Today at work I heard a Dylan song and it felt so right for that moment of the day that I sort of stopped and just stood there listening to it. I mean, it's not like I don't listen to Dylan frequently already, but today's just sort of been a Dylan kind of day. Is it the cold December rain? The darkness? The Tuesday-ness of it all? I don't know, but I'm going to rock on the rest of the evening with Mr. Dylan. I encourage you do to do the same, and perhaps comment on this post and include a Dylan song, scrap of lyric, or Dylan story of your own. If you don't know who Bob Dylan even is, I suggest you leave the darkness of your pantry for a few hours and trudge to your local music shop.
"Why was I born to love you?"
Blogagaard Loves to Ponder
About Me
- David Oppegaard
- St. Paul, Minnesota
- I am the author of And the Hills Opened Up, The Suicide Collectors, and Wormwood, Nevada.
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5 comments:
"...play a song for me. I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm goin' to"
"only a matter of time 'till night comes steppin in"
You know, it feels weird to encourage people to comment on Blogagaard. I hereby withdraw any encouragement, and now commenting will only make you the coolest rebel ever.
You know, I can't help but feel this Tuesday really slipped by me. I mean, I got a haircut, but what's that? On my deathbed I'll probably really regret this Tuesday as the Tuesday that got away.
"Shadows are falling, and I've been here all day."
Don't worry, there's always next Tuesday!
Tangled up in blue.
I'm going to rebel and quote Martin Sexton:
So I listen to the wind for the answer. Time hangs heavy on my face. Run from the storm that's on its way. Till I find there is no place, no person, no thing I can run to, no shelter I can gain from the rain.
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