DYLANOLOGY: THE STUDY OF SCHTICK DRECK

Bob Dylan and I have a long history - from 1968 or earlier to the present 2014 - that is almost half a century. Lasted longer than with any of his wives. Dylan has proven himself to be:

  • A MALE PROSTITUTE WHO GOT FUCKED UP THE ASS FOR $20
  • A COPY CAT:SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT
  • A DOPE FIEND
  • A ANTI-COMMUNIST WHO PRETENDED TO BE COMSYMP
  • A RACIST AND NEO-CONFEDERATE
  • HIV POSITIVE
  • AN ISRAEL HATER
  • A HOLOCAUST REVISIONIST AND NAZI LOVER
  • A WEBERMAN HATER
  • CHECK THIS DYLAN INTERVIEW AND OTHER SORDID DOCUMENTS
  • DYLAN IS A BAD INFLUENCE ON BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN

    Paint It Black Is About Dylan



    BOB DYLAN, JEWS AND THE SLAVE TRADE by AJ Weberman

    2 MILLION DOLLARS FOR THE FIRST DRAFT OF A RACIST POEM?

    Let me lay a taste on you of the subtextual meaning of Like A Rolling Stone:

    “You used to ride” you used to allow to continue without interference, you used to support “on the chrome horse” candidates who supported regimes that practiced apartheid (South Africa is the world’s biggest producer of chrome) “with your diplomat” and your government had diplomatic relations with them while the South Africans “carried on his shoulder” shouldered a burden, the White Man’s Burden of having to uplift inferior races and cultures such as “a Siamese” a closely connected or very similar; twin “cat” slang for a Black man, the South Africans also have to deal with the burden of living with blacks “Ain't it hard when you discovered that” ain’t it hard for Whites to really believe “He really wasn't where it's at” that apartheid was an evil system and was worthy of economic and political sanctions “After he took from you everything he could steal” after you learned that apartheid was “stolen” from Jim Crow a practice that originated with Whites in America. “Steal” to use, appropriate, or preempt the use of another's idea. Yessir folks, Dylan sure put one over on you. Fools! Imbeciles! You thought he was an intergrationist when he was a segregationist!! But you will never accept this self evident truth, will you?





    BIRTHDAY CARD FROM DYLAN TO AL!



    What the fuck this is about I do not know. Full Moon, Empty Arms: First recorded 1945. Released in May 2014. I was born 5/26/45. Dylan sent me a birthday card by picking a tune from his infinite repetoire that fits into his symbolism as he did with songs like Take a Message to Mary! But this fucking song is unbearable. The minute it starts I can't wait for it to end.

    Full moon and empty arms
    The moon is there for us to share
    But where are you?


    This has got to do with Blacks in America. It is on everyone's mind. I got to see how Dylan uses the word moon in his poetry.

    Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune
    Bird fly high by the light of the moon
    Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman. 

    Like Dylan take the communist line ascend by virtue of craziness.

    It's the end of the chase
    And the moon is high
    It don't matter who loves who,
    Either you'll love me or I'll love you
    When the night comes falling from the sky

    After the cops catch me and everything becomes crazy I am going to get fucked up the ass in prison.

    Insanity, craziness and no way to fight it / the insanity has engulfed America we both of us can see it but where are you on the political spectrum?

    A night like this could weave a memory
    And every kiss could start a dream for two


    A present set of circumstances could weave - produce by elaborately combining elements: contrive a part of history, a memory. And every contact could start a poem for two - the poet and the critic both making contributions.

    Tonight, I'll use the magic moon
    To wish upon


    Tonight, presently, Dylan will use an extraordinary power or influence seemingly from a supernatural source to confer (something unwanted) on someone: foist his thoughts on me. I'm telling you this literary relationship gets weirder and weirder and it started out pretty weird to begin with.

    And next full moon
    If my one wish comes true
    My empty arms will be filled with you


    I really have little idea of that the subcontent here implies and don't really care to. It gets too complex

    THE BLACK ANGEL'S DEATH SONG BY LOU REED IS ABOUT BOB DYLAN by AJ Weberman



    LOU REED: WAITIN FOR THE MOSHIACH




    I was thinking of a series of dreams (I hear “Just the end of a series of dreams” of course I don’t hear the words right) Just thinking about or just the end of series of poems, message songs Where nothing comes up to the top Where nothing will ever reach the top of the charts because of its leftist content and musical genre Everything stays down where it’s wounded / And comes to a permanent stop And is shot down by Columbia Records and comes to a permanent halt - it gets censored like what happened on the Freewheelin’ - Columbia Records censored Talkin’ John Birch and Ramblin Gamblin’ Willie Wasn’t thinking of anything specific Sarcastic, I was writing songs based on actual events like the death of Medgar Evers. Like in a dream, when someone wakes up and screams Sarcastic: Like in a poem where someone comes to a realization and begins to scream about injustices against Blacks Nothing too very scientific Nothing accurate and precise.

    Where the time and the tempo fly Where the opportunity and the zeitgeist feeling of the time coincide And there’s no exit in any direction And he can’t escape this liberal orientation ’Cept the one that you can’t see with your eyes Except of course for the racist subcontent of songs like Blowin’ in the Wind. Wasn’t making any great connection Wasn’t making any logical association or development; mental association with integrationist thinking. Wasn’t falling for any intricate scheme Wasn’t falling for the civil rights movement, a plan to steal from the whites and give to blacks by scheming politicians. Nothing that would pass inspection The subcontent of his poetry would not be approved by Martin Luther King for sure as it was pro-KKK, believe it or not!

    Dreams where the umbrella is folded Poems where he was unable to reach a large swath of America. Into the path you are hurled – the second time he sings this verse it is into the path where you hurl he took a path in life that made him puke- hurl – advocating communism And the cards are no good that you’re holding Unless they’re from another world The cards are no good that one is holding in life are worthless unless they are from the free world instead of the Communist Soviet Union world. CPUSA voted Dylan the comsymp of the year. In one, numbers were burning – also the surface was frozen in one the surface was frozen (North Country Blues) In another, I witnessed a crime in another I witnessed a crime Hattie Carrol killed William Zanzinger In one, I was running, continuing to present or perform: ran the film for a month and in another all I seemed to be doing was climb in another all I did was climb (Blowin in the Wind climbed to the top of the charts). Wasn’t looking for any special assistance Wasn’t looking for help from the Communist Party Not going to any great extremes Sarcastic: not going to the extreme left I’d already gone the distance I’d had already gone the distance for them anyway.

    Get it? Of course you don't because you are not Dylanologists, you are Dylan fans, a bunch of Dylan lovers. If you want a crash course in Dylanology try DYLANOLOGY FOR DUMMIES

    THE LEGEND OF ZIMMERMAN / WEBERMAN

    AS PORTRAYED IN POETRY AND SONG BY DYLAN AND THE ROCK POETS





    THE MAN IN ME OCTOBER 1970

    The man in me will do nearly any task,
    And as for compensation, there's little he would ask.
    Take a woman like you
    To get through to the man in me.

    “The man in me will do nearly any task” the Devil in me will do anything I ask him to do except if the task involves doing good because that is where he draws the line “And as for compensation” and as for something given as payment for a service “there's little he would ask” sarcastic; and all the Devil wants is Dylan’s soul, no big deal, so what if his disembodied spiritual essence rots eternally in Hell? “Take a woman like you” takes a scumbag like A. J. Weberman “To get through to the man in me” to reach the Devil, the murderer in me.

    Storm clouds are raging all around my door
    I think to myself I might not take it anymore.
    Take a woman like your kind
    To find the man in me.

    “Storm clouds are raging all around my door” heavy dark clouds presaging rain or a storm are erupting violently around the perimeter of my home, trouble is brewing due to Weberman publicizing the fact I like to get high on smack, he is stirring up hatred against me, it’s the latest rage “I think to myself I might not take it anymore” I think to myself maybe this is a good time to stop taking heroin until the heat dies down or maybe this is the time to have Al whacked and not have to take his stupid shit anymore “Take a woman like your kind” take a sick bastard like A. J. Weberman “To find the man in me” to find the Devil in me.

    But, oh, what a wonderful feeling
    Just to know that you are near
    Sets my a heart a-reeling
    From my toes up to my heels.

    “But, oh, what a wonderful feeling” but oh what a great high “Just to know that you are near” just to see that blood rushing up the droppers neck “Sets my a heart a-reeling” it sets my innermost being a-dancin’ “From my toes” from my desire to take drugs “up to my heels” Mr. Tambourine Man 1964, “wait only for my boot heels to be wanderin.’” I can’t wait to boot up!

    The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen
    But that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine.
    Took a woman like you
    To get through to the man in me.

    “The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen” the Devil in Dylan will use a cut out to put a contract out on Weberman, he will remain unseen “But that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine” but that is just because Dylan doesn’t want to have to turn to Organized Crime for help in solving the Weberman problem and be blackmailed for the rest of his life. “Machine” organized group of people whose members are, or appear to be, under the control of one or more leaders “Took a woman like you” took a douche bag nozzle like A. J. Weberman “To get through to the man in me” to get through to the Devil in me. There you have it. A poem in which Dylan admits selling his soul to the Devil.






    DYLAN GETS HIS ROCKS OFF FANTASIZING
    ABOUT KNEE CAPPING AND BEATING
    A STALKER NAMED AJ WEBERMAN


    Bet you didn't realize Van Zandt is writing about me (Lefty) and Dylan in this next video. Townes Van Zandt died on New Years Day 1997 from health problems stemming from years of substance abuse.

    Living on the road my friend
    Was gonna keep you free and clean
    Now you wear your skin like iron
    Your breath's as hard as kerosene
    You weren't your mama's only boy
    But her favorite one it seems
    She began to cry when you said goodbye
    And sank into your dreams

    Living on the road my friend / Was gonna keep you free and clean Did you really believe that going on tour would keep you free of dugi, clean Now you wear your skin like iron / Your breath's as hard as kerosene now you wear your race as your strength and your life is incendiary. You weren't your mama's only boy But her favorite one it seems you weren't the Lefts only spokesperson but its favorite She began to cry when you said goodbye / And sank into your dreams and your folk fans had a sissy fit when you went electric and your poems descended into some gray areas like smack.

    Pancho was a bandit boys
    His horse was fast as polished steel
    Wore his gun outside his pants
    For all the honest world to feel
    Pancho met his match you know
    On the deserts down in Mexico
    Nobody heard his dying words
    That's the way it goes

    Pancho was a bandit, boys / His horse was fast as polished steel Dylan was a junkie his horse went into his vein with a new set of works Wore his gun outside his pants / For all the honest world to feel exhibited his desires for all those who understood his poetry Pancho met his match you know On the deserts down in Mexico Dylan met his match while he was a junkie, lost in the rain in Juarez. His match was AJ Weberman who went around saying Dylan was slimey junkie Nobody heard his dying words / That's the way it goes And nobody believed him even though Dylan had almost OD'd several times but what do you expect? People have always ignored the prophets of their time.

    All the federales say
    They could have had him any day
    They only let him hang around
    Out of kindness I suppose
    Lefty he can't sing the blues
    All night long like he used to
    The dust that Pancho bit down south
    Ended up in Lefty's mouth
    The day they laid poor Pancho low
    Lefty split for Ohio
    Where he got the bread to go
    There ain't nobody knows

    Lefty he can't sing the blues / All night long like he used to AJ Weberman can't complain anymore like he used to when he stole Dylan's garbage The dust that Pancho bit down south / Ended up in Lefty's mouth the dust, the garbage, dust as in the British dustbin that Dylan threw away, went south, gave AJ something to talk about and promote his theory that Dylan's current bag was bag of scag. The day they laid poor Pancho low The day Dylan stopped playing folk music Lefty split for Ohio The Left and AJ as its spokeperson split for singers like Phil Ochs who was from Ohio Where he got the bread to go / There ain't nobody knows he got it from bootlegging Dylan tapes.

    All the federales say
    They could have had him any day
    They only let him slip away
    Out of kindness I suppose
    The poets tell how Pancho fell
    Lefty's livin' in a cheap hotel
    The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold
    So the story ends we're told
    Pancho needs your prayers it's true,
    But save a few for Lefty too
    He just did what he had to do
    Now he's growing old

    The poets tell how Pancho fell the other rock poets sing about Dylan's dope habit Lefty's livin' in a cheap hotel while AJ is writing for the underground press The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold things have quieted down about Dylan's habit and Weberman hasn't figured the rest out - he is still cold So the story ends we're told but don't think it is over Pancho needs your prayers it's true, Dylan needs your help to get his head together But save a few for Lefty too but don't dismiss the value of Weberman out of hand "He just did what he had to do" he just did what his conscience dictated Now he's growing old

    A few gray federales say
    They could have had him any day
    They only let him go so wrong
    Out of kindness I suppose












    I saw thousands who could have overcome the darkies, I mean darkness, but for the lover of a buck nigger, weberman you nigger lover, you left them at the mercy of these murderous beasts. you'll know all about it love it'll fit you like a glove - you'll know about their brutality when you get a big black nigger dick shoved up your ass / after you get busted. never happened. I had a pretty good time in prison and look back at the one time in life I didn't have to worry about going prison - all I had to worry about was getting out?



    "I wasn't aware of you then." Lying snoopy motherfucker.















    what kind of scumbag would spread rumors that Dylan was a dope fiend? If I ever catch up with this dude I am going to do him in.



    more me and dylan - he heard rumors I was planning to put him down in two ways in print and diss him and he ain't happy about it. They say you been seen with the old Dylan he is attractive to the left and he you think he thinks like you but you are wrong - all of these awful things that I have heard - dylanology articles - it hurts me all over it doesn't seem rightwing which it really is



    When I told Dylan about my group the Progressive Bible Readers where we would read from Genesis with bongos punctuating the verses. Real dirty race (Jewish) and a curly tale (a convoluted rap) he wasn't too small (he was well known) but he wasn't too big (not as famous as me) THINK I'LL IT A PIG - remember the tel con where me and Dylan call each other pigs. He calls me a dirty Jew - really dirty face - face is race as in "the sun will respect every face on the deck / the hour that the ship comes in" or in Please Crawl out your window - he looks so righteous while your face is so changed - the Democratic seems so righteous while the white race is being changed.

    He saw an animal that liked to snort
    Horns on his head and they weren’t too short
    It looked like there wasn’t nothin’ that he couldn’t pull
    “Ah, think I’ll call it a bull”

    This is Dylan snort, made pact with the devil, I pulled into Nazareth - push and then pull - part of shooting, pulled the wool over the left, he was full of bullshit

    Next animal that he did meet
    Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet
    Eating grass on a mountainside so steep
    “Ah, think I’ll call it a sheep”

    This is the Jews tallis on his back and only ate animals with split hoofs. Destroying grass roots people in Israel - just a blind follower of Judaism

    He saw an animal up on a hill
    Chewing up so much grass until she was filled
    He saw milk comin’ out but he didn’t know how
    “Ah, think I’ll call it a cow”

    I would say the US Gov. Capitol Hill, again destroying grass roots people plenty of money via taxes as if Dylan didn't know = call it a cash cow


    In this one Dylan recalls the Birthday Party and I finally figured out a puzzling line in When I Paint My Masterpiece "those mighty kings of the jungle I can hardly stand to see them" just looking at nworders makes me sick to my stomach "yes it sure has been a long hard climb" and that made it difficult for me to climb the ladder of success. "train wheels running through the back of my memory" revolution is part of my history "when I ran on a mountain" when I preached like MLK "following a pack" a predatory wolf pack "of wild geese" of vicious dumb people - should be gaggle of geese "someday everything is gonna be different when I paint my masterpiece." Only thing I can think of is "piece" as gun or piece as peace???



    In the summer that I was baptized, my father held me to his side
    As they put me to the water, he said how on that day I cried
    We were prisoners of love, a love in chains
    He was standin' in the door, I was standin' in the rain
    With the same hot blood burning in our veins
    Alan where is the key?

    In the summer that I was baptized, when I was first initiated into the Dylanological method via my articles in the East Village Other which were passed on to him by this dude Joey Kivack who wanted me to see Springsteen because he was the new Bob Dylan. I told him one Bob Dylan was enough anyhow... my father held me to his side his God, his father seemed to be on the same political side of the fence Bruce was. As they put me to the water, he said how on that day I cried but as Bruce looked into further, immersed himself in Dylan he was not too happy about what he discovered We were prisoners of love, a love in chains Dylan was a dope fiend He was standin' in the door, I was standin' in the rain Dylan was just looking for an open door, I was fighting against the war in Vietnam as in Creedence "Who will stop the rain" dig there is a similarity here "Bobby spends a new day wrapped in golden chains and I wonder still I wonder who will stop the rain?" With the same hot blood burning in our veins both were meeting with sucess. Alan where is the key?

    All of the old faces ask you why you're back
    They fit you with position and the keys to your daddy's Cadillac
    In the darkness of your room your mother calls you by your true name
    You remember the faces, the places, the names
    You know it's never over, it's relentless as the rain
    Alan where is the key?

    All of the old faces ask you why you're back the old poems wonder why I am back analyizing them "face" to furnish with a surface or cover of a different material They fit you with position they give you the status of a Dylanologist and the keys to your daddy's Cadillac along with an income In the darkness of your room your mother calls you by your true name You remember the faces, the places, the names You know it's never over, it's relentless as the rain

    In the Bible, mamma, Cain slew Abel and East of Eden, mamma, he was cast
    You're born into this life paying for the sins of somebody else's past
    Well Daddy worked his whole life for nothing but the pain
    Now he walks these empty rooms looking for something to blame
    But you inherit the sins, you inherit the flames
    Alan where is the key? 
    Lost but not forgotten from the dark heart of a dream
    Alan where is the key?
    Alan where is the key?




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