She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire
I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind
If the video doesn’t load, click the link It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding) There’s a Closed Caption feature if you’d like to read the lyrics.
This world is a mess. Please take a moment to listen to Bob’s message from 58 years ago.
WRITTEN BY: BOB DYLAN
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying
Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying
So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked
An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it
Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit
To satisfy, insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in
While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him
Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough
what else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only
Copyright
© 1965 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1993 by Special Rider Music
Ripping out pages
As I write these down
Better swim to shore
Before you drown
This isn’t the place
For the likes of you
A filthy bastard
Set adrift, it’s true
But be grateful
With me to thank
For the boys here
Wanted you upon the plank
So you think you want to be wild
But you’ve never left the city gates
Living within such structure
Organizing a lush, manicured fate
Pushing forth the semblance of influence
Yet, outwardly needing to create a scene
Dreaming of an adventurous existence
& what breaking free could possibly mean
Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage
Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration
Let me get out into the world
While everyone else is still in bed
Let me move these old bones
I need to get fresh air into my head
Too many stagnant mornings
With nothing to show for the exertion
Feeling low in my spirits
Like I’m a soul still prone to desertion
I need to discover a permanent solution
To rid my life of heartbreak & pain
I don’t want to struggle anymore
Results from my effort & not simply remain
Thought it to be an easy read
Yet the words were hard to digest
Meaning dancing slowly in my mind
Subtly creeping past the singular rest
Retracing lines to navigate ritual
Where do we reform elegant words
Removed from obvious transparency
Heaped among the notorious & absurd
But we can still be returned to normal
Reassembled without any scars of the war
Truth absolved of the fictions we wrote
Back to the pages I quietly implore
I admit I’m not the John Wayne type
I’m not one who wants to fight
Though, I’m not afraid of confrontations
I’d just love rather love my woman by candlelight
I’m a sensitive soul
I’ve been called needy, immature & worse
I just want the time to write of my emotions
Creating a universe into which we’ll fully immerse
Sitting down to write
Nothing serious, just a rift
I wish to give you the sunshine
Through a few words to sift
Leaning forward with lovely intents
Though success or greatness I cannot claim
A mere humble boy with a pen
My heart still giddy when I whisper your name
You say I’m doing it wrong
I’m about to gavel you with my dong
I don’t need any instruction
You say I’m due for destruction
Fuck off with your prophecies
You’re not quite Socrates
Stop, these attempts are futile
I reject your whole kit & caboodle
You’re not the Lord, you have no domain
I am here and I shall always remain
Just an old poem that made me laugh. Hope You enjoyed it! (yes, that’s me on 2/18/97 according to the date stamp… my senior year!)
I search for hope in the early morning
Trying to find truth before first light
Without the influence of assholes
Perpetually kept themselves in the right
This absurdity of life
Fallen into realms beyond our thought
But still we shine on for the future
This isn’t who we are; let us believe not
We can change the status of time
& act not out of debilitating fear
That we might find a way to be better
Cast out hate & return to being sincere
I don’t have pretty eyes to attract
Nor a beautiful body to distract
A middle aged, middle class white dude
with no street cred
With charm & gentlemanly conduct
instead
I’ll have to choose the proper words
To prevent from being misheard
Where did our youthful exuberance go
Closed off from a litany of feelings of truth
But I don’t want to be like them
Not worried about a bent halo or tarnished tiara
Angst of foregone conclusions
I want something of substance
Never tamed by society’s expectations
A slow, smoldering strangeness
Embracing the stature of being a little weird
Impervious to judgements of being bland
For through and through, I can only be me
Never standing for someone else’s brand
I hope to always be wild enough to be free
It’s the lost art of seduction
Love her;
Make her eyes roll to the back of her head
Cherish her presence in your life
She’ll appreciate you
Make you a happy man instead
Knowing the bottom of the depths
Untold theories where passion lies
Encased all in a delicate French lace
The truth that logic & gravity defies
Earthbound creatures can’t be understood
It’s simply not in our fallible DNA
Attempted in conversational tones
But we’ve lost connection anyway
Trying to find a way back to the meaning
Reason doesn’t apply to moments like this
Disregard the pressures of our past
That we might create our own sustainable bliss
Image by Dayron Villaverde from Pixabay
Surviving by the bright light of day
Pouring coffee directly into my weary eyes
Can’t sleep at night since I must remain alert
Anxious; trying to hide my soul’s invisible cries
Gathering my wits to merely successfully exist
Waiting for the other shoe to drop & Hell to begin
Tired of cowering away in forgotten silence
Appearing strong since no one sees the enemy within
I’m not asking you to save my soul
But if you’re going that way…
Go ahead and cop a feel
You’ve got to get in there
& never beat around the bush
My love is intense
I’m going to whisper intensions
While groping your tush
This is where I’m lost
You have me bothered & hot
Though you’re hardly to blame
I’m thinking of your sweet spot
Memories of your beauty
My mind drifting off track
With you dancing softly
Though I’m here alone in my rack
Lighting the wicks on a rainy day
Blowing the dust off the vinyl
Finding comfort in the subtle tones
& knowing these days aren’t final
Seeing those palm lined drives
Standing out in the mist
Reassuring my lonely soul
& remembering lips I wish were kissed
Her love hidden in the liner notes
Buzz words & other incantations
Knowing she’s my answer
& becoming my perfect temptation
Dark clouds forming over the horizon
Storms threaten to assuredly comply
A day drifting away without recourse
Dreams hang-dogged in the evening sky
The slow buildup to another slumber
I tried to be reasonable, but I think too deep
Took a leap, but might’ve been too far
In the end, relegated to remaining the black sheep
Scratching your soul upon the page
Following the seams beyond the thread
I don’t have the caffeinated gumption
So I’ll have to return to bed instead
Wandering through woven stories in my mind
Nib to paper is the only way I can meditate
Urgency of thought keeps me from sleep
Back to brewing; morning’s way to self-medicate
Tamping out the excess inspiration
Shake the thoughts loose & free
Don’t care for your learned quips
If they don’t allow me to see
I’m tired of all the accusations
Yet there remains nary any proof
Let us return our quills to the muse
& turn the future over to the youth
Trying to be tender
Even when you’re feeling cauterized
The day’s been hard
But you come home to her ebullient eyes
Leave your frustrations outside the door
No need to bring any of that inside
Humbled by the cost of existence
Know when to be compassionate, no tint of pride
The freedom to move is vastly underrated
The need to take refuge in the open air
Release yourself from these modern bonds
Get back out there if you still care
I reject their basic version of normalcy
Those rules don’t apply as formulated
Reality was never calibrated for us
Mere common folk to be granulated
Refusing to remain quiet is necessary
Return to nature – turn off that broadcast
Be elusive, for they’re coming for you
You’re necessary as long as you have a vote to cast
Tiptoeing through the trees
Woodland creatures greeting us
Descending further from structure
The quiet overtaking the fuss
We try to be grander than precedent
Yet habit takes a familiar role
Leaving a void in our morale
Purge with fresh air upon the soul
Dissidents wishing for anarchy
Amid the noise at the city’s edge
Marching toward the inevitable
With blinders afixed & a solemn pledge
Roustabouts & preachers agreeing before light
Yet the jury will always cry out for more
Cannot tolerate the president’s folly
The juxtaposition of hippies going to war
These are dreary days
With swamp fog descending upon us
I’m not one to shift blame
Knowing the weight of a day’s jaundice
Another coffee is not going to save us
Nor cause the inevitable doom
So let us pour a cup of darkness
In defiance of such obvious gloom
Captain Q 