"I got a job as a Chinaman..."

Bob Dylan, on how he chose his career (Playboy interview, 1966):

Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I'm in a card game. Then I'm in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a "before" in a Charles Atlas "before and after" ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy — he ain't so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I'm in Omaha. It's so cold there, by this time I'm robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain't much to look at, but who's built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything's going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

Blizz blather from the Hem-hawser

Dear punk buddies, I greet you! Welcome to my thoughts. A few ground rules: do not step on the walls, the floor or inhale the fumes.

Ok first item: shrill moans from the froo-froo Malignotech. Who disagrees? Good then, the others can shut their pie holes. We all vote in favour, froo froo, whoop do doo.

Ok next item: zonking in the parlour when your mother's on the phone - good idea or swinishly ogresome? Aha, five hands raised in runamok moodiness - ok sirs and dames, dissent noted and your names forever blacklisted. As they say in Purvish County - please count your friends on my middle finger! {to be continued}

"It's WHO you know..."

Words break hearts
study invisibility
few syllables from thinkmaker,
stunned silence

imaginative laziness
narrowminded nepotism
penchant for pre-approved lists
distorts reality
repeats history
'we only accept
published authors'
ensures mediocrity
unplowed potential

I don't have patience
for unsurprising revelations

afraid to lose a job
ie enemy of truth
I don't love truth when I might die.