Tarantula

by Bob Dylan

  let me say this about Justine—Ruthy & Zonk—none of them understood each other at all—Justine—she went off to join a rock n roll band & Ruthy—she decided to fight cocks professionally & when last heard from, Zonk was working in the garment district … they all lived happily ever after

  where i live now, the only thing that keeps

  the area going is tradition—as you can figure

  out—doesnt count very much—everything

  around me rots—i dont know how long it has

  been this way, but if it keeps up, soon

  i will be an old man—& i am only 15—the only

  job around here is mining—but jesus, who wants

  to be a miner … i refuse to be part of such

  a shallow death—everybody talks about the middle

  ages as if it was actually in the middle ages—

  i’ll do anything to leave here—my mind

  is running down the river—i’d sell my

  soul to the elephant—i’d cheat the sphinx—

  i’d lie to the conqueror … tho you might

  not take this the right way, i would even

  sign a chain with the devil … please dont

  send me anymore grandfather clocks—no more

  books or care packages … if youre going to

  send me something, send me a key—i shall

  find the door to where it fits, if it takes

  me the rest of my life

  your friend,

  Friend

  Furious Simon’s Nasty Humor

  i had a dream

  that the cook

  leaned

  & shook

  his fist over the

  balcony & said yes

  to the people

  yes the people

  & he said this

  to the people

  “i want four cups of stormtrooper—

  a tablespoon of catholic—five hideous paranoids—

  some water buffalo—a half pound of communist—

  six cups of rebel—two cute atheists—

  a quart bottle of rabbi—one teaspoon of

  bitter liberal—some antibirth tablets—

  three fourths black nationalist—

  a dab of lemon cock powder—

  some mogen david capitalists & a whole lot

  of fat people with extra money”

  then the cook’s helper

  appeared

  & cleared his throat & then he

  said to the people yes the

  people

  “also we’d like a mocking bird

  & some maids in milking—some raped

  college students & a drenched hen—

  two turtle gloves

  & a partridge & a gin & a pear tree”

  i awoke from this dream

  in the state of fright—then jumped out of bed &

  ran for the kitchen—crashed thru the door &

  slammed on the light/fell on my

  bended knees &

  thanked God

  that there was nothing new in

  the ice box

  dear Puck,

  traded in my electric guitar for

  one you call a gut one … you can play

  it all by yourself—dont need a band—

  eliminates all the fighting except of

  course for the other gut guitar

  players—am doing well—have no idea of

  what’s happening but all these girls

  with moustaches, theyre going crazy

  over me—you must try them sometime—

  weather is good—threw away all my lefty

  frizzell records—also got rid of my

  parka—you can keep my cow as i now am

  on the road to freedom

  see yuh later aligator

  Franky Duck

  I Found the Piano Player Very Crosseyed

  But Extremely Solid

  he came with his wrists taped & he carried his own coat hanger—i could tell at a glance that he had no need for Sonny Rollins but i asked him anyway “whatever happened to gregory corso?” he just stood there—he took out a deck of cards & he replied “wanna play some cards?” to which i answered “no but whatever happened to jane russell?” he flapped the cards & they went sailing all over the room “my father taught me that” he said “it’s called 52 pickup but i call it 49 pickup cause i’m shy three cards—haw haw aim that a scream & which one’s the piano?” at this gesture, i was relieved to see that he was human—not a saint mind you—& he wasnt very likable—but nevertheless—he was human—“that’s my piano over there” i say “the one with the teeth” he immediately rambled over & he stomped hard across the floor “shhhhhh” i said “you’ll wake up my No Pets Allowed sign” he shrugged his shoulders & took out a piece of chalk—he began to draw a picture of his kid on my piano “hey now look—that aint what’s wrong with my piano—i mean now dont take it personally—it’s got nothing to do with you, but my piano is out of tune—now i dont care how you go about it but fix it—fix it right” “my kid’s gonna be an astronaut” “i should hope so” says me “& by the way—could you tell me what happened to julius larosa?” a picture of abraham lincoln falls from the ceiling “that guy looks like a girl—i saw him on Shindig—he’s a fag” “how wise you are” says i “hurry & fix my piano willya—i have this geisha girl coming over at midnight & she digs to jump on it” “my kid’s gonna be an astronaut” “c’mon—get to work—my piano—my piano—c’mon it’s out of tune” at this time, he takes out his tool & starts to tinkle on a few high notes—“yeah it’s out of tune” he says “but it’s also 5:30” “so what?” i say most melancholy “so it’s quitting time—that’s so what” “quitting time?” “look buddy i’m a union man …” “look yourself—you ever heard of woody guthrie? he was a union man too & he fought to organize unions like yers & he dug people’s needs & do you know what he’d say if he knew that a union man—an honest-to-God union man—was walking out on a poor hard traveling cat’s needs—do you know what he’d say d’yuh know what he’d think?” “all right i’m getting sick of you sprouting out names at me—i never hearda no boody guppie & anyway …” “woody guthrie not boody guppie!” “yeah well anyway i dont know what he’d say, but tomorrow—now if you want a new man tomorrow—like you can just call up & the union’ll send you over one gladly—like i dont care—it’s just another job to me buddy—just another job to me” “WHAT! you dont even take any pride in your work? i cant believe this! do you know what boody guppie would do to you man? i mean do you know what he’d think of you?” “i’m going home—i hate it here—it’s just not my style at all & anyway i never heard of any coody puppie” “boody guppie, you miserable bosom—not coody puppie & get out of my house—get out this instant!” “my kid’s gonna be an astronaut” “i dont care—you cant bribe me—i’m bigger’n that—get out—get out” … after he leaves i try playing my piano—no use—it sounds like a bowling alley—i change my No Pets Allowed sign to a Home Sweet Home sign & wonder why i havent any friends … it starts to rain—the rain sounds like a pencil sharpener—i look out the window & everybody’s walking around without a hat—it is 5:31—time to celebrate someone’s birthday—the piano tuner has left his coat hanger behind … which really brings me down

  unfortunately my friend, you shall not get

  the information you seek out of me—i, my

  good man, am not a fink! none of my relatives

  are or have been related to benedict arnold

  & i myself despise john wilkes booth—i dont

  smoke marijuana & my family hates italian

  food—none of my friends like black & white

  movies & again myself, i have never seen a

  russian ballet—also, i have started an organization

  to turn in all people that laugh at

  newsreels—so: could you please stop those

  letters to the district attorney say
ing that

  i know who murdered my wife—my principles are

  at stake here—i would NOT sacrifice them for

  one moment of pleasure—i am an honest man

  yours in growth,

  ivan the bloodburst

  The Vandals Took the Handles (An Opera)

  to South Duchess County comes Them & Woolworth’s Fool & triumphant alice toklas, the National Bank in short sleeves & the regulars—the sincereful regulars—House on its final kick—still breeding & a cellarful of imaginary Russian peasant girls holding triangles—the triangles are real—House on Doomstown, an academy—a priest with his winnings from Reno coming in on a parachute … “integrate the house!” “only if you wish to live where youre not wanted” “then bomb the house!” “only if you wish to live there by yourself” “what do you suggest then?” “it’s a pointless house—leave it alone—it is not happy within itself—it breeds disaster—it forces you to learn things that have nothing to do with the outside world & then it kicks you out there—the house dont need you—why should you be so low as to need it—leave—go far away from the house” “no, my friend, your way of thinking is called giving up” “do as you wish, your way is called losing—it’s not even a way of thinking” the priest leaves with his eyes downward—he is examining the rocks but he’s forgotten that his parachute has already been used once … alice toklas lays on a grassy knoll & blesses a flower “oh the enemy—beware of the enemy—the enemy is santa claus!” … the flower doesnt need her—the flower needs rain

  we sat in a room where Harold, who called himself “Lord of dead animals,” was climbing down from a ladder & he said “friend or doe? friend or doe?” he wore a black shawl & someone said that he experimented in the depth of mirrors—Poncho was very startled & screamed “i’ll give you a friend or doe, you freak!” & banged him with a judo chop & stuck his head thru the ladder—“shouldnt done that” said a very manly girl who came down the chimney “he’s very sullen but he’s a good cat—does anybody want a piece of bread?” Poncho said that he wanted a piece of kidney—i said i wanted a piece of separate … the girl began to cry

  in the photographs—you see the sand at Nice & Tangier & all the medicine men looking elegant & then out come the radar slaves—each one wanting to be an apostle & they carry the electrograms—we call them Employment & each one says things like “haul away ho” & “heave ’m johnny” & “I dont dig harry james at all!” & Hefty Bore, a leftover horror from the beat generation & a dubious health freak saying to his bewildered birdgirl, WeeWee the Dyke, “oh c’mon—it wouldnt cost you nothing to tell everybody that i’m the hippest person you ever met—c’mon—i do lots of things for you!” & WeeWee saying “but i never see anybody—you never let me see anybody!” & then Olive, who once started a streetfight over Carl Perkins’ eyes & now builds laugh machines for rich democrats—he brings in the equipment & you get taken across a narrow bridge where hundreds of tourists follow & sail lead weight records at your feet & they place you in a giant bus horn & voices yelling “i want that one—i want that one!” Madame Remember appears & she takes away your photographs & all that’s left in the outside world is your hand—little babies bite it & mothers are screaming SCREAMING “yes—he can have my vote—i’ll vote for him any day” … now youre a plastic vein—youve vanished inside of a perfect message—historic phone calls come thru to your belly & curious tabernacles move slowly thru your mind—hitchhiking—hitchhiking unashamed thru the goofs of your brain—your ideals are gone & all that remains are the cutup photographs of you standing in the supermarket—the bus still runs but now you take cabs with the jungle boys … Egotist shows you his diary & he says “I’ve learned to be silent” & you say “youve learned nothing—youve just said something”

  the good folks around here, they got plenty of questions—they beat elephants to death with candy sticks—“a white bear is a crazy bear” say the thieves who really are not thieves but rather plain people who dont expect their friends to get sick so they’ll need them—there is an illness on the mountain & a polio lily grew out of a green purse last Sunday—a dangerous nickel lays on the town square … everybody watches to see who’ll pick it up … TO SEARCH IS TO NEGLECT & VIOLENT LUCK IS STAMPEDE & there’s a bunch of us around here but we only pick up dollars

  here lies bob dylan

  murdered

  from behind

  by trembling flesh

  who after being refused by Lazarus,

  jumped on him

  for solitude

  but was amazed to discover

  that he was already

  a streetcar &

  that was exactly the end

  of bob dylan

  he now lies in Mrs. Actually’s

  beauty parlor

  God rest his soul

  & his rudeness

  two brothers

  & a naked mama’s boy

  who looks like Jesus Christ

  can now share the remains

  of his sickness

  & his phone numbers

  there is no strength

  to give away—

  everybody now

  can just have it back

  here lies bob dylan

  demolished by Vienna politeness—

  which will now claim to have invented him

  the cool people can

  now write Fugues about him

  & Cupid can now kick over his kerosene lamp—

  boy dylan—killed by a discarded Oedipus

  who turned

  around

  to investigate a ghost

  & discovered that

  the ghost too

  was more than one person

  South Duchess County importing pyramids & scavengers by the truckload & Cousin Butch—he leaves now & then to make three dollars a nite telling about the flying saucers … a warmonger—Antonio—working day & nite in a garage—he smuggles pad locks to the Olympic swimmers & hires out women for the baseball players—he’s very quiet & very fashion conscious—he knows his religious geography—he’s training his kid to be a gorilla & then he will rent him out for people’s closets—he says his right hand holds war but his left hand holds a wet paranoid smile … the peacemonger—Roach—when last seen—was chasing a train—he says that his right hand hold peace but his left hand was seen holding a doorknob & a meathook … South Duchess County in bandages & little Lady Suntan trying to analyze the Albino terrorists … South Duchess County—pure as visions & uneducated—shall exist past the deadly complements to it—past its lack of holidays & past the possible

  you cant fool me—i’m too smart—you

  were on that subway train when that

  kid got knifed—you just sat there—you

  were on the street when that black car

  drove up & tossed some form in the

  river—you turned around & walked to a

  phone & pretended you had someone to call …

  you were also there when they castrated

  that poor boy in public—you cant fool me—

  youre not so tough—sure, you took a big

  stand on juvenile delinquency—you said to

  run all the hoods out of town—oh youre so

  brave—sure, you say youre patriotic—you

  say youre not scared to drop any H bomb &

  show everybody that you mean what you say

  but you dont say anything excpt that youre

  not scared to drop any H bombs—how can you

  say that my kids must learn from a good

  example? they can learn from a bad example

  just as well—they can learn from you as well

  as me—you cant have me under your thumb

  anymore—not because i’m too squirmy, but because

  your hands are made of water … when you wish

  to talk to me, let me know ahead of time—i’ll

  have a bucket waiting … just because your wife

 
; is pregnant, youve no license to meddle in mine

  or my friends’ affairs—ask your wife if she

  remembers me

  yours faithfully

  Simon Dord

  p.s. you probably remember me as

  Julius the Honk

  A Sheriff in the Machinery

  Fringe—the boy lunatic—conceived on an Ash Wednesday when Scrounge meets Suckup girl—now Scrounge, he’s twisted—he’s completely wacked—ever since a midget (who turned out to be a child actor smoking a cigar) stomped on him like a balloon, Scrounge just aint never been the same—it’s been said that he paralyzed his hometown soda jerk & if he didn’t like you, he’d turn the jerk loose on you—to my knowledge, this never happened … Suckup girl—her nose job keeps dripping & she has to carry a gardener along when she goes to parties—she is talking to Bishop Freeze, who asks her “whaja thinka that Monet painting? i mean i just got done spending five days reading Kierkegaard—alone in a room baby—just me & Kierkegaard—yeah—& the first thing i see when i come outa there is that painting—well! flip? lemme tell you did i flip? i mean did you dig the wisdom in that goddamn forehead? did you dig the crumbs in the chick’s smile?” “yes i found it extremely … i found it extremely …” “monographic?” says Scrounge trying to help her out & put the make on her “yes & also i found it voluptuously interesting” when Bishop Freeze goes home, Suckup comes over to Scrounge & thanks him “dont mention it” says Scrounge who unbuttons his shirt & shows her his name signed on his stomach “had that done in Kadalawoppa last year—that’s in Mexico you know” “oh that’s donkey country—i know it very well—the beaches are extremely fantastic—i hear the fuzz are down there now tho” “yeah baby the fuzz come in about last Christmas—the scene now is in the jungle” “would you like to go for a ride on my stallion—we’ll drop the gardener off” “yeah baby sure—then maybe we’ll come back & shoot the bull” “all right—sounds wizzy—i got my gun & we can talk about Kadalawoppa & everything” “Kadalawoppa yeah & did you ever know Puny Jim down there?” “no but what about Lupe d’Lupe—did you know him—he’s a retired coffee expert—comes from the coast?” “yes—oh my god—yes i did—i found him extremely uh … extremely …” “he’s a natural baby—he’s a natural—a meth-head but he’s all beautiful—he’s the one that showed me that the jungle was there” “yes me too—i found him extremely interesting” … nite falls now & Scrounge takes Suckup girl by the leg—she rearranges her mouth & they both go out the back door looking at the moon … Fringe is conceived