Back in some day (mine) when I had been recently introduced to pot, I found me in my step-sister’s bedroom.
A guy came in (yes, he was a ‘guy’–older–I was twelve), and he pointed to a poster on the wall of my step-sis. (The poster was of Bob Dylan).
‘the guy’ asked me, rather demanded of me: “Do you know how Dylan writes his songs?”
“Nope,” I replied.
“He writes all the lyrics and then cuts them out and then scatters them about and then pieces them back again and sends them off.
“Are you from England?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
And fuk YeaH!
I have read Melville. I have read “Moby Dick”
“Call me Ismael”
(Yes. I am too sensitive)
(Oh, and I murdered a turkey over this–never mind that it was five years hence–just details)