Expecting Rain

Dylan's Manuscripts
Page 2 of 4

Author:  hollowhorn [ Thu July 30th, 2015, 19:22 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

by Bob Dylan
(Poem published in Hootenanny magazine December 1963)

It aint no use in talkin about folk music -
It aint no use in takin stands an sides an gettin all sweat about it -
It don make sense really t learn names an shout labels an get yer-
self all confused -
It aint got no meanin at all t discuss an defend it -
An it dont mean nothin t offend it -
Of all the corners a the question there aint no answers noplace worth
lookin at seriously cause the question jus aint that almighty big
What folk music an what aint's got nothin t do with the world -
It just aint healthy t let the music run yer life like that -
Yer life's gotta run the music -
You can't afford t let yer guitar own yer mind -
Yer mind's gotta own that guitar -
So what if other folks try an makes rules for it -
So what if other folks try an boundary it all up -
So what if other folks try an chain it down and tell yuh what's it all
about -
It don make no difference at all if yer own life is running things -
But if the music's runnin you then yuh get swallowed up by all blabber
talk -
You don have t worry about that's folk music an what aint -
Man, it's just a wide circle a silly tongues ant it aint important at
all -
Don let nobody block your head off -
Don let no one weave a wall in front of yer eyes -
Don let no one teach yuh what t call things -
Just get up in the mornin an go -
Just open your eyes an walk -
Forget the silly talk -
There's a million paths t take -
There's a million miles t make -
There's a million border lines t break -
The shadow a the mountain sure movin' an shiftin' -
Raindrops an snowflakes're free fallin an forever driftin
Tree top're wavin an shakin an the fog is liftin
The white line on the highway's reflectin -
Behind the ditch broken down empty shack're still standin
Above the road an the cove caves're still hiden -
In back a the fence the dogs're still barkin -
The pacific Ocean is soundin and poundin
An the Monterrey sands're waitin
For yer bare feet t be walkin -
There's train lines rattlin an there's whistle's screamin -
The wind's jauntin an there's hitchhikers thumbin an bummin -
The color a the sky's changin
An the color a the clouds're turnin
An the color a the ground's fadin
Fathers an mothers laughing an biebies're cryin
Young girls're sighin
An ol men're dyin -
The dark nite's foldin an people're fightin an frightened
Ships're sailin an trucks're haulin
An New York City's crawlin
With hungry voices callin
An ol buildings fallin
An clothes lines're stretched an strung out
With all different colors a pants an shirts hangin -
An the dirt in the alley's risin
An jackhammer dust's flyin -
An the Hudsin river're restin
An kid's voices're ringin
The hobo poet's whisperin and the bartender's not listenin -
The East Side is sweatin an steamin
an fightin' t be breathin -
Forty 2nd Street's flyin an floatin and jumpin an twistin an explodin -
Subways're loadin
Folks 'f all colors an creed're settlin an sittin on park benches an
corners an curbs an roof tops an bus stops -
The back a the bar rooms're lined steady an standin full with road
walkers an road workers an road poets an road painters with
lonesome thoughts an hungry feelings -
Junkies an flunkies line the wind along side ban-the-bomb demonstrators
Girls're hustlin for dollars on one side a the street an
Girls're sittin down for their rights on the other side a the street -
The new Premise's playin
an Moondog's beatin his drum an sayin his lines -
Lenny Bruce's talkin
an Lord Buckley's memory still movin'
An Doc Watson's walkin
Ray Charles's shoutin an speakin
Bertrand Russell's yellin from across the ocean
an Julian Beck's tellin the same on this side a the sea -
Jim Forman is livin an Ross Barnett's losin -
Harry Jackson's paintin -
Maybelle Carter's really standin an really strummin
an Mike Seeger's really real -
An Pete Seeger's really Pete Seeger -
An Joan Baez is still unshattered
An Marlon Brando's on the good side -
An the time's a rollin down every single street -
There's a girl waitin on every single corner -
An men're still breathin
An men're still breathin
An it's all music -
Every space a human life
It's all music -
An it don have t have no stamp 'f approval from nobody -
It don have to be ok ed by no one -
There aint no scholar that's smart enuff t invent the rules -
There aint no lawmaker high enuff t chain it down with boundaries -
There aint no guard that's good enuff t hold a gun on it -
An there aint no gun that's got enuff bullets an shells t shoot it -
An it's yer life
Do it - don talk it -
Forget about the talkers -
They'll always be around
You won't ......
Bob Dylan

Author:  hollowhorn [ Thu July 30th, 2015, 19:24 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts


for sis and gordon an all broads of good sizes
let me begin by not beginning
let me start not by startin but by continuin
it sometimes gets so hard for me
I am now famous
I am now famous by the rules of the public famiousity
it snuck up on me
an pulverized me ....
I never knew what was happenin
it is hard for me t walk down the same streets
I did before the same way because now
I truly dont know
who is waitin for my autograph...
I dont know if I like givin my autobiograph
oh yes sometimes I do ....
but other times the back of my mind tells me
it is not honest.... for I am just fulfillin
a myth t somebody who'd actually treasure my
handwritin more'n his own handwritin....
this gets very complicated for me
an proves t me that I am livin in a contradiction....
t quote mr froyd
I get quite paranoyd....
an I know this isn't right
it is not useful healthy attitude for one t have
but I truly believe that everybody has their fears
everybody yes everybody....
I do not think it good anymore t overlook them
I think they ought t be admitted....
an I think that all feelings should be admitted....
people ask why do I write the way I do
how foolish
how monsterish
a question like that hits me....
it makes me think that I'm doin nothin
it makes me think that I'm not being heard
yes above all the mumble jumble an rave praises
an all the records I've sold.... thru all the packed
houses I play.... thru all the communication systems
an rants an bellows an yellin an clappin comes
a statement like "Why do you do what you do"
what is this?
some kind of constipated idiot world?
some kind of horseshoe game we're all playin
respondin only when a ringer clangs
no no no
not my world
everybody plays in my world
aint nobody first second third or fourth
everybody shoots at the same time
an ringers dont count
an everybody wins
an nobody loses
cause everybody lives an breathes
an takes up space
an cant be overlooked
an I am a people too
I cannot pretend I'm not
an I feel guilty
god how can I help not feel guilty
I walk down on the bowery and give money away
an still I feel guilty for I know I do not
have enuff money t give away....
an people say "think a yourself, dylan, you're
gonna need it someday" an I say yeah yeah
an I think maybe about it for a split second
but then the floods of vomit guilt swoop my
drunken head an I spread forth more gut torn
bloody money from the depths of my forsaken
pockets.... an I whisper "ah it's so useless"
man so many people need so many things
an what am I anyway? some kind of messiah walkin
hell no I'm not
an I ask why dont other people with things give
some of it away
an I know the answer without lookin
security security security....
everybody wants security
they want t be secure
they want t be protected
an I say protected?
protected against what?
protected against starvin I guess
an power too
an protected against the forces that they know will
get them if they lose their money
ah why does it have t be like that?
man why are these walls built?
who is this god that is so feared?
certainly not in my life this isnt
yes I have my fears but mine are the fears of
the mind. the fears of the head
a lonely person with money is still a lonely person
I had never had much money before
an so it is easy for me I guess t spend it
an overlook it
but I'm sure that many other people could overlook
some of theirs too
I'm not speakin now of the century ridin millionares
but rather of "get theirs and get out" people
I dont understand them
I dont understand them at all
there's many things I admit I dont understand
I dont understand the blacklist
I dont understand how people against it go along
with it
I'm talkin about the full thing
not just a few of us refusin t be on the show
I'm talkin about the people that stand up
against it violently an then in some way have something
t do with it....
not just the singers mind you
but the managers an agents an buyers an sellers....
they are the dishonest ones
for the are never seen
the play both sides against each other
an expect t be respected by everybody
the heroes of this battle are not me an Joan
an the Kingston Trio nor Peter Paul an Mary
for none of us need it go on that show
none of us really *need* that kind of dumbness
but there's some that could use it
for they could use the money
I mean people like Tom Paxton, Barbara Dane,
an Johnny Herald.... the are the heroes if
such a word has t be used here
they are the ones that lose materialistically
ah yes but in their own minds they dont
an that is much more important
it means much more
we need more kind a people like that
people that cant go against their conscience
no matter what they might gain
an I've come to think that that might be the most
important thing in the whole wide world....
not going against your conscience
nor your own natural senses
for I think that that is all the truth there
is.... an no more
thre all the gossip, lies, religions, cults
myths, gods, history books, social books,
all books politics decrees, rules, laws,
boudarie lines, bibles, legends, an bathroom
writings, there is no guidance at all except
from ones natural senses
from being born
an it can only be exchanged
it cant be preached
nor sold
nor even understood....
my mind sometimes runs like a roll of toilet paper
an I hate like hell t see it unravel an unwind
at my empty walls
I'm movin out a here soon
yes the landlord has beaten me it hurts me t tell you.
this place I'm typin in is so filthy
my clothes cover the floor an once on a while
I pick up somethin an use it for a blanket....
the damn heat goes off at ten
that's mornin wise
gushes of warm smelly heat always wake me up
when I sleep here
the plaster falls constantly
an the floor is tiltin an rottin
but somehow there is a beauty to it
columbia records gave me a record player
oh the goodness of some keeps on amazin me
an sometimes I play it.
gettin back t the landlord tho
he is really too much
he owns I guess three buildings
I pay him way too high
an I'm gettin screwed an I know it
an he knows it
but I just dont have the time t go down t the
rent control board. I been told they'd get after
him but I'm so lazy. when sue was here he was
gonna jack up the prize cause he said I never told
him I had a wife. you really got t see this place
t believe it. I ought a've jacked him up a long
time ago an used him for heat. last year he put
in a new window (there was a god damn hole in the
other one) man it was like I asked 'm for his blood relation
or something (which he'd probably give away)
anyway the record player's on now
an I'm listenin t Pete sing Guantanamera for
the billionth time. I don't have many folk music
records (I dont have many records really) but
I do have that one of Pete's.
god it's like I go in a trance
he is so human I could cry
he tells me so much
he makes me feel so good
it's as tho all of the things that're sold t make
one feel better, aint none of it worth while.
all the cars, an clothes, an trinkets an food,
an jewels an diamonds an lollypops an gifts of
glad tidings, just dont do nothin for the soul.
I believe I'd rather listen to Pete sing Guantanamera than t
own everything there is t own,...
(that's my own private selfishness shinin thru there)
yes for me he is truly a saint
an I love him
perhaps more than I could show
(as always is the case ha)
I think of love in weird terms.
sometimes I even feel guilty about it
because I know I love sue
but I should love everybody like I love sue
an in all honesty I dont
I just love her that way
an I say what way?
an a voice says "that way"
an I get quite up tite
an I know I have a long way t go
when the day comes when I can love everything
that breathes the way I love sue then
I will truly be a Jesus Christ ha ha
(but I dont wanna be a Jesus Christ ha ha)
an so I am again contradictin meself
away away be gone all you demons
an just let me be me
human me
wild me
gentle me
all kinds of me
saw the last issue of broadside
an especially flipped out over
"talkin Merry Christmas"
I have never met Paul Wolfe but I'd like to
he has an uncanny sense of touch
as for Phil, I just cant keep up with him
an he's gettin better an better an better
(spoke with someone who was with him in Hazzars
named Hamish Sinclair.... an englishman
of high virtues and common tongue)
I want t get over an see Phil's baby
I'm told the girl came out yellin about
the bomb. good girl
my novel is going noplace
absolutely noplace
like it dont ever tell a story
it's about a million scenes long
an takes place on a billion scraps
of paper.... certainly I can't make nothin out of
(oh I forgot.
hallelujah t you for puttin Brecht in your
same last issue. he should be as widely known as
Woody an should be as widely read as Mecky Spalline
as an widely listened to as Eisenhower.)
anyway I'm writin a play out of this here so called
novel (navel would be better I guess)
an I'm up to my belly button in it.
quite involved yes
I've discovered the power of playwritin means
as opposed t song writing means
altho both are equal, I'm wrapped in playwritin
for the minute my songs tell only about me an how
I fell but in the play all the characters tell how
the feel. I realize that this might be more confusin
for some but in the total reality of things it might
be much better for some too. I think at best you could
say that the characters well tell in an hour
what would take me, alone, two weeks t sing about
I shall get up t see you one of these days
just cause I haven't in a while please dont think
I'm not with you. I am with you more'n ever.
yours perhaps is the only paper that I am on the
side of every single song you print an I am with with with you
my nite is closing again now
an I shall drift off in dreams
an climb velvet carpets up t the stars
with newsweek magazines burnin an disappointin
people smoulderin an discustin tongues blazin
an jealous mongrel dogs walkin on hot coals
before my smilin unharmful eyes
(of such nitemares)
an I shall wake in the mornin an try t start
lovin again
I got a letter from Pete an he closed by sayin
"Take it easy but take it" I thought about that
for an hour or more when I reached my conclusion
of what it really meant I either cried or laughed
(I cant remember which) I will repeat the same an
add "give it easy but give it" an I'll think about
that for an hour an at the either cry or laugh
(I'll write you another letter an tell you which
one it is)
all right then
shaloom an vamoose
I'm off again
off t the hazzards an lost angels an minneapolicemen
an boss town an burnin hams an everything else
combines and combustioned for me....
tryin t remain same at all times
love t agnes
she is one of the true talents of the universe
I've always thought that an would like t see her
again some time
love t everybody in your house
see yuh
softly an sleepy
but ready an waitin
Bob Dylan

Author:  hollowhorn [ Thu July 30th, 2015, 19:26 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

(to Lawrence Ferlinghetti April 28, 1964)
by Bob Dylan
Dear Larry.

have no sports car.
weather., good.
traffic movin' slowly thru tunnel.
breeze is from the west an I ahah am goin
t france tomorrow. have t look thru all my pants pockets
an collect things t send t you.
as of now I am in the midst of destroyin all I've
done (I've even crashed my old typewriter t pieces an have burned my
pens into little tiny plastic statues)
I know I will send you something one of these days.
all I have t do is finish something t send you.
in any case, if I am poisened or framed or kilt or ratted on
I will will will you some edgar lee masters?
type (bob dylan written) poems of grand embarassment.
thelonius monk grand style grand (me upright)
the world's fair begun down there.
I'm gone.
Sailin on (across the son) son,
sawn. dawn. anyway I'm gone.
I'm up here.
my address is me-bearsville. just got back from trip t boston area.
sung songs at providence.
arrived in amhearst with 15 friends from cambridge.
left providence with 15 friends from providence.
ditched them on highway tho. (yes I pledge alliegence t the luckyness of havin
some so many friends.)
an here's t the republic.
up the irish.
ah yes my flag has turned into one color.
who fast?
me fast?
ha you must be joking. I'm not turnin. burnin. maybe smokin.
not running cunning.
not me.
I aint none of them things.
not me.
yes most deffinately would like t borrow cabin at big sur.
cant say when.
it just hit me.
I do got things of songs an stories for you.
my hangup is tho that I know there will be more.
I want t send the more more then I want t send the got.
yes I guess that's it.
that's it in a nutshell pruneskin.
that's the whole story.
nothin but the truth.
nothin but the nothin.
would've liked t spent more time in san francisco.
would like t spend more time in many places.
sometime I will.
someday I will.
tomorrow. yeah tomorrow.
I a, in a strange light alright.
I remember a few years ago.
tramping. bummin.
ridin the roads all wrong.
hitchhiking (pretending stock markets crashin all over me) thru the ever ready
usa. guitar on my back.
my thoughful tool.
yes an the only thing I wished was that someday I'd be able t come back
t these x up shootin gallery pay me for my playin coffee houses.
coffee bars.
oh how I used t hope that someday if nothin else. I'd have enuff friends or
know the right people t survive with my head at least as groovy as
theirs ... man.
I never got a chance.
I got a motorcycle tho.
but unlike the last ones I had on south dakota an minnesota roads,
this one's for the fields.
so you see, after all, I'm not really going all that fast.
you cant go too fast in the fields you know.
the only thing that's wrong is that there's no x motels.
absolutely no advertising.
I'm the first one hit by the forest fires an god knows that a fallout
shelter'd be insane.
terrible buzzard flies an my front steps all loaded with killed dear
hit by cars ... yet I still wave t airplanes
an shit like that (what shit like that?) so I'm not all bad.
all good.
yes I've chopped much wood.
I'll write you later an send clippings from my head.
as for now there's a horn honkin.
must be for me.
or however you spell that.
will be in france for awhile.
someplace where they dont read life magazine.
of course I'll be back tho.
an will be out in san francisco again.
I have nothin t do.
an no place t go.
say hi for me.
say hi t anybody
see you then
comemoratin figitatin
agitatin satined
homogenized. egg creamed. pie in the faced
egg in the eyed
untied. complyed. plywooded. do-gooded. hooded.
lamp shaded understated hated backdated
muscatelled. muscatold musca went wrong someplace
displaced. cock traced
embraced umbraced ohbraced
church laced
straight faced
an all that
see you then
Bob Dylan

Author:  transÆ’igured [ Sun August 9th, 2015, 00:17 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

thank you hollow horn

i was unaware of this amazing text

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Tue August 25th, 2015, 07:48 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts


Author:  Johanna Parker [ Tue August 25th, 2015, 14:18 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts





Author:  Johanna Parker [ Fri September 4th, 2015, 18:33 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts


Author:  hollowhorn [ Mon September 28th, 2015, 20:47 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Various Lyrics:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/hollowhor ... 4/sizes/o/

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Wed March 2nd, 2016, 18:44 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

From the Oklahoma archives:


xxxxx of books on your shelf

ive seen you before/ you were drunk and you fell
then you said someone pushed you &
among the xxxxx

x you bring mary down/ she dont like like it when you come

there you stand clinging to your baggy pants
a (past) that's not even your own
you take everyting as a personal insult thrown
there is nobody here for you to consult
about your problems
the world has passed you by /youre alone
everybody knows yes youre such an adault

your face is so serious/ how fantastically abserd
you ask obnoxious questions & expect answers
to your harlarious opinions that must
youre in trouble/ you better

(part of middle page; has elements of Tangled Up In Blue & Simple Twist Of Fate)

[...] a little bit closer
[...] the lines of my face
the city block
can hardly talk
by the docks
[???] heart

(elements of Ballad Of A Thin Man

Youre looking so hard to sc[?]
[...] taken for [???]
Youve had too many time mac[hines?]


1. 2.
you walk - is this where it is?
then someone points to you + shouts "it's his!"
"is this where what is?"
+ you say "what's mine?" + someone asks you "is this where what is"
+ you say "oh my God" "Am I all here alone?"
but you know somethings happening here but you

3. You see opera singing you [???] the opera singer's voice
Moving closer together until collides with the
you look around but nobody

midget eels

(main text, re. Easy Rider?)



...when you think of the heroes you've read about. seeing lenny is
a scary thing/ he contradicts your intelligence... he either makes you
glad to be you. or he makes you xxxx hate to be you/ you cannot ignore
him... i am stuck upon a booth of switchblade. a mimeographed table/
lovely hopped up world of prebroadway unpatriotic martyr personality type
wiggies. slut madonnas. xxxxxxxx street boy emmigrants. the drugeyed
bandits. car thieves/ direction. when
peter pan of the throttle bums scrape goat or opposite mammoth
gets up to go some place car thieves sacred cows
of directions

an you know his presence
is immediately gone gone gone/ Gloria talks of the fish in her finger
with her hair dyed pink. alice in wonderland talks of tomorrow an calls
it sunday - a handful of engine slams into first gear. musical dust
crawls up the warped window like togetherness of [heal?] chain
loud. louder like a train in the tunnel/ a punchdrunk
sailor. with a nasty scar beneath his nose. he comes out of the men's
room with a handlebar haircut/ stops whisting Rumble. a chord is
changing. his eyes, the question an unmistakable sound as bonaparte
vision clamps a gruesome an lonely hold upon the vast xxxxx brain/
speaking only to anfor thyself - is this really happening? an am i really
in on it? total colapseof technicolor an lenny, xxxx you know he never
changes first gear. but rather explodes in the rational daytime like
xx sonuvabitch dynamite/ stereotyped. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx/
plowing into a wellknown bridge grinder. quite noisy, the trumpets...
with his head wide open pretending he's but a red blood american boy
on preview hour/ with [?] showing
at his best/ you run out an bump your tired brow on the door.
clutch your poor forhead an squeeze it. a cemetary slowly seals it-
self on the eyelid. light shines [?] from behind a shade/ it follows then
that the graveyard mind begins to heal amongst the temporary crying...
that he was not like that at all. not at all

he knew what he was doing every moment... yet
[???] of mistakes not made yet. you walk away blindfolded. dissolve
into the motherland. and the northernmost forest you can find...

[???] free-for-all between as follows: the rabbit
[???] where rain continues to fall
[???] an is constantly in an
[???] the forgot G.I., who know

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Wed March 2nd, 2016, 23:32 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts


ALL AMERICAN BOY (spoken throughout)

Well, I bought me a guitar, put it in tune
Went out there the month of June
Bought a hot-dod nights and I's smelled the crowed
Ev'rybody was a-down on this side of a cloud
There was a holy cow
and a medicine man
and a sacred cow

Double jaw (Double jaw) and an iron jaw
(that wouldn't break)

Cow (Cow)

Well, I'll tell y' a story 'bout how to become
An' all American boy instead of a bum
pound on

on a drum from five to six
You'll be rock-'n-rollin' and beatin' on bricks
It's a god job to have if you're not workin'
Swing your hand (Swing your hand)


Clean your stuff and come up tight
Gotta fish for it and that's right
Over a train on a whisky jar
Guzzle it up there y' are!

Pick it ip now--now hit it! (Makin' the girls wiggle)

Yes, you've been makin' them little girlies tingle
You've been makin' them all just jump up an' down an' mingle
In their socks, in their britches
Oh, you'll find that soon you'll be in the itches

(continued from 1st above)

you refer to all xxxxx of books on your shelf

ive seen you before/ you were drunk and you fell
then you said someone pushed you &
among the xxxxx

x you bring mary down/ she dont like like it when you come

there you stand clinging to your baggy pants
a (past) that's not even your own
you take everyting as a personal insult thrown
there is nobody here for you to consult
about your problems
the world has passed you by /youre alone
everybody knows yes youre such an adault

your face is so serious/ how fantastically abserd
you ask obnoxious questions & expect answers
to your harlarious opinions that must
youre in trouble/ you better buy some wires & [???]

you better turn on the radio/ stay in your car

you got lotta contacts/ to get your facts
you open your mouth

terrifying grin
talkin about the [slow life of?] [???] figure

youve been with professors
youve discussed robinson crusoe with
youve been thru all of f. scottfitzgerald's books
oh yeah with [???]

you been sick with diabetis &
youve even

you walk into the room like a camel & frown
+ [???] open your mouth + bring somebody down
there ought be a law against you coming round
why must

Author:  friend [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 01:52 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

harlarious... great, now im gonna spend the rest of my life wondering if that's a pun or a spelling mistake haha.
reminds me of tarantula's word games.

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 12:48 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Highlands (snippet)

(wouldn't [???]

[...] in the highlands, neath the [skyway?] [???]
Heaven and hell rolled into one
Big white (puffy) clouds like chariots that swing down low
My heart's in the highlands that's where I wanna go

8. I'm in Boston town in a restaurant (I'm [???]
Got no idea what I want
waitress walks over and bends to [...]
says the special tonight [...]

9. I just [...]

various snippets, back to front

[Honest?] with me" EDIE

[...] steal
[...] thin man) (last meal)
[???] for Dignity
[???] field

[...] was
[...] that pass
[...] glass ... for Dignity
(I believe)
[???] (New Years Eve)
[...] woman who'd know (left [???][???] alone)
[...] went into the past turning over every stone
[...], searching low
[ever]ywhere I know

(Dignity it is the
starting point,
no beginning, no
middle, no end)

with numbers, letters and [???]

(tryin' to the everything [???]

(went into the city,
went into the

the beginning
the middle
the end... to the crossroads
+ of Heaven (earth)

stepped out of the grave

[...] extra) seen the unknown soldier yesterd[ay]
said his name was Paul, talking to you
said "go back where you come from"
"leave me alone I got

happening [???] to
[???] [???]
[???] but to forget
of [???]

[...] to tell want from need - [cried?]
[...] blistering shade) I [???] up close
[...] I asked the maid
[...] Dignity
[...] by the

the sun
to fade

[...] confused cat to them[?]
[???] [I don't?]

[...]by Dignity

[...] Bordertown

(go) steppin
martyr [???]
- grave
[the sun/son leaves?]

[need better copy of second sheet]

3. Direction voice he hears
Covered up mirrors
looking to the lost forgotten years
Met Prince Philip - Blues
information if name wasnt used

Money up front
Footprints silver sand
[...] - tattoo [???]


Author:  Johanna Parker [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 12:50 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Oh doctor, my eyes! :lol:

Author:  meuse2208 [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 13:24 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Truly fascinating stuff!
I just don't get it why he sold it all to a millionaire.
I wonder what his family thinks about that.

Author:  leavinclaud [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 16:57 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Given he's been able to hermetically seal his family life from the limelight so consistently well, I could imagine this separation works reciprocally. For example, the family don't get involved in his literary work, he doesn't collaborate publicly with either of the two sons who in the public eye. Families like this one will have made financial provisions long ago for when the patriarch dies, they aren't going to fall out over $15 million or that the work of their relative is in others' hands. I'm certain there are many more items of more innate value to family members that will be bequeathed to them than are in this archive, as big as it is.

Author:  meuse2208 [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 20:05 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Yes, that's probably how it is.

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Thu March 3rd, 2016, 20:42 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

If any more manuscript photos / screenshots surface over the weekend, please leave / link them here for me to have a look at next week. Thank you.

Author:  leavinclaud [ Mon March 7th, 2016, 18:51 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

The Tulsa World TV site had a video interview with the curator and this link is to 24 screenshots (many near duplicates). Hope it helps


Author:  Johanna Parker [ Mon March 7th, 2016, 19:21 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

leavinclaud wrote:
The Tulsa World TV site had a video interview with the curator and this link is to 24 screenshots (many near duplicates). Hope it helps


Many thanks. I wish there was less repetition between the various articles and videos themselves.

Author:  leavinclaud [ Mon March 7th, 2016, 19:46 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Good point but these last photos were much better lit it seemed to me

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Mon March 7th, 2016, 20:00 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts





(Visions of Johanna)

(clinging to the) ([road?])

Madonna / she still hasn't / showed
[???][???] the empty cage blowing [???] the road
where her cape of the stage once had flowed
clearly now it lights up the roads
Monas roads
+ the death of infinity / +codes
of the nitengales / where the fish truck [loads?]
my conscience explodes

nothing's left

[???][???][???] showed
[???][???] empty - corrodes (blowed)
[???][???] her cape of the - flowed
[???] the death of infinity / codes
[???][???] nitengales left on the [???] the roads
[???] to take back everything what is [...]
[???] back everything what is [...]
[???] still [...]

Author:  hollowhorn [ Fri March 11th, 2016, 19:32 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Make You Feel My Love:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/hollowhor ... 6/sizes/o/

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Fri March 11th, 2016, 20:22 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

hollowhorn wrote:

Okay, that's good handwriting for once.

Author:  Johanna Parker [ Sun March 13th, 2016, 23:23 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts


Does anyone own this page of the NY Times, and if so, is the BOTT notebook readable? And if so, can you provide close-up photo of that section of the page? Thank you.

Author:  shooting_star_night [ Tue March 15th, 2016, 22:28 GMT ]
Post subject:  Re: Dylan's Manuscripts

Johanna Parker wrote:

Does anyone own this page of the NY Times, and if so, is the BOTT notebook readable? And if so, can you provide close-up photo of that section of the page? Thank you.

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/06/arts/ ... chive.html

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