old hipster musical gangster the top rung of dancing prankster. the white man with tune the white man with ear the white man with no fear of Alzheimer or cancer. This man is quoted as genius in a bottle a legend on tape and a mystery in books. he has a name without spelling a plan with no future his lyrics are visible in imagination and creation of a world he bestows upon the worthy. we are listening to a growl and listening to an arc-angel his presence is everywhere and he influences us through the core of time through the dimension of heart and mind.
forever he will grow and for now he shall gnaw on our souls feeding them with love and hate and jealousy and pride. we did it, he just says it. he has the experience before we knew it was there. experiments turn to gold his old mind never turned to dust he cannot be ignored or turned down, the airwaves ripe with his pleasure. the ideas he has, the motions he makes the look upon his human face. he may not exist but he would be here anyway. magicks are less mysterious, vampires more real, eternity more possible and he makes all of our lies become true in the essence of his being real. we can only wish Bob Dylan is God.
