An old Bob Dylan concert is on tv tonight, and I can hardly think of anything better on a Friday night than my family all together, a glass of red wine, and Bob Dylan singing in the background with a long weekend on the horizon. He inspires me. He makes me pick up my guitar after it's sat for too long with a broken string, to restring and play again. To sing. To listen, to play. I tried to think of a songwriter to rival him. Paul Simon? Maybe, maybe not. Is there a greater poet in the world? T.S. Eliot? I couldn't love T.S. Eliot more but Dylan's Tambourine Man could give him a run for his money. Sometimes when I take the time to surround myself with inspirational writers and singers and artists I find it hard to believe how brilliant human beings can be, in stark contrast to the stupidity that seems so bleakly obvious from day to day. (People carry roses, and make promises by the hours.)
A long weekend stretches out ahead of me and I feel, for a change, like I have all the time in the world.
*
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment