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PostPosted: Wed September 7th, 2016, 19:57 GMT 
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I had a dream I was up close for a recent performance of Desolation Row. Bob got up mid-song to find the sheets because he couldn't remember the words and was struggling along. When he finally got the lyrics, he continued the song, changing the words and imagining the rhymes anyway. He was quick, just a little hard to understand. It was then that I got up.


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PostPosted: Wed September 7th, 2016, 20:36 GMT 
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Hungryhoss wrote:
They say you should always be making sweet love to Scarlet Johannson by night.


Kinda wide hips though, no?


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PostPosted: Thu September 8th, 2016, 03:39 GMT 
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effort wrote:
Hungryhoss wrote:
They say you should always be making sweet love to Scarlet Johannson by night.


Kinda wide hips though, no?


They're to hold onto, kind sir!


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PostPosted: Thu September 8th, 2016, 06:51 GMT 
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Ah, then I'll close my eyes and wonder...


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PostPosted: Thu September 8th, 2016, 18:49 GMT 

Joined: Wed August 10th, 2011, 14:33 GMT
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I'm at a gas station somewhere on Interstate 70 between St. Louis and Kansas City when I notice a diminuitive figure in a funny hat come up behind me at the Polar Pop big-gulp machine. I turn around and, lo and behold, it's Bob, though in the dream this does not strike me as bizarre. He says, "So what's on tap today?" I assume he's just making small talk, so I say, "You know, the usual," a response which seems to moderately irk him. From this I infer that he actually expects me to read off the names of all the brands of soda available in the machine, which I do. A look of disappointment crosses his face as I finish, and he says, "So you mean, this isn't one a-them machines where you spray the soda in yer cup and then add the syrups, like grape or cherry or raspberry or butterscotch or vanilla?" I said it wasn't, somehow knowing to tell him that the nearest machine like that was about 140 miles northeast in Hannibal, MO. "That's Mark Twain country, innit?" he says, which I confirm, for some reason adding that Quincy, IL is just across the border, as if this would somehow be a further compelling reason to visit Hannibal, MO. "You drivin'?" he asks. The dream then flashes forward to Bob and I traveling northeast to Hannibal, MO in search of a syrup dispensing soda machine, but in a strange twist of events we now inexplicably have a hostage bound and gagged in the backseat and Bob is forcing us to listen to Side B of "Real Live" on my cassette deck over and over, though this version contains a hidden track at the end: a version of "True Love Tends to Forget" played live in 1984 in Cork, Ireland but never before documented let alone bootlegged. He explains that he always believed "Real Live" to be his finest hour as a performing artist, and says the fact that it's such a critically derided record sometimes keeps him up nights. As he speaks about this he becomes increasingly agitated, until eventually he pulls a gun from the glove box and starts blasting the hostage with bullets and barking profanities at him. Horrified, I stop the car and turn around to gaze upon the terrible sight, only to see that there is no longer a human hostage in the back seat, but rather a gigantic soda fountain that is furiously leaking syrups from its various bullet wounds. Bob immediately removes his hat and uses it to catch the streams of syrup cascading forth from the fountain, laughing excitedly as he sings the lyrics to "Pennies From Heaven." His back is to me now, and weirdly, it's at this point that it occurs to me to ask Bob if I can take my picture with him, though when he turns around, he is no longer Bob, but rather the original hostage from the backseat, a large, unwashed, moustached gentleman wearing a "Tesla: Tour 1990" t-shirt. "What the f*** are we listening to, and why does the backseat smell like f***in' pomegranate?" he says. I am unable to tell if he is mad or just one of those people who swears often, but I ask him if he still wants to go to Hannibal, or if we can get to heading back the opposite direction. "Hell if I care," he grunts. He then proceeds to walk several feet from the car and urinate on a guard rail, at which point I get back in the car and drive off, "Real Live" blasting from my speakers as the large man grows ever smaller in my rearviewmirror.


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PostPosted: Mon February 26th, 2018, 21:19 GMT 
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Had a dream last night that I was backstage at a show and Bob asked me what song I'd like to hear him do, so I said No Time To Think, which he did during the encore with the band doing the background vocals. Very weird performance I wish I could share.


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PostPosted: Mon February 26th, 2018, 22:02 GMT 
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Here‘s the soundtrack: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Fyhyor0yU3o


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PostPosted: Mon February 26th, 2018, 22:21 GMT 
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Location: over the shadows & the rain
I had a dream we were in a hot tub, outside
can't remember much else... :?


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PostPosted: Mon February 26th, 2018, 22:26 GMT 
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Alouette wrote:
I had a dream we were in a hot tub, outside
can't remember much else... :?

He must have slipped a drug in your wine


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PostPosted: Mon February 26th, 2018, 23:03 GMT 
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I gulped it down & I crossed the line


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PostPosted: Tue February 27th, 2018, 00:49 GMT 
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effort wrote:

That was good!
Especially when Gregg’s vocals finally kick in later in the vid.
Duane totally makes up for it though.
Thx!


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PostPosted: Tue February 27th, 2018, 11:30 GMT 

Joined: Tue January 6th, 2015, 15:03 GMT
Posts: 667
Kevin Davis wrote:
I'm at a gas station somewhere on Interstate 70 between St. Louis and Kansas City when I notice a diminuitive figure in a funny hat come up behind me at the Polar Pop big-gulp machine. I turn around and, lo and behold, it's Bob, though in the dream this does not strike me as bizarre. He says, "So what's on tap today?" I assume he's just making small talk, so I say, "You know, the usual," a response which seems to moderately irk him. From this I infer that he actually expects me to read off the names of all the brands of soda available in the machine, which I do. A look of disappointment crosses his face as I finish, and he says, "So you mean, this isn't one a-them machines where you spray the soda in yer cup and then add the syrups, like grape or cherry or raspberry or butterscotch or vanilla?" I said it wasn't, somehow knowing to tell him that the nearest machine like that was about 140 miles northeast in Hannibal, MO. "That's Mark Twain country, innit?" he says, which I confirm, for some reason adding that Quincy, IL is just across the border, as if this would somehow be a further compelling reason to visit Hannibal, MO. "You drivin'?" he asks. The dream then flashes forward to Bob and I traveling northeast to Hannibal, MO in search of a syrup dispensing soda machine, but in a strange twist of events we now inexplicably have a hostage bound and gagged in the backseat and Bob is forcing us to listen to Side B of "Real Live" on my cassette deck over and over, though this version contains a hidden track at the end: a version of "True Love Tends to Forget" played live in 1984 in Cork, Ireland but never before documented let alone bootlegged. He explains that he always believed "Real Live" to be his finest hour as a performing artist, and says the fact that it's such a critically derided record sometimes keeps him up nights. As he speaks about this he becomes increasingly agitated, until eventually he pulls a gun from the glove box and starts blasting the hostage with bullets and barking profanities at him. Horrified, I stop the car and turn around to gaze upon the terrible sight, only to see that there is no longer a human hostage in the back seat, but rather a gigantic soda fountain that is furiously leaking syrups from its various bullet wounds. Bob immediately removes his hat and uses it to catch the streams of syrup cascading forth from the fountain, laughing excitedly as he sings the lyrics to "Pennies From Heaven." His back is to me now, and weirdly, it's at this point that it occurs to me to ask Bob if I can take my picture with him, though when he turns around, he is no longer Bob, but rather the original hostage from the backseat, a large, unwashed, moustached gentleman wearing a "Tesla: Tour 1990" t-shirt. "What the f*** are we listening to, and why does the backseat smell like f***in' pomegranate?" he says. I am unable to tell if he is mad or just one of those people who swears often, but I ask him if he still wants to go to Hannibal, or if we can get to heading back the opposite direction. "Hell if I care," he grunts. He then proceeds to walk several feet from the car and urinate on a guard rail, at which point I get back in the car and drive off, "Real Live" blasting from my speakers as the large man grows ever smaller in my rearviewmirror.
This reminded me of the liner notes from JWH.


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PostPosted: Tue February 27th, 2018, 11:57 GMT 
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johnnyreality wrote:
There was me and Dylan sitting at a bar and Bobby says, "Jeez, Johnny man- I wish I could write songs as

good as yours"! And I say, "in your dreams, Bobby" .


Some of these are really funny :lol: Ive never had a dream about him, baby. That i know of anyway.


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PostPosted: Tue February 27th, 2018, 12:00 GMT 
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The whole thread reminds me of the great roy anderssons "you the living".

https://m.youtube.com/#/watch?v=vRVdveCHrkY


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PostPosted: Tue February 27th, 2018, 12:30 GMT 

Joined: Fri May 19th, 2006, 02:34 GMT
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Many times over the years. Meet in various places, have various conversations. Always surprised he remembers me and our previous conversations. Though he is polite and connecting, I never have the idea that he really cares that much about me.


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PostPosted: Tue March 13th, 2018, 11:31 GMT 

Joined: Sat January 6th, 2018, 19:04 GMT
Posts: 606
Had a particularly strange dream last year that still sticks in my mind. I was desperately waiting at the back door of a concert venue to try and say something I believed urgent to Dylan. He rushes out to his tour bus and I shout out to try and catch his attention. He keeps walking but then against his better judgement, reluctantly turns around and approaches me whilst his security guard eyes me suspiciously

“Make it quick son, I’m tired.”
“I want to know more about darkness and light Mr Dylan. Please, it’s deeply important.”

He pauses for a few seconds, looks me up and down, then says “ok, come with me”. It’s night but we go into his tour bus and suddenly the atmosphere changes. Opium and incense hangs in the air and the bus expands into some beautiful Arabic style structure filled with alabaster pillars and surrounded in a celestial light. As I gasp and take in the surroundings, I turn round to see Dylan sitting cross legged on a little red and gold embroidered cushion, like a Maharishi. He is dressed in white robes wearing large gold earrings and his face is somehow in four dimensions.

“Sit down and let me explain...”

He explains his theory and I nod enthusiastically, taking it all in. What he says is truly profound and life changing and makes perfect sense. I leave the bus and return to the night a new man.

I woke up and couldn’t remember what exactly it was he told me but damn I felt brilliant for the rest of that day. :lol:

Believe it or not later that day I wrote my first two songs and have been songwriting ever since.


Last edited by foxy on Tue March 13th, 2018, 12:01 GMT, edited 2 times in total.

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PostPosted: Tue March 13th, 2018, 11:41 GMT 

Joined: Sat January 6th, 2018, 19:04 GMT
Posts: 606
Kevin Davis wrote:
I'm at a gas station somewhere on Interstate 70 between St. Louis and Kansas City when I notice a diminuitive figure in a funny hat come up behind me at the Polar Pop big-gulp machine. I turn around and, lo and behold, it's Bob, though in the dream this does not strike me as bizarre. He says, "So what's on tap today?" I assume he's just making small talk, so I say, "You know, the usual," a response which seems to moderately irk him. From this I infer that he actually expects me to read off the names of all the brands of soda available in the machine, which I do. A look of disappointment crosses his face as I finish, and he says, "So you mean, this isn't one a-them machines where you spray the soda in yer cup and then add the syrups, like grape or cherry or raspberry or butterscotch or vanilla?" I said it wasn't, somehow knowing to tell him that the nearest machine like that was about 140 miles northeast in Hannibal, MO. "That's Mark Twain country, innit?" he says, which I confirm, for some reason adding that Quincy, IL is just across the border, as if this would somehow be a further compelling reason to visit Hannibal, MO. "You drivin'?" he asks. The dream then flashes forward to Bob and I traveling northeast to Hannibal, MO in search of a syrup dispensing soda machine, but in a strange twist of events we now inexplicably have a hostage bound and gagged in the backseat and Bob is forcing us to listen to Side B of "Real Live" on my cassette deck over and over, though this version contains a hidden track at the end: a version of "True Love Tends to Forget" played live in 1984 in Cork, Ireland but never before documented let alone bootlegged. He explains that he always believed "Real Live" to be his finest hour as a performing artist, and says the fact that it's such a critically derided record sometimes keeps him up nights. As he speaks about this he becomes increasingly agitated, until eventually he pulls a gun from the glove box and starts blasting the hostage with bullets and barking profanities at him. Horrified, I stop the car and turn around to gaze upon the terrible sight, only to see that there is no longer a human hostage in the back seat, but rather a gigantic soda fountain that is furiously leaking syrups from its various bullet wounds. Bob immediately removes his hat and uses it to catch the streams of syrup cascading forth from the fountain, laughing excitedly as he sings the lyrics to "Pennies From Heaven." His back is to me now, and weirdly, it's at this point that it occurs to me to ask Bob if I can take my picture with him, though when he turns around, he is no longer Bob, but rather the original hostage from the backseat, a large, unwashed, moustached gentleman wearing a "Tesla: Tour 1990" t-shirt. "What the f*** are we listening to, and why does the backseat smell like f***in' pomegranate?" he says. I am unable to tell if he is mad or just one of those people who swears often, but I ask him if he still wants to go to Hannibal, or if we can get to heading back the opposite direction. "Hell if I care," he grunts. He then proceeds to walk several feet from the car and urinate on a guard rail, at which point I get back in the car and drive off, "Real Live" blasting from my speakers as the large man grows ever smaller in my rearviewmirror.


Hah, this is absolutely brilliant. Had me struggling to keep my laugh in at the library.


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PostPosted: Tue March 13th, 2018, 23:15 GMT 
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I had a dream where I told him to check his mail.


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PostPosted: Tue March 13th, 2018, 23:53 GMT 
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The title should be 'about 'im'. I thought it might be one of our U.K. members who started this thread, then I realize the OP is from Ohio and now I feel very angry.

Anyway, no, I've not had a dream about 'em, er, Bob Fylan.


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PostPosted: Thu March 15th, 2018, 21:09 GMT 
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I wonder if Bob Dylan has ever dreamt that he is not Bob Dylan ? :shock:
He must have some strange dreams and I wonder what it's like to wake up being Bob Dylan ?

Just a thought....not a dream

moab


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PostPosted: Thu March 15th, 2018, 22:06 GMT 

Joined: Wed February 28th, 2018, 19:20 GMT
Posts: 63
Probably he's psychic and he has woken up in many a head lying in stranger's beds...


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PostPosted: Tue March 20th, 2018, 03:16 GMT 

Joined: Mon June 25th, 2007, 17:03 GMT
Posts: 714
one dream I had was at a show in some small town. It was dark and many people were there and some guy an I found our way to the backstage door. The door opened wide slamming the both of us back against the brick wall, breaking the guys glasses! It was the man himself, heavily clad in leather with his bodyguard beside him. By the time we recovered from being caught behind the door, Dylan and his guard tore off down into the mist. It took me a second before I saw him carrying a small red gift bag with some unknown trinket wrapped inside. I thought of following them and then he stopped and started chatting with his guard, before disappearing forever. The end.


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