if you could only see him tonite –
like an animal
an ugly, vibrating, menstrating dirty little animal
for that is all he is anyway!
he isn’t as hip and cool as you think he is
or as he is supposed to be
‘hee hee hee’
‘look at me, ma, I’m stoned’
get the hell out of my life
before I tell your mother on you
Dylanism
(Robert Zimmerman,1960)
while yet I pray to God to make me good –please god, be it – not quite so soon – not yet…
I’m reading the one of yoursyou chose yourselfand as I’m readingI become two people sitting here:there’s the cynical grown-up,enjoying it yes butall the time – how’s he setting it up,what’s he making us feel? –now he’s slipping insomething a little out of kilter;now it’s all going wrong forthe guy – hero, villain?now it’s coming good…
that stunned their knowledge and their world;for him, his answers were but springboardsfor his further questions.He was the humblest of agnostics,the humblest too, of atheists:in the absence of sure faith in answers,he lived with faith in questions;and lived in wonder – full of wonder at the lawsthat unfolded to his curiosity;an eternity of questions;an eternity…
there it was.A tidy, self-effacing, neat and ordered pileof mother’s ironing– after how many years? –of those seldom used, worn almost to holes, frayed,white things, for the house and family:their worn yet serviceable hems and stitchingironed with a jeweller’s perfection…and suddenly the living and the deadwere intimate and closer than any sought or unsought sentiment,and…
for a week, thensend in Condoleeza with condolencesto suggesta buffer zone.What a greatTV gamefor thosestill alive
