“It ain’t the melodies that are important, man, it’s the words,” Bob Dylan once said. Out along the roads of Central Oregon, sometimes training alone, sometimes in the company of others, it’s words and not melodies that rush through my mind. These mix and match, sometimes meshing, sometimes mashing – providing an image, matching a mood, to the moment. br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DHC4AUxI/AAAAAAAAAL0/4OrxAZS1fgE/s1600-h/email+-+view+amongst+the+clouds.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;” src=”http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DHC4AUxI/AAAAAAAAAL0/4OrxAZS1fgE/s400/email+-+view+amongst+the+clouds.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349505720695935762″ //abr /br /Like the time high above pinyon and ponderosa Eddie told me to…br /span style=”font-weight:bold;”Rise Up, Find my direction magnetically.br /Rise Up, Throw down my ace in the hole.span style=”font-style:italic;”/span/spanbr / br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DHMrGx7I/AAAAAAAAAL8/e_q1I1nj_Z0/s1600-h/email+-+junior+bull.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 400px;” src=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DHMrGx7I/AAAAAAAAAL8/e_q1I1nj_Z0/s400/email+-+junior+bull.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349505723326187442″ //abr /br /span style=”font-weight:bold;”Or like the time Kim softly whispered the words to span style=”font-style:italic;”Bull in the Heather/span into my ear.br /br /span style=”font-style:italic;”tell me that yr burning for mebr /tell me that you can’t afford mebr /time to tell your r dirty storybr /time f’r turning over and overbr /time f’r turning four leaf cloverbr /br /betting on the bull in the heather/span/spanbr /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DHtgoPvI/AAAAAAAAAME/xtMsgAulx2g/s1600-h/fairey_evolve_devolve.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;” src=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DHtgoPvI/AAAAAAAAAME/xtMsgAulx2g/s400/fairey_evolve_devolve.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349505732140613362″ //abr /br /span style=”font-weight:bold;”Or that time Bobby sang that song to Woody:br /br /span style=”font-style:italic;”‘Bout a funny old world that’s coming along.br /Seems sick, and it’s tired, it’s hungry and it’s tornbr /I looks like it’s a dying and it’s hardly been born/span/spanbr /br /Arresting artwork stolen from Shepard Fairey’s personal collection.br /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DIIQioFI/AAAAAAAAAMU/8AjETGTcWDg/s1600-h/Jungle+Road+Email.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;” src=”http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1DIIQioFI/AAAAAAAAAMU/8AjETGTcWDg/s400/Jungle+Road+Email.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349505739320893522″ //abr /br /Or like the time cruising the back roads out to Jackson’s Bay on the Western Coast of New Zealand’s South Island when Jack let out his secret,br /br /span style=”font-weight:bold;”span style=”font-style:italic;””You see, the whole world is out there, like an oyster for me to open. And the pearl is there, the pearl is there!” /span/spanbr /br /a onblur=”try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}” href=”http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1Dr9bSLQI/AAAAAAAAAMc/0V3uHcco0RU/s1600-h/email+-+angelic.jpg”img style=”display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;” src=”http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Qy8LpbgYOag/Sj1Dr9bSLQI/AAAAAAAAAMc/0V3uHcco0RU/s400/email+-+angelic.jpg” border=”0″ alt=””id=”BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349506354888453378″ //abr /br /Or like the time Dylan kept talking on and on in riddles about a friend of his. span style=”font-style:italic;”span style=”font-weight:bold;”He not busy being born, Is busy dying./span/span br /br /Then he left, just like that. Only his final words hung around. span style=”font-style:italic;”If you see her, say hello/span.br /br /These words kept will remind me, Eddie.div class=”blogger-post-footer”img width=’1′ height=’1′ src=’https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2691525267872963085-9154872989045623354?l=in-the-arena-torin.blogspot.com’ alt=” //div
