Dylan Made Me Do It

I purchased LIFE's Bob Dylan special/book/mag yesterday. Flipped through it last night and this afternoon. I've been a Dylan fan since I picked up the guitar. Just seeing some of the pictures in this book & reading about what inspired some of his songs made me want to write. So, I wrote a few verses and a chorus. I'll probably add another verse or two and/or a bridge, but I'm satisfied with it thus far.

"The Road is Gonna Be A War"

If something is inside you let it out
If cannon balls explode inside your chest, you shouldn’t doubt
That the road is gonna be
The road is gonna be a war
If everything you have is robbed from you
And you are left with nothing but this moment, you know that
The road is gonna be
The road is gonna be a war

Say what they will
Say the wrong things, you know I will

What if there’s no savior in the end?
What if everything you played your cards on is a myth?
Say, the road is gonna be
The road is gonna be a war
The constant current might drag you beneath
Turn you, shake you, spit you out, and tangle you with grief
Yeah, the road is gonna be
The road is gonna be a war

Say what they will
Say the wrong things, you know I will


Hey. Remember when this was a thing. Yeah, me too.

Random Writing

I decided to randomly sit down and write today. This fell out. Hope ya like it!

Weren't the lights off when I left?, he thought as he moved the pipe from the right to the left corner of his mouth. It sat beneath a billowing mustache and upon a strong foundation of a beard that was unshaven due to lack of interest. I'm pretty sure I turned them off.

He sat on the pier watching sails dance across the sky, hardly, it seemed, attached to the boats beneath. The sky was blue. The seas were blue. The buildings were blue. He exhaled out, and the smoke was blue. A man across the pier shouted out. It sounded like blue. The fish were blue. His chair was white.

Maybe I'll move to India. I think I'd like that . . . The people there don't smile much, but there are lovely smells in their food. A small, brown dog ran by, followed by a boy, Lucien I think his name is. He was supposed to be in school, but Lucien's, or whatever his name is, father caught and sold fish and couldn't afford hired help. Lucien wasn't much help except to move a few loads of fish, roll ropes, and make sure the small, brown dog didn't run away.

I'd like to have sex with an Indian woman, he thought, switching from right over left leg to left over right. A young girl. One who'd just like to fool around a bit before she's wed. The blue water looked lively today. Salt water doesn't really smell like much after a while. But he wouldn't have noticed any way.

Shouts and waves and songs and the small, brown dog barking. People, mostly middle aged men, would pat him strongly on the shoulder as they passed by his white chair. He didn't care what they said. He'd stopped caring years ago. The sky sure is blue today. Lovely clouds, though. He did notice the sky.