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PostPosted: Mon May 22nd, 2017, 19:19 GMT 

Joined: Mon May 22nd, 2017, 18:37 GMT
Posts: 5
Hello Everyone! Those of you who've been on this forum for a while may know my name and my topic. For those of you who don't, I'm from Mary Lee's Corvette, the band that recorded a song-for-song live version of Blood on the Tracks some years ago. I posted quite a while back that I was collecting dreams about Dylan. Why? Well.... I've had many dreams about Bob over the years and they always make me wake up happy. It occurred to me at one point that there must be many people who've dreamed of Bob, recurrently or sporadically, who might like to share their dreams. So I decided to write a book about dreaming about Bob, posted on this forum and did collect quite a few amazing dreams. I had to put the project on the back burner for a number of reasons, but I'm happy to report that Dreaming of Dylan has been reawakened! So, I would love to hear any dreams any of you have had. You can write to me privately if you like at IdreamedofDylan@gmail.com. And any dreamers who prefer to remain anonymous can do so.

If you'd rather talk about it instead of writing, let me know and we can arrange to speak. I hope to hear from any and all dreamers out there!! And if you have my Blood on the Tracks, you may understand me when I say "Thank you very very very very very very very very much!"

With kind thanks,
Mary Lee Kortes


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PostPosted: Tue May 23rd, 2017, 00:57 GMT 

Joined: Tue June 21st, 2016, 17:01 GMT
Posts: 206
I posted this in another thread a while ago. You're welcome to it.

It’s not my dog on the edge of my bed. It’s Bob Dylan sitting there. He has a long, thick beard and red long johns, like an old prospector. He looks like my Uncle Russell, but I know it’s Bob Dylan. Russell doesn’t have a beard.

Bob Dylan runs his fingers through his beard, pulls out hairs, studies them against the light on my nightstand. They radiate like glow sticks, white and brown and gold. “Filaments,” he says. “Elements. Pillow mints.” I'm watching Bob Dylan write a song! “Elephants,” I suggest. He turns his eyes on me. They're deep and sad. He shakes his head. “Innocence,” he says.

The radiator is knocking in the bathroom. It’s the radiator from my apartment in college. I’d thought I'd never have to hear it again, now that I have central air. The knocking means I have to finish my history term paper tonight. And it has to be in Spanish. I’m scared the noise will upset my dog, and he’ll pee on the bathmat. I can’t have Bob Dylan stepping on my pee-soaked bathmat. Bob Dylan tilts his head, listening to the knocking. I listen too, trying to hear the way Bob Dylan hears, to attune myself to the rhythm in his head. He scratches his chest between his buttons. “¿Dónde está el baño?” he says.

Bob Dylan is in the back seat of my car. We’re going to get some cigarettes and ice cream. He’s telling me about Hank Williams, how Hank died in the back seat of a car singing “I Saw the Light.” Bob Dylan starts singing “I Saw the Light,” but the tune is different, somewhere between “La Cucaracha” and “My Darling Clementine.” The words are different too. I’m not sure they’re in English. I need to ask him what flavor of ice cream he wants, but I’m afraid to interrupt.

Bob Dylan is staying in the shed in my backyard. I didn’t know it was there until he pointed it out. He’s papered the walls with pages from old magazines. A cow is lowing in the ravine. “That’s a Circassian cow,” says Bob Dylan. “You can tell by the accent. My grandmother in Circassia used to sing to the cows, and they’d teach her their songs.”

Bob Dylan is in a movie on TV. It’s a silent foreign movie, and the subtitles are the lyrics to his songs, translated into a foreign language. A dog is chasing him, and then a policeman is chasing both of them. They all break for lunch, and then the chasing starts again. There’s a concert at the end, and the dog joins Bob Dylan for a duet. It’s my dog, and he needs to go for a walk. I don't want to go; I know Bob Dylan won't be there when I get back. But I have to pee too, so there's nothing I can do.


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PostPosted: Tue May 23rd, 2017, 12:59 GMT 

Joined: Mon May 22nd, 2017, 18:37 GMT
Posts: 5
Thank you mojofilter!!! If you have any urge to illustrate this, that would be amazing! Much appreciate your contribution.
All the best,
MLK


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PostPosted: Tue May 23rd, 2017, 13:03 GMT 

Joined: Mon May 22nd, 2017, 18:37 GMT
Posts: 5
Can you point me to the other thread? Thanks again mojofilter.


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PostPosted: Tue May 23rd, 2017, 16:09 GMT 

Joined: Tue June 21st, 2016, 17:01 GMT
Posts: 206
MaryLeeKortes wrote:
Can you point me to the other thread? Thanks again mojofilter.


It's here.. viewtopic.php?f=6&t=50696&hilit=dream+setlist

I'm afraid the thread itself isn't actually about dreams, though.


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PostPosted: Thu November 9th, 2017, 19:33 GMT 

Joined: Mon May 22nd, 2017, 18:37 GMT
Posts: 5
Hello Mojofilter: Thanks so much for these. I was just rereading and getting very entertained! If you're willing, I like to include people's names, occupations, and where they live with their dreams. If you'd like to supply and/all of those things,
it would be wonderful. Thanks again so very much.

Mary Lee

mojofilter wrote:
I posted this in another thread a while ago. You're welcome to it.

It’s not my dog on the edge of my bed. It’s Bob Dylan sitting there. He has a long, thick beard and red long johns, like an old prospector. He looks like my Uncle Russell, but I know it’s Bob Dylan. Russell doesn’t have a beard.

Bob Dylan runs his fingers through his beard, pulls out hairs, studies them against the light on my nightstand. They radiate like glow sticks, white and brown and gold. “Filaments,” he says. “Elements. Pillow mints.” I'm watching Bob Dylan write a song! “Elephants,” I suggest. He turns his eyes on me. They're deep and sad. He shakes his head. “Innocence,” he says.

The radiator is knocking in the bathroom. It’s the radiator from my apartment in college. I’d thought I'd never have to hear it again, now that I have central air. The knocking means I have to finish my history term paper tonight. And it has to be in Spanish. I’m scared the noise will upset my dog, and he’ll pee on the bathmat. I can’t have Bob Dylan stepping on my pee-soaked bathmat. Bob Dylan tilts his head, listening to the knocking. I listen too, trying to hear the way Bob Dylan hears, to attune myself to the rhythm in his head. He scratches his chest between his buttons. “¿Dónde está el baño?” he says.

Bob Dylan is in the back seat of my car. We’re going to get some cigarettes and ice cream. He’s telling me about Hank Williams, how Hank died in the back seat of a car singing “I Saw the Light.” Bob Dylan starts singing “I Saw the Light,” but the tune is different, somewhere between “La Cucaracha” and “My Darling Clementine.” The words are different too. I’m not sure they’re in English. I need to ask him what flavor of ice cream he wants, but I’m afraid to interrupt.

Bob Dylan is staying in the shed in my backyard. I didn’t know it was there until he pointed it out. He’s papered the walls with pages from old magazines. A cow is lowing in the ravine. “That’s a Circassian cow,” says Bob Dylan. “You can tell by the accent. My grandmother in Circassia used to sing to the cows, and they’d teach her their songs.”

Bob Dylan is in a movie on TV. It’s a silent foreign movie, and the subtitles are the lyrics to his songs, translated into a foreign language. A dog is chasing him, and then a policeman is chasing both of them. They all break for lunch, and then the chasing starts again. There’s a concert at the end, and the dog joins Bob Dylan for a duet. It’s my dog, and he needs to go for a walk. I don't want to go; I know Bob Dylan won't be there when I get back. But I have to pee too, so there's nothing I can do.


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PostPosted: Fri November 10th, 2017, 17:10 GMT 

Joined: Mon May 22nd, 2017, 18:37 GMT
Posts: 5
Thank you Mojofilter!


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PostPosted: Fri November 10th, 2017, 17:54 GMT 

Joined: Tue June 21st, 2016, 17:01 GMT
Posts: 206
MaryLeeKortes wrote:
Hello Mojofilter: Thanks so much for these. I was just rereading and getting very entertained! If you're willing, I like to include people's names, occupations, and where they live with their dreams. If you'd like to supply and/all of those things,
it would be wonderful. Thanks again so very much.

Mary Lee

mojofilter wrote:
I posted this in another thread a while ago. You're welcome to it.

It’s not my dog on the edge of my bed. It’s Bob Dylan sitting there. He has a long, thick beard and red long johns, like an old prospector. He looks like my Uncle Russell, but I know it’s Bob Dylan. Russell doesn’t have a beard.

Bob Dylan runs his fingers through his beard, pulls out hairs, studies them against the light on my nightstand. They radiate like glow sticks, white and brown and gold. “Filaments,” he says. “Elements. Pillow mints.” I'm watching Bob Dylan write a song! “Elephants,” I suggest. He turns his eyes on me. They're deep and sad. He shakes his head. “Innocence,” he says.

The radiator is knocking in the bathroom. It’s the radiator from my apartment in college. I’d thought I'd never have to hear it again, now that I have central air. The knocking means I have to finish my history term paper tonight. And it has to be in Spanish. I’m scared the noise will upset my dog, and he’ll pee on the bathmat. I can’t have Bob Dylan stepping on my pee-soaked bathmat. Bob Dylan tilts his head, listening to the knocking. I listen too, trying to hear the way Bob Dylan hears, to attune myself to the rhythm in his head. He scratches his chest between his buttons. “¿Dónde está el baño?” he says.

Bob Dylan is in the back seat of my car. We’re going to get some cigarettes and ice cream. He’s telling me about Hank Williams, how Hank died in the back seat of a car singing “I Saw the Light.” Bob Dylan starts singing “I Saw the Light,” but the tune is different, somewhere between “La Cucaracha” and “My Darling Clementine.” The words are different too. I’m not sure they’re in English. I need to ask him what flavor of ice cream he wants, but I’m afraid to interrupt.

Bob Dylan is staying in the shed in my backyard. I didn’t know it was there until he pointed it out. He’s papered the walls with pages from old magazines. A cow is lowing in the ravine. “That’s a Circassian cow,” says Bob Dylan. “You can tell by the accent. My grandmother in Circassia used to sing to the cows, and they’d teach her their songs.”

Bob Dylan is in a movie on TV. It’s a silent foreign movie, and the subtitles are the lyrics to his songs, translated into a foreign language. A dog is chasing him, and then a policeman is chasing both of them. They all break for lunch, and then the chasing starts again. There’s a concert at the end, and the dog joins Bob Dylan for a duet. It’s my dog, and he needs to go for a walk. I don't want to go; I know Bob Dylan won't be there when I get back. But I have to pee too, so there's nothing I can do.


I'd be delighted. I sent you a PM.


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PostPosted: Sat November 11th, 2017, 00:55 GMT 
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Joined: Sun February 10th, 2008, 23:27 GMT
Posts: 438
Location: Quebec City
Oh I already answered your question on facebook . I dreamed of Bob MANY times.

this is my most recent dream:

A couple months ago I dreamed that an anchorman on tv announced that Bob has been injured after part of a stage collapsed. I was screaming and crying. I woke up I was devastated it felt so real. poor Bobby . hahaha


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PostPosted: Sat November 11th, 2017, 03:33 GMT 
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Joined: Fri September 26th, 2008, 18:42 GMT
Posts: 507
As I was watching, an elderly man took his seat. He wore a white tuxedo and a turquoise bolo tie. Suddenly he was surrounded by many people, also dressed in white. The man took his seat on a wooden chair in the church. A video was switched on. It showed images of 1941; the Fuehrers' voice roared, war was waged on the people of God.

I watched; two angels led a young man into the old man's presence. "Welcome to Tucson", said the mischievous senior with sparkling turquoise eyes. "Been here before" said the man with blood on his forehead "What are we waiting for, senor?"


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PostPosted: Sat November 11th, 2017, 18:11 GMT 
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Joined: Sun February 10th, 2008, 23:27 GMT
Posts: 438
Location: Quebec City
Funny enough, probably because of this thread, I dreamed of current Bob last night. We were in loooove. :wink:


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