In a weak moment about a month ago I ordered and paid for the complete book of Bob Dylan’s lyrics. I mean, how many guitar thumping, harmonica blowers ever won the Nobel Prize? It’s a huge thing. The guy wrote more than is in the Talmud, it seems. Over 650 pages. The book weighs four pounds and four ounces!

The thing about Dylan’s songs is that no matter how you sing his words it’s OK. He wasn’t much of a vocalist but that was his thing. Or, at least it became his thing. I actually saw him in Houston. It was during his Christian period. I was sitting high and to his right. It was a remarkably uninspired performance. But what do I know – that might have been my problem. His genius was in the writing. A lot or song writers had their moments back then – he had a generation.

These days we have comedians. People are still dying by the thousands and we have comedians. Is it so bad that we can’t look at it anymore?

Don’t give me too much credit. It’s easy too write about this stuff. When Dylan was writing and performing the words that have now become part of our national lexicon, I was searching for meaning in a forest of religious irrelevance. I did find that I had a knack for helping people find their way through some dark patch in their journey. That was my contribution while all around me the times were indeed a changin. Hell, Woodstock was in the history books before I even knew about it.

When I read his words – not that easy without the phrasing or his voice – I am able to feel the anxiety of the age. His voice was the voice of a generation who felt cut off from their own time in history.

Anyway, my daily dose of Dylan seems right for me right now. I’m not sure how long this will last. Four pounds of lyrics is a lot. I may have to balance it out with a few ounces of The Captain and Tennille.

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