“One should always be drunk. That’s the one thing that matters. In order not to feel the horrible burden of Time, which breaks your shoulders and crushes you to the ground, one should be drunk without ceasing. But on what? On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as suits you. But get drunk….”—Baudelaire (via aumaine) (via tweexcore)
There are some dining experiences we would rather forget, like tonight, for instance, where your intrepid reporter ended up at Shit Burger with a seat at the bar, forced to watch the “cook” attempt to prepare the “food”. Red flags abounded: I think it is a mistake to let the customers glimpse the prep area, where even laymen like me can spot things that look a little “untidy”. Food emerged, and in much the same way that it is true to say that a square is a rectangle, it is true to say that “well done” meat is “less pink” than raw meat, that doesn’t quite tell the whole story, does it? Time will tell whether there was enough cooking going on to deal with e. coli. and friends, but so far, so good. A lesson has been learned, though, and it is highly unlikely that they will receive my custom again. Alas…
“I’m too lazy to get enlightened, he told me once & I like restaurants too much. What does that have to do with anything? I said. I’m not sure, he said, but any excuse is good when there’s change involved.”—Story of the Day: Good Excuse (via alwaysmemberneverforget)
Playboy:Mistake or not, what made you decide to go the rock-'n'-roll route?
Bob Dylan:Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I'm in a card game. Then I'm in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a "before" in a Charles Atlas "before and after" ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy - he ain't so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I'm in Omaha. It's so cold there, by this time I'm robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain't much to look at, but who's built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything's going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?
Playboy:And that's how you became a rock-'n'-roll singer?
“When I was 5, he said, my family forgot & left me at the fair. I wandered around in the bright sounds & smells of hot sawdust & cotton candy for hours. It was already too late by the time my parents found me. I haven’t been fit for decent society since.”—