dylan

I accept chaos, I'm not sure whether it accepts me.

If you're looking 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.

And I'm not saying it's a bad song, you know, or anything like that. All I'm saying is that if you get, I don't know, a broom, say, and dip it in some brake fluid, put the other end up my arse, stick me on a trampoline in a moving lift, and I would write a better song on the walls. That's all I'm saying.

Dylan, while he is in the shower and he and Joss are only seperated by the curtain and his invisibility:Dylan: "Maybe if you would come in here and scrub my back it would speed things up."Joss: "I'm not invisible."Dylan: "I know this.

I define nothing. Not beauty, not patriotism. I take each thing as it is, without prior rules about what it should be.

I'm proud of you, Bliss," he said."Michael's sword released the souls that were trapped in your blood. You freed them. You freed me.""But now I'm never going to see you again, am I?" she asked.Dylan smiled. "It's unlikely. But I never say never.'"I wish you wouldn't go. I'll miss you so much," Bliss said."I'll miss you too."Dylan put his hand up, and so did Bliss. But this time, instead of touching air, she felt his warm hand grasping her cold one. She looked at Allegra. Somehow, she knew her mother was making this happen. Dylan leaned down, and she could feel his lips, soft and inviting, gently kissing hers. Then Dylan was gone. But Bliss did not feel anguished. She felt at peace. Dylan was not broken and incomplete anymore. He was whole.

I had lunch with my brothers,_ Mark said, his face serious. __hile you were still asleep. They told me. About Corey and that stupid set-up you agreed to where you__ pretend not to be my wife . . .___ never agreed to pretend not to be your wife,_ Dylan said.Mark__ face grew serious then. __hat__ what it amounted to in the end though, didn__ it? You pulled away from me in exchange for me getting . . . what?___our career back,_ Dylan said. __our li

Life is more or less a lie, but then again, that's exactly the way we want it to be.

Roan rested his forehead against his and put a hand on his chest. Sweet man, one he didn__deserve. ____ sorry.___or what?___he insanity that is my life. Me.___ey, I signed up for this ride. I knew from past experience that sexy men were always trouble,and it wasn__ like your reputation didn__ precede you. I have no one to blame but myself.___ou think I__ sexy?___on__ fish for compliments.

I wanted her and only her.I wanted to be a part of her storm. I wanted to feel my pulse against hers.I wanted the bitter on her sweet tongue. I wanted the sadness in her sweet syrup eyes. I wanted the silence in her screaming mind and the enigma that is really quite simple- a complicated happiness. I wasn't willing to let go. I was falling completely, forever, into solid fucking love that was swimming through my veins. I wanted to be the breath in her mouth and the rhythm in her chest that would beat only for me.

The myriad of flavors explode on my tongue, shimmy through my mouth, slap my taste buds and call them filthy bastards, and I love it.

I had no songs in my repertoire for commercial radio anyway. Songs about debauched bootleggers, mothers that drowned their own children, Cadillacs that only got five miles to the gallon, floods, union hall fires, darkness and cadavers at the bottom of rivers weren't for radiophiles. There was nothing easygoing about the folk songs I sang. They weren't friendly or ripe with mellowness. They didn't come gently to the shore. I guess you could say they weren't commercial.Not only that, my style was too erratic and hard to pigeonhole for the radio, and songs, to me, were more important that just light entertainment. They were my preceptor and guide into some altered consciousness of reality, some different republic, some liberated republic. Greil Marcus, the music historian, would some thirty years later call it "the invisible republic."Whatever the case, it wasn't that I was anti-popular culture or anything and I had no ambitions to stir things up. i just thought of popular culture as lame as hell and a big trick. It was like the unbroken sea of frost that lay outside the window and you had to have awkward footgear to walk on it.I didn't know what age of history we were in nor what the truth of it was. Nobody bothered with that. If you told the truth, that was all well and good and if you told the un-truth, well, that's still well and good. Folk songs taught me that.

The problem with life__ith a lot of things__as randomness was responsible for so many things.

I'm not going to lie to you and say it gets easier, because it doesn't. It's just that you get used to it. The human animal has an amazing capacity to get used to almost anything.

Packed up the Dylan and the Man Ray and the JoyceI left a note that said well I guess I got no choiceScuse me girl while I'm kicking it to the curbLeaving with all I need but less than I deserve

If my like for you was a footy crowd, you'd be deaf cos of the roar.And if my like for you were a boxer, there'd be a dead guy lying on the floor.And if my like for you were sugar, you'd lose your teeth before you were twenty. And if my like for you was money, let's just say you'd be spending plenty.