THE PARACLETE

donum creatum/donum increatum

I know, I know I haven't posted in a long time and this one is pretty much a cop-out. The bare bone fact of the matter is that I have really been quite bored with it all and fairly steady/busy/occupied/with my other life as a Double Agent/ Power Ranger/Game Show Host/ Big Purple Dinosaur.
Unless you are Davy, I haven't been by your site in some time.
We will have some catching up to do one of these days.
But instead of a post about a New Species of Mammal, or The Blind Venetian, Or Winkum Blinkum and God, Davy's Sweet Weepin' Butter Jesus, or My Gay Dream...I'll give you my Easter Song...
Its like the Preacher preachin' to the Paraclete.


When you're lost in the rain in Juarez
And it's Eastertime too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don't pull you through
Don't put on any airs
When you're down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outa you

Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot
I don't have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won't even say what it is I've got

Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you're so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon

Up on Housing Project Hill
It's either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim
If you're lookin' to get silly
You better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don't need you
And man they expect the same

Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
And picking up Angel
whoJust arrived here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost

I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they'd stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to call my bluff
I'm going back to New York City
I do believe I've had enough

just like tom thumb's blues
b.dylan