Name me someone that's not a parasite & I'll go out & say a prayer for him...

It was one of those days at work today where around every turn there was another fire that had to be put out. I've seen just about everything that can happen in a paint store, so I try not to get rattled by problems, but when they are over & over again it gets to you. Oh well, I think we'll still be in business tomorrow.

There was a few positives from the day, however. One was that we were extremely busy & that at the end of the day we could still laugh about the things that went on. Second, was that I got a gift from a customer that consisted of fresh asparagus, morel mushrooms & three bean salad. He's a big hunter & fisherman, but he can appreciate my vegetarian ways. I just ate my meal, it was delicious. I've never had morel mushrooms before, & they were better than I imagined.

Third is that I'm sitting down & listening to one of the greatest rock & roll albums of all time, currently, Blonde on Blonde from Bob Dylan in 1966. I go back & forth on which album is better, Highway 61 Revisited or Blonde on Blonde, & usually the vote goes to Highway 61, but tonight the winner is Blonde on Blonde. It's Bob's first album to incorporate some pop sensibilities to it, just listen to I Want You. He really brought all the forms together with this album: pop, folk, blues & rock & roll, all with lyrics that will never be touched in songwriting. Right now, I'm listening to Visions of Johanna, a song whose meaning is difficult to discern. Maybe there's no meaning at all, but it sure does paint one hell of a picture.

The poem, a faraway ellipsis, trots
prefatorially. The poem as wits, as
a wily pirate's raft. The poem a loss.
The poem is pi, a software astrally
lawless. The poem is a patriot fray,
a wry separatist. Lo, the poem fails.
Say the poem is spatial art, flower
stairway o'er pitfalls. The poem as
leaf-rot, the solipsism, a war (type A)
Mars' way. All of the poets praise it:
the powem plows fatalities, arrays
ires. The poem is play, a straw float.
Pray sit. The poem, waterfall oasis,
lists. The poem parrots a life away.
The poem awaits, falters prosily, a
wary foal. The poem, a satire, splits.
The poem a writer's apostasy. I fall
for the poem's salsa, partiality.
We rail away--the poem stops, lifts ear
The poem is a self portrait always.

--Kevin McFadden

Great paintings shouldn't be in museums. Have you ever been in a museum? Museums are cemeteries. Paintings should be on the walls of restaurants, in dime stores, in gas stations, in men's rooms. Great paintings should be where people hang out. The only thing where it's happening is on radio & records, that's where people hang out. YOu can't see great paintings. You pay half a million & hang one in your house & one guest sees it. That's not art. That's a shame, a crime. Music is the only thing that's in tune with what's happening. It's not in book form, it's not on the stage. All this art they've been talking about is non-existent. It just remains on the shelf. It doesn't make anyone happier. Just think how many people would really feel great if they could see a Picasso in their daily diner. It's not the bomb that has to go, man, it's the museums.

--Bob Dylan interview with Nora Ephron

Five Favorite Songs of the Day

Visions of Johanna-Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde

This song is a series of knockout punches, starting with the opening line...

Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're trying to be so quiet?

Sooner or Later (One of us Must know)-Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde

Gospel-Charlie Sexton

I'm Going on a Long Journey Never to Return-T Bone Burnett

Dead Man's Will-Iron & Wine

Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands-Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde

Happy Tuesday, friends...

andrew