticks.
So, evidently, what it was that Cohen was trying to do, was to spin that wheel,
ie, to manipulate that vagina, and also to smoke at the same time.
Possibly chew gum too. Very complicated. But i'll bet he could pull it off,
if anybody could. He was a very cool guy. - Still is.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I know you've heard it's over now and war must surely come,
the cities they are broke in half and the middle men are gone.
But let me ask you one more time, O children of the dusk,
All these hunters who are shrieking now oh do they speak for us?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few other songs share a few images with this one,
and they may help clarify one another. I'm thinking
of 'Hunter's Lullaby', 'Priests', and 'The butcher'.
Hunter's Lullaby
----------------------
Your father's gone a-hunting
He's deep in the forest so wild
And he cannot take his wife with him
He cannot take his child
---------------------------------
Marianne's companion when LC first got into her, was
Axel Jensen, novelist and student of Jung and the I Ching.
('hexagram', 'small between the stars').
Quoting Nadel, from Various Positions, pg 82:
"Cohen's earliest memory of her was seeing her walk arm in arm with Axel
and their child and thinking how fortunate they were to have each other.
But they weren't as close as Cohen thought. Jensen soon began an
affair with an American painter named Patricia Amlin. They left Hydra
in Axel's boat but were soon involved in a car crash in Athens that
seriously injured Patricia. She recovered, and they remained together.
Cohen took it upon himself to look after Marianne and her child,
also named Axel, at first moving into her home:
'I used to sit on the stairs while she slept, ....I watched her a year,
by moonlight or kerosene....and nothing that I could not say or
form, was lost. What I surrendered there the house has kept,
because even torn wordless from me, my own first exclusive
version of my destiny, like a minor poem, is too useless and pure
to die."
So: -- Big Axel went a hunting (caught Patricia)
- and then *shrieked* in a car wreck in Athens. But he wasn't speaking at
the time for 'the children of the dusk' -- ie, Marianne & little Axel,
who where were sleeping ( and being watched over by LC )
in the moonlight.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
And where do all these highways go, now that we are free?
Why are the armies marching still that were coming home to me?
O lady with your legs so fine O stranger at your wheel,
You are locked into your suffering and your pleasures are the seal.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
--- my current guess: 'the seal' refers to envelope stamps.
('who had you in the mail')
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The age of lust is giving birth, and both the parents ask
the nurse to tell them fairy tales on both sides of the glass.
And now the infant with his cord is hauled in like a kite,
and one eye filled with blueprints, one eye filled with night.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------
Your father's gone a-hunting
Through the silver and the glass
Where only greed can enter
But spirit, spirit cannot pass
--------------------------------------
Through the silvered-glass.
Through the Looking Glass.
'Blueprints', i think, means the normal family way of raising of kids.
But 'Night' -- Cohen's 'destiny' -- is on the other side of the mirror.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
O come with me my little one, we will find that farm
and grow us grass and apples there and keep all the animals warm.
And if by chance I wake at night and I ask you who I am,
O take me to the slaughterhouse, I will wait there with the lamb.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The butcher
----------------
I came upon a butcher,
he was slaughtering a lamb,
I accused him there
with his tortured lamb.
He said, ``Listen to me, child,
I am what I am
and you, you are my only son.''
Churches and slaughterhouses certainly have common origins.
(personal recollection: Santo Stefano Rotondo, in Rome, was
simply a slaughterhouse, converted into a church. It has the
most amazing murals of martyrs being martyred.)
And who among you doesn't do:
'keep all the animals warm'
~ 'Silence of the Lambs'?
Unfortunately, "where do all these highways go, now that we are free?" (--of each other)
And what's to happen to little Axel's dream of grass?
Priests
---------
And who will write love songs for you
when I am lord at last
and your body is some little highway shrine
that all my priests have passed,
that all my priests have passed?
My priests they will put flowers there,
they will stand before the glass,
but they'll wear away your little window, love,
they will trample on the grass,
they will trample on the grass
--------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
With one hand on the hexagram and one hand on the girl
I balance on a wishing well that all men call the world.
We are so small between the stars, so large against the sky,
and lost among the subway crowds I try to catch your eye.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I don't know much about I Ching = wishing, etc.
and i'm tired.
and good night.
~greg
~greg
'two short planks'.
this seems like a likely place to say so.
whatever it means.
"Patricia Darling" <pdar...@mb.sympatico.ca> wrote in message news:39382F24...@mb.sympatico.ca...
> This has been my favorite L.C. song for a long time.
> That doesn't, however, mean I'm confident anyone else would agree with my interpretation - which is partly
> from history events, partly from "what I think L.C. is really like" and certainly in part my feelings
> being an associative filter through the literal content.
> Also:
> I am not sure I'm up to having my first posting to this group (second posting to *any* newsgroup) be a
what else could i say? i'm stupid?
alright, i'm stupid.
so sue me.
> song interpretation critiqued by "G.M." greg at magpie.com.
> ARE NEWBIES WELCOME HERE?????
nubile nubians welcome.
nubile 78 year old men, - welcome.
nubile anything - more than welcome -eagerly anticipated.
-- instantaneously humped.
everyone else -go away.
>
> P. Susanne Darling
>
> P.S. What is this "Walkabout" supposed to stand for, please??
- gots me.
?
> P.P.S. What in the name of Lenny is the reference to "get a country" supposed to mean?
it means Walkabouts.
~greg
ps:
"If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ , nor no man ever loved"
-- the Man.
moneylenderslovelylittledaughter
suicide sounds like "suicide".
("fools,it ain't suicide you're looking for,it's the
*opposite*!")
chronic boredom.
"if by chance i wake at night,i'll ask you who i am"-don't you
just hate it when that happens.
what's the opposite of suicide?
imperfect Ying-Yang.
("he's angry if you're dying,he's angry if you're dead -and
you're either one or the other".)
filled with blueprints/filled with night
subway crowds/your eye
shrieking/speaking
balance,balance,balance.balance on a wishing well.
suicide/rose?
chronic boredom,not depression (sensation not feeling-don't you
just hate it when that happens).
suicide sounds "suicide"-ish.it just ain't on his laundry list.
Greg: "here i am among the subway crowds,I, the King Of France
(not really lost you know),but here i am,here i am,here i am
among the subway crowds".
no deal on the meaning.
andra
* Sent from RemarQ http://www.remarq.com The Internet's Discussion Network *
The fastest and easiest way to search and participate in Usenet - Free!
~greg
Pat,
Are you informed of your rights?
I'd like to inform you of your rights.
Sit here
In the confiding chair
And we'll blast it in your ear
You've nothing to fear
Informed of your rights,
And i in my right
Will do all that i can
To make it quite plain
That nothing need come too near you in life
Excepting your rights,
-From which there is no escaping.
What do you know about living?
Life is a dream - it can't come true.
What do you care about loving?
Love, you suppose, will have to do.
What's this you hear about sleeping?
When embers of a slunken sun lay strand,
And webs of people to the stars disperse
When night's liqueur is poured across the land
And healthy quiet minds indulge their thirst
I sit in contemplation of the lot
That neither here nor there nor Godly goes
But goes, God wot,
Futile gestures of the void composed
And when thus flattering myself the sorriest of men,
With no one lower to kick on
I come upon a vision of the snow man's
And feel again the joy of smashing all nice things like we did way back when.
And this be all the drug-rights i need keep
To wipe my ragged mind in scag-like sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
anyway, in case that wasn't clear,
i meant to say that if you're a real person (or if not, it doesn't matter)
then you're welcome.
~greg
ps
can't critique anything anyway. i don't. i won't. trust me.
i only add infinitesimals,
and it don't amount to a hill of nill.
"Patricia Darling" <pdar...@mb.sympatico.ca> wrote in message news:39382F24...@mb.sympatico.ca...
> This has been my favorite L.C. song for a long time.
> That doesn't, however, mean I'm confident anyone else would agree with my interpretation - which is partly
> from history events, partly from "what I think L.C. is really like" and certainly in part my feelings
> being an associative filter through the literal content.
> Also:
> I am not sure I'm up to having my first posting to this group (second posting to *any* newsgroup) be a
> song interpretation critiqued by "G.M." greg at magpie.com.
> ARE NEWBIES WELCOME HERE?????
>
> P. Susanne Darling
>
> P.S. What is this "Walkabout" supposed to stand for, please??
> P.P.S. What in the name of Lenny is the reference to "get a country" supposed to mean?
>
>
> ~greg wrote:
>
> > "Mg" <matjaz_...@hotmail.com> wrote in message news:01bfcbf5.16973ea0$5302...@helena.arnes.si...
> > > Hi everyone
> > > i have been listening to this song a while and it doesn't make much sense
> > > to me.
> > > Can anyone help me? I'd love to hear your interpretations...
> > >
> > > Mg
> >
~greg
dear patricia,
(i was going to say "darling patricia", but i think that's inadvisable)
i've started to respond to this complaint of yours half a dozen times in a very
straight forward way, but each time i reread it i cracked up laughing.
And i shouldn't have.
I mean, of course you're a Lenny fan, to the point of idolatry, - there are such people.
and of course you know all the words and symbols and attitudes of the ngs -
-- but that's easily acquired without any ng-experience, from a book, or from chat,
or very possibly just from lurking.
I do have a history of this kind of moronic response that you complain about.
I will stop it now. But I only ever did it when i thought a post wasn't being honest,
The one we're under was started by a "matjaz_gregoric" who signs "mg",
and i sign "greg" and my address starts with "gm". And i've posted a couple
of longish interpretations recently, and his(?) question was so open-ended --- well, i just
thought somebody was trying to get me to make a fool of myself again by putting
out another long sincere interpretation. It seems i was wrong about that.
But i did put up an insincere response when i was thinking that way. It won't happen again.
I have no ability at all in figuring which posts aren't sincere. Sometimes they all seem
like a put-on. Sometimes they all seem astonishingly honest, each in it's own way.
But since there is nothing whatever to be lost in doing so, and since it will save
me time and grief, i will now just assume that everybody is being straight and
honest and sincere, and will reply in kind, - if i have anything to say.
This is a good and tolerant group. The best advice i can give you is to
ignore any posts that irritate you. Don't get sucked in. There won't be many
of those. And some of those that seem that way, only seem that way.
I was quite take aback by your complaint, when i first started thinking it just
might be genuine. I couldn't see why you couldn't just ignore my posts.
But i can see now that you're afraid i'll 'attack' you, and there's no reason
to put up with that. But i don't believe i ever attack anyone (except snow
- but that's a special pleasure of this ng that you'll learn about soon enough.)
And i never disagree with interpretations, my attitude about them is that
they're all entirely additive, -- nothing is incompatible with anything else.
If you say anything at all you have absolutely nothing to fear from me.
( Remember, "Mg" didn't say anything. He(?) just asked everyone else to say something.)
I hope you accept this apology.
sincerely,
~greg
~greg
"~greg" <g...@magpage.com> wrote in message news:8hfbqj$s4b$0...@216.155.32.153...
>
> Pat,
>
> Are you informed of your rights?
etc........This is shit!
forgive me!
I quit smoking 5 years ago.
Then a few weeks ago i started again.
Now i'm quitting again.
and this is what happens.
it ought to be on the packs:
"these will kill you - and worse: when you
try to quit, you will write some horrible
horrible crap."
~greg
~greg
Michael S. Connaghan
here we still get ours in baggies.
Uncle Mike
The Ozark Herbalist
~greg <g...@magpage.com> wrote in message news:8hfu7e$7ld$0...@216.155.33.32...
Patricia Darling
What a sweetheart you sound like! I think I reacted so snappily because I'd forgotten to take my Prozac that
morning.
Thank you very much for taking the time to explain to a very-newbie how you were reasoning. I've been
alternating between thrill and embarrassment, and obsession with "Stories of the Street" interpretation, the
past few days. Maybe there's a newsgroup archive I should try and find ("Renaldo" and "Clara"'s views on the
Rose?) before potentially boring you with my thoughts.
It is so great to find a L.C.-admirers discussion group, accessible even in small-town Manitoba (Canada).
Love, Pat
BigAl
>
> "~greg" <g...@magpage.com> wrote in message
news:8hfbqj$s4b$0...@216.155.32.153...
> >
> > Pat,
> >
> > Are you informed of your rights?
>
> etc........This is shit!
>
> forgive me!
>
> I quit smoking 5 years ago.
> Then a few weeks ago i started again.
>
> Now i'm quitting again.
>
> and this is what happens.
>
> it ought to be on the packs:
>
> "these will kill you - and worse: when you
> try to quit, you will write some horrible
> horrible crap."
Cheers Greg.
That explains all the garbage I've been writing these last 26 years. And
probably explains why I wrote so well at school.
BigAl
m.p
----------
In article <8hcgqj$l7m$0...@216.155.32.221>, "~greg"
<g...@magpage.com> wrote:
>
>> greg, i have often wondered if when Dylan sings
>> something like:
>> 'there is a woman on my left ( on my laps?)
>> and she has assassin eyes'
>
> i don't know this line
if you have not heard ' things have changed', i
recommend it. As far as I know it is the most recent
Dylan song, released on the soundtrack of Wonder Boys
(year 2000). Hurry and get it for with or without
baggies, it's great to dance to. You'll hear that the
woman with white skin and assassin's (hashishin's?) eyes
is drinking champagne but Dylan does not tell us if she
sips from the brut or the semi brut kind; that's for us
to guess, also for us to guess whether it is be better
for him to have the lady sitting on his laps, on his
left, or out of there entirely. Better to let Dylan
himself slide in all directions of meanings, he does
that so incredibly well. How the guy can mumble and
crowd 2 or 3 words (that's as much as my ear is trained
to hear for right now), into a space ordinarily reserved
for a single one, never ceases to interest me.
one of my my favorite lines in that song --and i
have plenty of them
................. is :
'i am out of range' ; because of the way his voice
sounds and comes through close, almost in, when he says
these few words. Often Dylan rides himself strong on a
devil-driving rhythm and cuts through the mush, with
ease. His ability to convey great nuances of hidden
feelings via the phrasing and the subtleties of his
changing intonations is simply amazing.
>
> Reminds me that LC wrote Sisters Of Mercy in one night.
> - sometime before 1967 (when the record came out)
> - "in a snowstorm in Edmonton" when he
> "was on tour, singing in college towns just by" himself.
He and Shlomo. He and Shlomo and Dylan. Shlomo Carlebach
is one of my greatly beloved (20th century) rebbes, a
holy shlepper he was, a very , very, very holy
shlepper. He also sang in many college cafeterias,
probably to wake the kids out of their slumber. He
kept kosher and understood that he needed to toke with
his chassidim from time to time, he was that kind of
guy. When he would say "listen carefully, my sweetest
friends, listen, for this is gevalt soooooo deep, the
deepest of the deep"; when he would say such things,
his voice and kavvanah had the power to bind your soul
to his, and since his soul was bound to God's Mechayah,
you felt it was a fair deal to strike, a good exchange.
Shlomo was one of the great architects of the Jewish
renewal. When he first came to America to escape the
hand of yet another one of those devils incarnated,
ppf, ppf, ppf, spit, spit, spit , I believe he was still
a teen-ager, except that somehow the word does not fit
so well here. He was young. I may be wrong but I
believe the young hassid first arrived in Brooklyn,
maybe he even headed straight to the Lubav quarters,
i'm not sure. The first time I met Shlomo Rabbenu it
was in the early eighties. Because he was an heir of
illustrious Hassidic lineage, he knew, he genetically
knew you might say, he knew in his bones and cells and
also thru' the soul-spirit that dwells inside them, he
knew that music could greatly transform the self and
that it was to bring healing to many badly atrophied
beings, to the ones who had been stricken by a great
tragedy and needed to be recovered from an immense loss.
A wounded healer himself, he pursued simcha (joy) in the
deepest of the deep and while he resolutely walked in
the shadows of the valleys of death and suffering, he
feared no evil. Or if he did, for who among us would
not, he certainly did not let fear nor evil stop his
spirit from marching on with great koach (strength) and
vigor. He could do so for he never forgot where he came
from, where he was going and who was walking with him.
He did compose thousands of niggunims, many are sung,
everywhere, to-day, to-night, in streets, fields, around
camp fires, on beaches, in synagogue services, and last
but not least, in our homes. Shlomo also played the
guitar and after he changed address (passed away), i
have been wondering: where is his guitar now? I heard
that one of his daughters was performing. I hope
Neshamah still does. I hope the girl, a young woman
now, and her sister, are both doing well. Their father
would often make crowds dance, he was totally dedicated
to the full resurrection of his people and he knew that
Israel is a dancer and a dance. Part of my healing, I
owe to him. He would often encourage people to give him
harmonies and would say, 'chevrah, give me some sweet
harmonies' . I don't know if mine were sweet,
sometimes they may have been but sometimes they were
only fueled by the cry of the great pain that was moving
through me at the time. But sweet or not so sweet,
moving they were, moving they did; and so did I.
Shlomo was one among those who were instrumental in
helping me find my way out of the kingdom of night and
fog and recover the voice that had been stolen from me,
stolen during a moment in time when too many assassins
had been let loose on earth. Reb Shlomo's presence in
our midst allowed me to reopen the pathways, enough for
the ancient longing to come through and be released in
the care of the angels. i can honestly say that
whenever I would have the priviledge to be with Shlomo
in the midst of one of his many circles, ( he did travel
all over the globe ), I did give him, i did give him all
the harmonies and even disharmonies i could gather...
and i'm sure glad the Rabbi welcomed them and took them.
What he now chooses to use all our chevra's harmonies
for, is fine with me, just fine. I do trust the holy
beggar.
.............<silence>..............
hmmm.. Shlomo, Dylan, Cohen, Himmelman... It may be
Will and Fate that make me land these words about Shlomo
in the court of a Cohen. Could have been in the court
of a Dylan too for i was told Dylan escorted Shlomo to
Berkeley in the sixties.. hmmm.. so Cohen was singing
in college towns, and that was in the sixties also??
Yeah, that would make sense : for when the wheel started
to deal strong again __and everybody knows that the
sixties gave a strong spin to time and space and altered
them and reality__ yes when the wheel started to deal
strong again, the direction of the journey became
radically and forever changed and those who *did know*
knew that there would be no rigid linear turning back
anymore, for the world was ready to now titter on its
conscious edge; there would be no going back to old
business as always, only some timely delays and
occasional sideline excursions while the prophecised and
expanded return would begin to take its truest place; in
and out of time, in and out of mind.
>> high school> really?????
>
> no. a year later. i don't know.
probably after college , or maybe when you came back
and Suziie was not there.
> i messed up senior year and had to take a test
> to get out of doing those things twice,
> - and my graduating class consisted of two
> people, and we didn't have a prom,
> and so i'm so ashamed, and i got no closure,
> no fire-walk, no sweet romantic barfing eve/morn prom,
> and i'm so ashamed. and thank you again.
oh
> someone has said that the essence of evil is found in
> reminding,
> -but i can't remember who
> - maybe someone will ...?
forget it, it's too complicated. the devil is losing
ground anyway but only blind people can see it.
> ~
> and you brought this on yourself, dear,
i don't mind the bringing on, not at all, not in this LC
arena, wide open to poetry and to any genie who gyrates
in one's lungs. Can you also make the genie go down your
spine... then return it on the up side of things? If
you can, i'll take my hat off.
> So i devised a mathematics of her eyes
> And called this truth the only lie between us....
> ....."
greg, one could drown in these two lines ;))) ... or
swim for a long time.
i do find and take pleasure in the discoveries of your
mind, and if the river was not flowing so fast right
now, i would choose to save your 'Stories of the Street'
posting. It's well worth saving. m
~greg
~greg
" To stand in the flashes between darness and light
Is to love you with the love of midnight "
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"m.p" <me...@ilhawaii.net> wrote in message news:FaV_4.261$N5....@nuhou01.aloha.net...
Geoff Gompers
I'd like to fall in love with the first woman I meet
Put her in a wheelbarrow and push her down the street!
Love and LC
Geoff no rey
Patricia Darling
earlier members of this newsgroup...
(Greg had written earlier, " The rose is the vaginal labia - that's it, nothing else, end of story -whatever Renaldo
& Clara tried to make of it. The vaginal labia are also called "the wheel". But "the rose" isn't "the wheel". The
song)
Now how, in cowboytown-Canada, will I find that film....
Pat
(still not sure about posting here)
~greg
"Patricia Darling" <pdar...@mb.sympatico.ca> wrote in message news:393D53DC...@mb.sympatico.ca...
> Middle of the night I remembered with great embarrassment that "Renaldo & Clara" was the Dylan film and not some
> earlier members of this newsgroup...
> Now how, in cowboytown-Canada, will I find that film....
Relax.
Dylan doesn't want you know about that.
He's doing much better stuff now. - Things Have Changed!
> Pat
> (still not sure about posting here)
That's the spirit! - it's gotten me this far.
(btw - i will be your house dog for the duration.
i'll be humping your leg in a minute
(if you don't cover up) - make ya feel right welcome. ..)
( sorry. --it's the quitting-smoking talking.
- it's as good this time as it was the first time -
- circulation's back, you understand....)
~greg
Ok.
Ps:
.
The following big Quote is all you'll ever need to know about roses:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
from Barbara G. Walker's 'The Woman's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
<begin Quote:
Rose
The rosary was an instrument of worship of the Rose, which ancient Rome knew as the Flower of Venus, and the badge of her
sacred prostitutes. Things spoken "under the rose" (sub rosa) were part of Venus's sexual mysteries, not to be revealed to the
uninitiated. The red rose represented fill blown maternal sexuality; the white rose or lily was a sign of the Virgin Goddess.
Christians transferred both these symbolic flowers to the virgin Mary and called her the Holy Rose.
Rose windows in Gothic cathedrals faced west, the direction of the matriarchal paradise, and were primarily dedicated to Mary
as the female symbol opposing the male cross in the eastern apse. At Chartres, the window called Rose of France showed "in its
center the Virgin in her majesty. . . . Round her in a circle, are twelve medallions; four containing doves; four six-winged angels
or Thrones; four angels of a lower order, but all symbolizing the gifts and endowments of the Queen of Heaven." Beneath, the Marian
number of five windows centered on Mary's mother, "the greatest central figure, the tallest and most commanding in the whole church"
Five was the Marian number because it was the numer of petals in the rose, and also in the apple blossom -- another virginity
symbol -- giving rise to the five lobes of the mature apple, the corresponding symbol of motherhood, fruition, regeneration, and
eternal life. Five was considered "proper to Marian devotion" because Rose-Mary was the reincarnation of Apple-Eve. Christian
mystical art showed apples and roses together on the Tree of Life in Mary's "enclosed garden" of virginity.
The fivefold rose and apple were also related to numerous pre-Christian images of the Goddess, the witches' pentacle, the
five-pointed Star of Ishtar, and the Egyptian symbol of the uterine underworld and cyclic rebirth. Mysteries of the Rose belonged to
Aphrodite, according to the poet Nossis: "Anyone the Cyprian does not love, knows not what flowers her roses are." Aphrodite was
represented by a Rose-Mary plant, named for her as rosemarina, the Dew of the Sea.
In the great age of cathedral-building, when Mary was worshipped as a Goddess in her "Palaces of the Queen of Heaven" or
Notre-Dames, she was often addressed as the Rose, Rose-bush, Rose-garland, Rose-garden, Wreath of Roses, Mystic Rose, or Queen of
the Most Holy Rose-garden. The church, the garden, and Mary's body were all mystically one; for she was Lady Ecclesia, the Church,
as well as "the pure womb of regeneration." Like a pagan temple, the Gothic cathedral represented the body of the Goddess who was
also the universe, containing the essence of male godhood within herself. This was largely forgotten after the passing of the Gothic
period. In later centuries, "Gothic" became an epithet of contempt, synonymous with "barbarous". The symbolism of the Palaces of the
Queen of Heaven was no longer understood. By the 18th century, its secrets were as obscure as the crypto-erotic art of the temples
of India.
In fact it was in India that the Great Mother, whose body was the temple, was first addressed as Holy Rose. The "Flower of the
Goddess" was the scarlet China rose. This was sometimes identified with the mystic Kula flower source of a virgin's menstual blood
representing the life of her future children and her bond of union with the past maternal spirit of her clan.
The eastern World Tree was often envisioned as a family rose-tree, a female Tree of Life and Immortality. In central Asia the
tree was called Woman, the Wellspring, Milk, Animals, Fruits. "The Cosmic Tree always presents itself as the very reservoir of life
and the master of destinies." Mongols knew the tree as Zambu, whose roots plunge to the base of Mount Sumer: it is the Mother-tree
whose fruits feed the Gods. Zambu was undoubtedly the same as the Hindu paradise, Jambu Island, home of the cosmic Rose-Apple tree.
The island was shaped like a yoni. In its "diamond seat" (a symbolic clitoris), one could be reborn as a human being with keen
intelligence."
Judeo-Christian tradition associated this tree of ancestors with a male Tree of Life (genitalia), regarding male ancestry as the
only important kind. The genealogy of Christ was depicted in medieval art as a tree-phallus rising from the loins of a recumbent
Jesse, with its flowers and fruit surrounding the figures of David, Mary, and Jesus. Still, mystics generally assigned feminine
gender to the rose-tree, rose-garden, rose-wreath, etc., fully realizing that these were genital symbols. The medieval scholar
Pierre Col said the Gospel of Luke represented the Holy Rose as a sign of the vulva.
Britain had a traditional Mummers' dance know as The Rose; five dancers formed a five-pointed star of swords over a victim,
called the Fool, who was symbolically slain and resurrected with a mysterious elixir the Golden Frosty Drop, or Dewdrop in the Rose
. This was simply a western version of the Jewel in the Lotus: i.e., a seminal drop in the female flower. It is said the " 'garden'
may symbolize the uterus, as 'scarlet flower' may signify the vulva." The Frosty Drop, or dew, signified the semen of the God
reincarnating himself in the Goddess. The Bible says dew was a poetic synonym for semen (Song of Solomon 5:2). Meister Eckhart
understood quite well the sexual significance of both dew an rose when he wrote, "And as in the morning the rose opens, receiving
the dew from heaven and the sun, so Mary's soul did open and receive Christ the heavenly dew."
The dance called The Rose seems to have been a pagan ritual so vital that it couldn't be suppressed. The accompanying chant was
"ring-around-the-rose-wreath"; in German Ringel Ringel Rosenkranz; in English, Ring-Around-A-Rosy. The "'pocket full of posies" in
the nursery hryme probably referred to the cave of flowers, an old symbol of the underground Fairyland. The final instruction, "All
fall down" was the behest of Morgan the Grim Reaper, or Mother Death bringing an end to the fertility season. According to Danish
folk custom, roses decorated sacred groves for the dances of Midsummer Eve, which had to be guarded by armed men against possible
intruders:
Midsummer night upon the sward,
Knights and squires are standing guard;
In the grove a knightly dance they tread
With torches and garlands of roses red'.
The Rose was likened not only to Mary but to other surviving forms of the pagan Goddess. As Spenser's Faerie Queene, she had a
Bower of Bliss, signifying her sexual nature, where the central holy of hoies was the Rose of Love. Medieval myths of Lady Briar
Rose pictured the Virgin as a rose in the midst of a thorn bush , a sexual image established long ago by the poet Sedulius:
As blooms among the thorns the lovely rose, herself without a thorn,
The glory of the bush whose crown she is,
so, springing from the root of Eve, Mary the new Maiden
Atoned for the sin of that first Maiden long ago.
No matter how consistently the Rose was assimilated to Mary, it was obviously a sexual symbol of Goddess-worship brought back to
Europe from Arabia with the returning crusaders. Sufi mystics in Arabia wrote romantic-religious works centering on the rosary and
the Rose. Fariduddin Attar's Parliament of the Birds explained the symbol in the words of the "passionate nightingale":
I know the secrets of love. Throughout the night i give my love call. . . . It
is I who set the Rose in motion, and move the hearts of lovers.
Continuously I teach new mysteries.... When the Rose returns to the
world in Summer, I open my heart to joy. My secrets are not known to all
but the Rose knows them. I think of nothing but the Rose; I wish
nothing but the ruby Rose. ... Can the nightingale live but one night
without the Beloved?
This Eros-nightingale reappeared in European romances as the Spirit of the Rose, or a "devil" named Rosier in the 17th century.
According to the exorcist Father Sebastien Michaelis, tbe devil Rosier whispers sweet words that tempt men to fall in love. Rosier's
heavenly adversary was St. Basil, "who would not listen to amorous and enchanting language." Still later, the same devil became
the hero of the classical ballet Le Spectre de la Rose in which he tempts a young girl to fall in love.
Sometimes the male Spirit of the Rose was a briar rose with 'pricking" thorns. "Pricking flesh to acquire blood artificially is
the oniy way that men can 'produce' it. In the European romantic legend of two heterosexual lovers, the female red rose is paired
with the male briar, or 'prick.' Prick, when used as a slang, taboo name for the penis, is a descriptive-magical term for
access-to-power.. . . The briar is the male rose."
end Quote>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rose ---Text Art swiped from:
http://www.transy.edu/homepages/smcnichol/personal/textart.html
"M, .mM"
IMIm ,mIM"
,MI00IM,mIMm
"IMmm, ,IM:000IM:0IM, ,m"
"IMMIMMIMm:0IM::000IM00==mm ,mIM"
__ ,mIM::0000MIM::00000IM:000mIMIM"
,mMIMIMIIMIMM:0000000mM:0000000IMIMIMIMMM"
IMM::0000000IMM:00000M:0000000IIM::00000MM,
"IMM:000000000MM::0M:000000IM::000000000IM,
"IMm:0000000IMMM:000000IM:000000000000IM,
"Mm:00000000IM:00000MM:000000000000000IM,
IM:00000000IM:00000MM:00000000000000000IM,
MM:0000000IM:000000IM:00000000000000000IM
"IM:0000000IM:000000IM:0000000000000000IM;.
"IM:0000000MM:0000000IM:000000000mmmIMMMMMMMm,.
IM:0000000IM:000000IM::00mIMIMM"""". .. "IMMMM
"IM:0000000IM:00000mIMIMM"". . . . . .,mM" "M
IMm::00000IM:000IIMM" . . . . . ..,mMM"
"IMMIMIMMIMM:0IMM" . . . ._.,mMMMMM"
,IM". . ."IMIM". . .. .,mMMMMMMMM"
,IM . . . .,IMM".. . . ,mMMMMMMMMM"
IM. . . .,mIIMM,. . ..mMMMMMMMMMM"
,M"..,mIMMIMMIMMIMmmmMMMMMMMMMMMM"
IM.,IMI""" ""IIMMMMMMMMMMM
;IMIM" ""IMMMMMMM
"" "IMMMMM
"IMMM
"IMM,
"IMM
"MM,
IMM,
_______ "IMM__ _________
.,mIMMIMMIMM, ,mIMM, IMM""" ,mIM"....IM,..M,
,IMMM' . . . "IMM.\ "M, IMM ,IM".. . .:;IMM,
.mIM' . . . / .:"IM.\ MM "MM, ,M". ../;mIMIMIM,\M
,IM'. . . / . .:;,IMIMIMMM IMM ,M". ...:mIM"'"IM,:M
,IM'. . . / . .:;,mIM" `"IMM IMM IM. . / .mM""IMI
,IM . . / . .:;,mIM" "IMMMMM MM,. / ,mM
IM'. . / . .;,mIM" "IIMMM ,IMIM,.,IM"
IM . . / . .,mIM" IMMMMMMM' """
`IM,. / ;,mIM" IIMMM
"IMI, /,mIM" __IMMM
"IMMMM" """IMM
"" IMM
IMM__
IMM"""
IMM
IMM
__IMM
"""IMM
IMM
IMM
IMM__
IMM"""
IMM
IMM
~~~~~
yall come back real soon, yahr? .
~greg
> if you have not heard ' things have changed', i
> recommend it.
I just got it from Napster (did the 'hail Mary's)
-and got the lyrics from somewhere.
--immediately reminded of dylan's 'On the Road Again'
(on Bringing It All Back Home)
Well, I woke up in the morning
There's frogs inside my socks
Your mama, she's a-hidin'
Inside the icebox
Your daddy walks in wearin'
A Napoleon Bonaparte mask
Then you ask why I don't live here
Honey, do you have to ask?
- just the pow-wow rhythms, not the lyrics,
the only echo-line i noticed is:
Even the butler
He's got something to prove
becomes:
Only a fool in here would think he got anythin' to prove.
Rhyme scheme's matured: the early one is simply 10 quatrains of abcb,
more or less, and the later one is 4 stanzas of something french(?), aabccbdd BBB.
I like the lines:
Mr. Jinx and miss Lucy they jumped in a lake
I'm not that eager to make a mistake
They reminded me of a Raymond Carver poem that i'd just read.
~greg
---------------------------------------------------------------
My Work - Raymond Carver
--------------------------------------
I look up and see them starting
down the beach.The young man
is wearing a packboard to carry the baby.
This leaves his hands free
so that he can take one of his wife's hands
in his, and swing his other. Anyone can see
how happy they are. And intimate. How steady.
They are happier than anyone else, and they know it.
Are gladdened by it, and humbled.
They walk to the end of the beach
and out of sight.That's it, I think,
and return to this thing governing
my life. But in a few minutes
they come walking back along the beach.
The only thing different
is that they have changed sides.
He is on the other side of her now,
the ocean side. She is on this side.
But they are still holding hands. Even more
in love, if that's possible. And it is.
Having been there for a long time myself.
Theirs has been a modest walk, fifteen minutes
down the beach, fifteen minutes back.
They've had to pick their way
over some rocks and around huge logs,
tossed up from when the sea ran wild.
They walk quietly, slowly, holding hands.
They know the water is out there
but they're so happy that they ignore it.
The love in their young faces.The surround of it.
Maybe it will last forever. If they are lucky,
and good, and forbearing. And careful. If they
go on loving each other without stint.
Are true to each other - that most of all.
As they will be, of course, as they will be,
as they know they will be.
I go back to my work. My work goes back to me.
A wind picks up out over the water.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Things Have Changed
(c) Bob Dylan
A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me and nothing behind
There's a woman on my lap and she's drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin's eyes
I'm looking up into the sapphire tempered skies
I'm well dressed, waiting on the last train
Standin' on the gallows with my head in the noose
Any minute now I'm expectin' all hell to break loose
People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care but - things have changed.
This place ain't doin' me any good
I'm in the wrong town, I should've been in Hollywood
Just for a second there I thought I saw something move
Gonna take dancin' lessons, do the jitterbug rag
Ain't no shortcuts, gonna dress in drag
Only a fool in here would think he got anythin' to prove
Lotta water under the bridge, lotta other stuff too
Don't get up gentlemen, I'm only passing through
People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care but - things have changed.
I've been walkin' forty miles of bad road
If the Bible is right the world will explode
I'm tryin' to get as far away from myself as I can
Some things are too hot to touch
The human mind can only stand so much
You can't win with a losing hand
Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet
Puttin' her in a wheelbarrow and wheelin' her down the street
People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care but - things have changed.
I hurt easy, I just don't show it
You can hurt someone and not even know it
The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity
Gonna get lowdown, gonna fly high
All the truth in the world adds up to one big lie
I'm in love with a woman that don't even appeal to me
Mr. Jinx and miss Lucy they jumped in a lake
I'm not that eager to make a mistake
People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care but - things have changed.
-----------------------------------------------------
Elsie
Bob appears sort of resigned on this song and on the video, doesn't he. He's
growing old and there's nothing he can do about it.
Maybe that's why I like it so much - and it's still rocking and rolling;-)
Elsie
~greg <g...@magpage.com> wrote >
> "m.p" <me...@ilhawaii.net> wrote
> > if you have not heard ' things have changed', i
> > recommend it.
>
>
> I just got it from Napster (did the 'hail Mary's)
< (snipped, you always talk so much....)>
>
> ~greg
> ---------------------------------------------------------------
~greg
"Elsie" <kag...@online.no> wrote in message news:ekt%4.21673$C9.4...@news1.online.no...
> "I used to care, but things have changed"
> < (snipped, you always talk so much....)>
i wonder how long you considered the 'so' / 'too' choice.
i feel slapped with a feather.
this is way to make things change - i care.
~greg
Elsie
~greg <g...@magpage.com> wrote >
> "Elsie" <kag...@online.no> wrote
> > "I used to care, but things have changed"
>
> > < (snipped, you always talk so much....)>
>
> i wonder how long you considered the 'so' / 'too' choice.
>
What makes you think I did?
> i feel slapped with a feather.
>
I never hit hard. I'm a tickler.
> this is way to make things change - i care.
>
> ~greg
>
>
Please don't care too much ;-)
Elsie