because it was a BOB DYLAN kinda day...

…in the early morning rain of ‘the Village’ we heard BOB DYLAN By Zyskandar A. Jaimot on 04/27/2008
…in the early morning rain of ‘the Village’ we heard BOB DYLANWe met ‘CRAZY CAL’ as he was taking a pissin one of those square phone booths on McDougal Streetdown in the ‘Village’ you know ‘the Village’ as it was in the early 1960’s it was a time of experimentation and all and being open to all kinds of people and things “where you can't hop a jet plane like you can a freight train so its best to be on our ‘trippy’ way in the early morning rain with a dollar in our hands”*and the first time singing out his ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ cause there were no rules anymore just to do it be it experience all that was happening to us we saw that singer with his mouth harmonica attached to wires around his head while he strummed his guitar while ‘CRAZY CAL’ in his soiled beige raincoat offered us girls/women for a coupla’ bucks and they weren’t too bad too look at yeah WHITE and kinda’ clean and all yeah no not ‘cheap’ at all like common whores strutting their wares over on 8th Avenue all used-up and done-in by 3 in the afternoon by the bald businessmen getting ‘quickies’ before or after or during their work-days but the girls with ‘CRAZY CAL’ they were like high-school girls dressed without make-up in their leather thigh-high boots lolly-pop red hot-pants with low-cut blouses to show their bra-less young titties and the drops of rain caused their nipples to blossom dark and their areolas to strain against the wet fabric as if semen of a new procreative force had fallen from that sky in that coming cleansing rain of change on those old worn-out city streets cause this was a new attitude of freedom at least for titties and twats and us being able to watch and all and these ‘chicks’ seemed more than willing to be pimped off by this ‘BLACK guy’ while he smoked a reefer joint and pissed in his phone booth right on the corner there in front of everybody he didn’t seem to care jes yanked out his ‘johnson’ and took a ‘leak’ right there and offered us two raw potatoes or was he taking a ‘ride’ on some l.s.d.-hallucogen or jes playing with us making out like man he was really ‘stoned’ offering us two potatoes as if we were at some outdoor market selling ‘Idaho spuds’ and that kid BOB DYLAN strummed his guitar and kept trying to find ‘WOODY Guthrie’ and his AMERIKA lost on other highways of experience and this kid whose real name was Zimmerman or something that sounded/read so Jew-like played that mouth organ and sorta sang to us about how the whole world was gonna change and we always wondered why they called this area ‘the Village’ cuz men women guys girls wore their hair long and just hung out everywhere and held hands together like on Henry Street and BOB DYLAN with his long sorta brown curly-hair jes continued to sing at one club then seemingly another and the beer was cheap and sometimes cold and no one ever asked for us to prove our ages-of-innocence and the sweet smell of those ‘funny cigarettes’ was in the air everywhere and ‘CRAZY CAL’ asked us if we wanted to take a ‘trip’ and so the girl sitting with him at the table in the darkened club where light of reality didn’t seem to enter reaches under her skirt and pulls out this plastic pouch full of pills and opens it and for a minute I imagined she was pulling a baby out of her stomach but that was only after a few hits on that funny cigarette toke and hands us one pill each and eventually we drifted off to that place BOB DYLAN was singing about in that corner of ‘The Village’ that was a place in another time and all the dreary grey colours of the city in the memory mist of raining mourn became alive in brilliant reds + oranges + yellows + greens + BOB-DYLAN’s melancholy notes + violets and engulfed us and we were there in that subterranean vision of bluesy-woosey against the war chants and for civil rights marches - whatever that meant for the ‘Negroes’ in the South and all over for everybody cuz we were perfectly peaceful you know mellowed out by the beers the toke and the pills and the music and O.K. with ‘CRAZY CAL’ when that image of nightmare VIETNAM had barely entered our lexicon of lament and disabused dreams and sex was something new and unexpected only to be laughed about and not really thought-about because ‘abortion’ was still considered a ‘dirty word’ and really how many of us had really had sex and not lied about ‘it’ glorifying in our make believe conquests and triumphs besides ‘jerking-off’ to girls unattainable except in our dreams laid-out by “Playboy and Penthouse” full-colour-pink-pages and then like trying to ‘cop a feel or grab an ass or make our fingers and more - stink’ cause it was said they smelled like ‘rotten blue cheese – if those girls didn’t douche enough’ and i remember how we held ‘Sandy’ after both Larry L. and i had fucked her that day after school like some chicken bone upside-down making a wishbone pouring ‘Coke’ down her slit cause we had heard that ‘Coke’ would stop her from getting pregnant and we ‘shook’ her like some giant soda bottle eager for it to fizz and explode us into what we thought was manhood knowing we had slyly gone further than any of our other chums actually to enter that glorious hidden tunnel of smooth desire without seeming to be directed at that’s all we wanted cuz boys no men were supposed to be above just lusting/desiring/pleading for sex every second of the day/night and that slick-guy BOB DYLAN just kept singing and playing his mouth on that organ to us singing at us and the songs eventually became us… *quotes from BOB DYLAN song Subterranean Homesick Blues© By Zyskandar A. Jaimot On 4/27/2008 9:59:29 PM