You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun
Crying like a fire in the sun
Look out the saints are comin’ through
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue
The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense
Take what you have gathered from coincidence
The empty-handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets
This sky, too, is folding under you
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue
All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home
All your reindeer armies, are all going home
The lover who just walked out your door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue
Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you
Forget the dead you’ve left, they will not follow you
The vagabond who’s rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore
Strike another match, go start anew
And it’s all over now, Baby Blue
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Twenty years fighting crime on the streets had taught me a great many lessons, but it wasn't until the Simpson trial that I saw how wide the gap was between the law and how it is enforced, between our ideals and noble words, and the way the system actually works. Out on the street, at least you know what to expect, and you can be prepared. In the criminal justice system, all the law books and fine talk too often allow criminals to get away with breaking the law.
title: A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
album: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son ?
And where have you been my darling young one ?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son ?
And what did you see, my darling young one ?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand takers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darling young one ?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
I heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded and hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what'll you do now my darling young one ?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the deepths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
album: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son ?
And where have you been my darling young one ?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son ?
And what did you see, my darling young one ?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand takers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darling young one ?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
I heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded and hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what'll you do now my darling young one ?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the deepths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
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save text
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artist: Bob Dylan lyrics
title: A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
album: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son ?
And where have you been my darling young one ?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son ?
And what did you see, my darling young one ?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand takers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darling young one ?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
I heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded and hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what'll you do now my darling young one ?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the deepths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
save text
print lyrics
linking code
do you blog?
artist: Bob Dylan lyrics
title: A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall
album: The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son ?
And where have you been my darling young one ?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son ?
And what did you see, my darling young one ?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin'
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin'
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand takers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son ?
And what did you hear, my darling young one ?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin'
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin'
I heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin'
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin'
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one ?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded and hatred
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son ?
And what'll you do now my darling young one ?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin'
I'll walk to the deepths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I'll tell and think it and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin'
But I'll know my songs well before I start singin'
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now, you don't talk so loud, now, you don't seem so proud
About havin' to be scrounging around for your next meal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss. Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
Nobody's ever taught you how to live out on the street
And you find out now you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not sellin' any alibis, as you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And say, " Would you like to make a deal?"
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns
On the jugglers and the clowns
When they all came down to do tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
Used to ride the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that he really wasn't where it's at
After he's taken everything he could steal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all pretty people
They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all precious gifts and things
But you'd better take your diamond ring, down and pawn it, babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible, you got no secrets to conceal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now, you don't talk so loud, now, you don't seem so proud
About havin' to be scrounging around for your next meal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss. Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
Nobody's ever taught you how to live out on the street
And you find out now you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not sellin' any alibis, as you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And say, " Would you like to make a deal?"
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
You never turned around to see the frowns
On the jugglers and the clowns
When they all came down to do tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
Used to ride the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that he really wasn't where it's at
After he's taken everything he could steal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
Princess on the steeple and all pretty people
They're all drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all precious gifts and things
But you'd better take your diamond ring, down and pawn it, babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you ain't got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible, you got no secrets to conceal
How does it feel, how does it feel?
To be without a home
With no direction home, like a complete unknown
Just like a rolling stone?
No. 1: "Like a Rolling Stone," by Bob Dylan
The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965
"I wrote it. I didn't fail. It was straight," Bob Dylan said of his greatest song shortly after he recorded it in June 1965. There is no better description of "Like a Rolling Stone" - of its revolutionary design and execution - or of the young man, just turned 24, who created it.
Al Kooper, who played organ on the session, remembers today, "There was no sheet music, it was totally by ear. And it was totally disorganized, totally punk. It just happened."
The most stunning thing about "Like a Rolling Stone" is how unprecedented it was: the impressionist voltage of Dylan's language, the intensely personal accusation in his voice, the apocalyptic charge of Kooper's garage-gospel organ and Mike Bloomfield's stiletto-sharp spirals of Telecaster guitar, the defiant six-minute length of the June 16th master take. No other pop song has thoroughly challenged and transformed the commercial laws and artistic conventions of its time, for all time.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he was finishing up the British tour immortalized in D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, Dylan began writing an extended piece of verse - 20 pages long by one account, six in another - that was, he said, "just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest." Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. "The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
The beginnings of "Like a Rolling Stone" can be seen in a pair of offstage moments in Don't Look Back. In the first, sidekick Bob Neuwirth gets Dylan to sing a verse of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway," which begins, "I'm a rolling stone, I'm alone and lost/For a life of sin I've paid the cost." Later, Dylan sits at a piano, playing a set of chords that would become the melodic basis for "Like a Rolling Stone," connecting it to the fundamental architecture of rock & roll. Dylan later identified that progression as a chip off of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."
Just as Dylan bent folk music's roots and forms to his own will, he transformed popular song with the content and ambition of "Like a Rolling Stone." And in his electrifying vocal performance, his best on record, Dylan proved that everything he did was, first and always, rock & roll. "'Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965.
No. 2: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones
"It's the riff heard round the world," says Steve Van Zandt, guitarist for the E Street Band. "And it's one of the earliest examples of Dylan influencing the Stones and the Beatles - the degree of cynicism, and the idea of bringing more personal lyrics form the fold and blues tradition into popular music."
The riff came to Keith Richards in a dream one night in May 1965, in his motel room in Clearwater, Florida, on the Rolling Stones' third U.S. tour. He woke up and grabbed a guitar and a cassette machine. Richards played the run of notes once, then fell back to sleep. "On the tape," he said later, "you can hear me drop the pick, and the rest is snoring."
That spark in the night - the riff that opens and defines "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - transformed the rickety jump and puppy love of early rock & roll into rock. The primal temper of Richards' creation, played through a Gibson Fuzz Box; the sneering dismissal in Mick Jagger's lyrics; the strut of rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman and drummer Charlie Watts: It was the sound of a generation impatient to inherit the Earth.
The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965
"I wrote it. I didn't fail. It was straight," Bob Dylan said of his greatest song shortly after he recorded it in June 1965. There is no better description of "Like a Rolling Stone" - of its revolutionary design and execution - or of the young man, just turned 24, who created it.
Al Kooper, who played organ on the session, remembers today, "There was no sheet music, it was totally by ear. And it was totally disorganized, totally punk. It just happened."
The most stunning thing about "Like a Rolling Stone" is how unprecedented it was: the impressionist voltage of Dylan's language, the intensely personal accusation in his voice, the apocalyptic charge of Kooper's garage-gospel organ and Mike Bloomfield's stiletto-sharp spirals of Telecaster guitar, the defiant six-minute length of the June 16th master take. No other pop song has thoroughly challenged and transformed the commercial laws and artistic conventions of its time, for all time.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he was finishing up the British tour immortalized in D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, Dylan began writing an extended piece of verse - 20 pages long by one account, six in another - that was, he said, "just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest." Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. "The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
The beginnings of "Like a Rolling Stone" can be seen in a pair of offstage moments in Don't Look Back. In the first, sidekick Bob Neuwirth gets Dylan to sing a verse of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway," which begins, "I'm a rolling stone, I'm alone and lost/For a life of sin I've paid the cost." Later, Dylan sits at a piano, playing a set of chords that would become the melodic basis for "Like a Rolling Stone," connecting it to the fundamental architecture of rock & roll. Dylan later identified that progression as a chip off of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."
Just as Dylan bent folk music's roots and forms to his own will, he transformed popular song with the content and ambition of "Like a Rolling Stone." And in his electrifying vocal performance, his best on record, Dylan proved that everything he did was, first and always, rock & roll. "'Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965.
No. 2: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones
"It's the riff heard round the world," says Steve Van Zandt, guitarist for the E Street Band. "And it's one of the earliest examples of Dylan influencing the Stones and the Beatles - the degree of cynicism, and the idea of bringing more personal lyrics form the fold and blues tradition into popular music."
The riff came to Keith Richards in a dream one night in May 1965, in his motel room in Clearwater, Florida, on the Rolling Stones' third U.S. tour. He woke up and grabbed a guitar and a cassette machine. Richards played the run of notes once, then fell back to sleep. "On the tape," he said later, "you can hear me drop the pick, and the rest is snoring."
That spark in the night - the riff that opens and defines "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - transformed the rickety jump and puppy love of early rock & roll into rock. The primal temper of Richards' creation, played through a Gibson Fuzz Box; the sneering dismissal in Mick Jagger's lyrics; the strut of rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman and drummer Charlie Watts: It was the sound of a generation impatient to inherit the Earth.
No. 1: "Like a Rolling Stone," by Bob Dylan
The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965
"I wrote it. I didn't fail. It was straight," Bob Dylan said of his greatest song shortly after he recorded it in June 1965. There is no better description of "Like a Rolling Stone" - of its revolutionary design and execution - or of the young man, just turned 24, who created it.
Al Kooper, who played organ on the session, remembers today, "There was no sheet music, it was totally by ear. And it was totally disorganized, totally punk. It just happened."
The most stunning thing about "Like a Rolling Stone" is how unprecedented it was: the impressionist voltage of Dylan's language, the intensely personal accusation in his voice, the apocalyptic charge of Kooper's garage-gospel organ and Mike Bloomfield's stiletto-sharp spirals of Telecaster guitar, the defiant six-minute length of the June 16th master take. No other pop song has thoroughly challenged and transformed the commercial laws and artistic conventions of its time, for all time.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he was finishing up the British tour immortalized in D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, Dylan began writing an extended piece of verse - 20 pages long by one account, six in another - that was, he said, "just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest." Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. "The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
The beginnings of "Like a Rolling Stone" can be seen in a pair of offstage moments in Don't Look Back. In the first, sidekick Bob Neuwirth gets Dylan to sing a verse of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway," which begins, "I'm a rolling stone, I'm alone and lost/For a life of sin I've paid the cost." Later, Dylan sits at a piano, playing a set of chords that would become the melodic basis for "Like a Rolling Stone," connecting it to the fundamental architecture of rock & roll. Dylan later identified that progression as a chip off of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."
Just as Dylan bent folk music's roots and forms to his own will, he transformed popular song with the content and ambition of "Like a Rolling Stone." And in his electrifying vocal performance, his best on record, Dylan proved that everything he did was, first and always, rock & roll. "'Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965. It still is.
No. 2: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones
"It's the riff heard round the world," says Steve Van Zandt, guitarist for the E Street Band. "And it's one of the earliest examples of Dylan influencing the Stones and the Beatles - the degree of cynicism, and the idea of bringing more personal lyrics form the fold and blues tradition into popular music."
The riff came to Keith Richards in a dream one night in May 1965, in his motel room in Clearwater, Florida, on the Rolling Stones' third U.S. tour. He woke up and grabbed a guitar and a cassette machine. Richards played the run of notes once, then fell back to sleep. "On the tape," he said later, "you can hear me drop the pick, and the rest is snoring."
That spark in the night - the riff that opens and defines "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - transformed the rickety jump and puppy love of early rock & roll into rock. The primal temper of Richards' creation, played through a Gibson Fuzz Box; the sneering dismissal in Mick Jagger's lyrics; the strut of rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman and drummer Charlie Watts: It was the sound of a generation impatient to inherit the Earth.
The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965
"I wrote it. I didn't fail. It was straight," Bob Dylan said of his greatest song shortly after he recorded it in June 1965. There is no better description of "Like a Rolling Stone" - of its revolutionary design and execution - or of the young man, just turned 24, who created it.
Al Kooper, who played organ on the session, remembers today, "There was no sheet music, it was totally by ear. And it was totally disorganized, totally punk. It just happened."
The most stunning thing about "Like a Rolling Stone" is how unprecedented it was: the impressionist voltage of Dylan's language, the intensely personal accusation in his voice, the apocalyptic charge of Kooper's garage-gospel organ and Mike Bloomfield's stiletto-sharp spirals of Telecaster guitar, the defiant six-minute length of the June 16th master take. No other pop song has thoroughly challenged and transformed the commercial laws and artistic conventions of its time, for all time.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he was finishing up the British tour immortalized in D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, Dylan began writing an extended piece of verse - 20 pages long by one account, six in another - that was, he said, "just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest." Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. "The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
The beginnings of "Like a Rolling Stone" can be seen in a pair of offstage moments in Don't Look Back. In the first, sidekick Bob Neuwirth gets Dylan to sing a verse of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway," which begins, "I'm a rolling stone, I'm alone and lost/For a life of sin I've paid the cost." Later, Dylan sits at a piano, playing a set of chords that would become the melodic basis for "Like a Rolling Stone," connecting it to the fundamental architecture of rock & roll. Dylan later identified that progression as a chip off of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."
Just as Dylan bent folk music's roots and forms to his own will, he transformed popular song with the content and ambition of "Like a Rolling Stone." And in his electrifying vocal performance, his best on record, Dylan proved that everything he did was, first and always, rock & roll. "'Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965. It still is.
No. 2: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones
"It's the riff heard round the world," says Steve Van Zandt, guitarist for the E Street Band. "And it's one of the earliest examples of Dylan influencing the Stones and the Beatles - the degree of cynicism, and the idea of bringing more personal lyrics form the fold and blues tradition into popular music."
The riff came to Keith Richards in a dream one night in May 1965, in his motel room in Clearwater, Florida, on the Rolling Stones' third U.S. tour. He woke up and grabbed a guitar and a cassette machine. Richards played the run of notes once, then fell back to sleep. "On the tape," he said later, "you can hear me drop the pick, and the rest is snoring."
That spark in the night - the riff that opens and defines "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - transformed the rickety jump and puppy love of early rock & roll into rock. The primal temper of Richards' creation, played through a Gibson Fuzz Box; the sneering dismissal in Mick Jagger's lyrics; the strut of rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman and drummer Charlie Watts: It was the sound of a generation impatient to inherit the Earth.
(CBS)
No. 2: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones
"It's the riff heard round the world," says Steve Van Zandt, guitarist for the E Street Band. "And it's one of the earliest examples of Dylan influencing the Stones and the Beatles - the degree of cynicism, and the idea of bringing more personal lyrics form the fold and blues tradition into popular music."
The riff came to Keith Richards in a dream one night in May 1965, in his motel room in Clearwater, Florida, on the Rolling Stones' third U.S. tour. He woke up and grabbed a guitar and a cassette machine. Richards played the run of notes once, then fell back to sleep. "On the tape," he said later, "you can hear me drop the pick, and the rest is snoring."
That spark in the night - the riff that opens and defines "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - transformed the rickety jump and puppy love of early rock & roll into rock. The primal temper of Richards' creation, played through a Gibson Fuzz Box; the sneering dismissal in Mick Jagger's lyrics; the strut of rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman and drummer Charlie Watts: It was the sound of a generation impatient to inherit the Earth.
And - No. 1: "Like a Rolling Stone," by Bob Dylan
"I wrote it. I didn't fail. It was straight," Bob Dylan said of his greatest song shortly after he recorded it in June 1965. There is no better description of "Like a Rolling Stone" - of its revolutionary design and execution - or of the young man, just turned 24, who created it.
Al Kooper, who played organ on the session, remembers today, "There was no sheet music, it was totally by ear. And it was totally disorganized, totally punk. It just happened."
The most stunning thing about "Like a Rolling Stone" is how unprecedented it was: the impressionist voltage of Dylan's language, the intensely personal accusation in his voice, the apocalyptic charge of Kooper's garage-gospel organ and Mike Bloomfield's stiletto-sharp spirals of Telecaster guitar, the defiant six-minute length of the June 16th master take. No other pop song has thoroughly challenged and transformed the commercial laws and artistic conventions of its time, for all time.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he was finishing up the British tour immortalized in D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, Dylan began writing an extended piece of verse - 20 pages long by one account, six in another - that was, he said, "just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest." Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. "The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
The beginnings of "Like a Rolling Stone" can be seen in a pair of offstage moments in Don't Look Back. In the first, sidekick Bob Neuwirth gets Dylan to sing a verse of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway," which begins, "I'm a rolling stone, I'm alone and lost/For a life of sin I've paid the cost." Later, Dylan sits at a piano, playing a set of chords that would become the melodic basis for "Like a Rolling Stone," connecting it to the fundamental architecture of rock & roll. Dylan later identified that progression as a chip off of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."
Just as Dylan bent folk music's roots and forms to his own will, he transformed popular song with the content and ambition of "Like a Rolling Stone." And in his electrifying vocal performance, his best on record, Dylan proved that everything he did was, first and always, rock & roll. "'Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965. It still is.
No. 2: "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," by The Rolling Stones
"It's the riff heard round the world," says Steve Van Zandt, guitarist for the E Street Band. "And it's one of the earliest examples of Dylan influencing the Stones and the Beatles - the degree of cynicism, and the idea of bringing more personal lyrics form the fold and blues tradition into popular music."
The riff came to Keith Richards in a dream one night in May 1965, in his motel room in Clearwater, Florida, on the Rolling Stones' third U.S. tour. He woke up and grabbed a guitar and a cassette machine. Richards played the run of notes once, then fell back to sleep. "On the tape," he said later, "you can hear me drop the pick, and the rest is snoring."
That spark in the night - the riff that opens and defines "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - transformed the rickety jump and puppy love of early rock & roll into rock. The primal temper of Richards' creation, played through a Gibson Fuzz Box; the sneering dismissal in Mick Jagger's lyrics; the strut of rhythm guitarist Brian Jones, bassist Bill Wyman and drummer Charlie Watts: It was the sound of a generation impatient to inherit the Earth.
And - No. 1: "Like a Rolling Stone," by Bob Dylan
"I wrote it. I didn't fail. It was straight," Bob Dylan said of his greatest song shortly after he recorded it in June 1965. There is no better description of "Like a Rolling Stone" - of its revolutionary design and execution - or of the young man, just turned 24, who created it.
Al Kooper, who played organ on the session, remembers today, "There was no sheet music, it was totally by ear. And it was totally disorganized, totally punk. It just happened."
The most stunning thing about "Like a Rolling Stone" is how unprecedented it was: the impressionist voltage of Dylan's language, the intensely personal accusation in his voice, the apocalyptic charge of Kooper's garage-gospel organ and Mike Bloomfield's stiletto-sharp spirals of Telecaster guitar, the defiant six-minute length of the June 16th master take. No other pop song has thoroughly challenged and transformed the commercial laws and artistic conventions of its time, for all time.
Just a few weeks earlier, as he was finishing up the British tour immortalized in D.A. Pennebaker's documentary Don't Look Back, Dylan began writing an extended piece of verse - 20 pages long by one account, six in another - that was, he said, "just a rhythm thing on paper all about my steady hatred, directed at some point that was honest." Back home in Woodstock, New York, over three days in early June, Dylan sharpened the sprawl down to that confrontational chorus and four taut verses bursting with piercing metaphor and concise truth. "The first two lines, which rhymed "kiddin' you' and 'didn't you,' just about knocked me out," he confessed to "Rolling Stone" in 1988, "and when I got to the jugglers and the chrome horse and the princess on the steeple, it all just about got to be too much."
The beginnings of "Like a Rolling Stone" can be seen in a pair of offstage moments in Don't Look Back. In the first, sidekick Bob Neuwirth gets Dylan to sing a verse of Hank Williams' "Lost Highway," which begins, "I'm a rolling stone, I'm alone and lost/For a life of sin I've paid the cost." Later, Dylan sits at a piano, playing a set of chords that would become the melodic basis for "Like a Rolling Stone," connecting it to the fundamental architecture of rock & roll. Dylan later identified that progression as a chip off of Ritchie Valens' "La Bamba."
Just as Dylan bent folk music's roots and forms to his own will, he transformed popular song with the content and ambition of "Like a Rolling Stone." And in his electrifying vocal performance, his best on record, Dylan proved that everything he did was, first and always, rock & roll. "'Rolling Stone"s the best song I wrote," he said flatly at the end of 1965. It still is.
And now I know you're dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don't you understand
It's not my problem
I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is
To see you
With your position and your place
Don't you understand
It's not my problem
I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is
To see you
I ain't lookin' to compete with you
Beat or cheat or mistreat you
Simplify you, classify you
Deny, defy or crucify you
No, and I ain't lookin' to fight with you
Frighten you or uptighten you
I ain't lookin' to block you up
Shock or knock or lock you up
Analyze you, categorize you
Finalize you or advertise you
Or select you or dissect you
Or inspect you or reject you
I don't want to fake you out
Take or shake or forsake you out
I ain't lookin' for you to feel like me
See like me or be like me
Beat or cheat or mistreat you
Simplify you, classify you
Deny, defy or crucify you
No, and I ain't lookin' to fight with you
Frighten you or uptighten you
I ain't lookin' to block you up
Shock or knock or lock you up
Analyze you, categorize you
Finalize you or advertise you
Or select you or dissect you
Or inspect you or reject you
I don't want to fake you out
Take or shake or forsake you out
I ain't lookin' for you to feel like me
See like me or be like me
Down South
You can tell he's the leader, 'cause he's the one wearing contour sheets...
I was down south once, and I was invited to a costume party, and I rarely go to them, I went to one when I was younger. I went in my underwear shorts, and I have varicose veins. I went as a roadmap. And I figure, what the hell, it's Halloween, I'll go as a ghost. I take a sheet off the bed and I throw it over my head, and I go to the party. And you have to get the picture, I'm walking down the street in a deep southern town, I have a white sheet over my head. And a car pulls up and three guys with white sheets say "Get in". So I figure there's guys going to the party, as ghosts, and I get into the car, and I see were not going to the party, and I tell them. They say "Well, we have to go pick up the Grand Dragon". All of a sudden it hits me, down south, white sheets, the Grand Dragon, I put two and two together. I figure there's a guy going to the party dressed as a dragon.
All of a sudden a big guy enters the car, and I'm sitting there between four clansmen, four big-armed men, and the door's locked, and I'm petrified, I'm trying to pass desperately, y'know, I'm saying "Y'all" and "Grits", y'know, I must have said "grits" fifty times, y'know. They ask me a question, and I say "Oh, grits, grits". And next to me is the leader of the cla... you can tell he is the leader, 'cause he's the one wearing contour sheets, y'know. And they drive me to an empty field, and I gave myself away, 'cause they asked for donations, and everybody there gave cash. When it came to me, I said "I pledge fifty dollars". They knew immediately. They took my hood off and threw a rope around my neck, and they decided to hang me.
And suddenly my whole life passed before my eyes. I saw myself as a kid again, in Kansas, going to school, swimming at the swimming hole, and fishing, frying up a mess-o-catfish, going down to the general store, getting a piece of gingham for Emmy-Lou. And I realise it's not my life. They're gonna hang me in two minutes, the wrong life is passing before my eyes. And I spoke to them, and I was really eloquent, I said "Fellas, this country can't survive, unless we love one another regardless of race, creed or colour". And they were so moved by my words, not only did they cut me down and let me go, but that night, I sold them two thousand dollars worth of Israel Bonds.
You can tell he's the leader, 'cause he's the one wearing contour sheets...
I was down south once, and I was invited to a costume party, and I rarely go to them, I went to one when I was younger. I went in my underwear shorts, and I have varicose veins. I went as a roadmap. And I figure, what the hell, it's Halloween, I'll go as a ghost. I take a sheet off the bed and I throw it over my head, and I go to the party. And you have to get the picture, I'm walking down the street in a deep southern town, I have a white sheet over my head. And a car pulls up and three guys with white sheets say "Get in". So I figure there's guys going to the party, as ghosts, and I get into the car, and I see were not going to the party, and I tell them. They say "Well, we have to go pick up the Grand Dragon". All of a sudden it hits me, down south, white sheets, the Grand Dragon, I put two and two together. I figure there's a guy going to the party dressed as a dragon.
All of a sudden a big guy enters the car, and I'm sitting there between four clansmen, four big-armed men, and the door's locked, and I'm petrified, I'm trying to pass desperately, y'know, I'm saying "Y'all" and "Grits", y'know, I must have said "grits" fifty times, y'know. They ask me a question, and I say "Oh, grits, grits". And next to me is the leader of the cla... you can tell he is the leader, 'cause he's the one wearing contour sheets, y'know. And they drive me to an empty field, and I gave myself away, 'cause they asked for donations, and everybody there gave cash. When it came to me, I said "I pledge fifty dollars". They knew immediately. They took my hood off and threw a rope around my neck, and they decided to hang me.
And suddenly my whole life passed before my eyes. I saw myself as a kid again, in Kansas, going to school, swimming at the swimming hole, and fishing, frying up a mess-o-catfish, going down to the general store, getting a piece of gingham for Emmy-Lou. And I realise it's not my life. They're gonna hang me in two minutes, the wrong life is passing before my eyes. And I spoke to them, and I was really eloquent, I said "Fellas, this country can't survive, unless we love one another regardless of race, creed or colour". And they were so moved by my words, not only did they cut me down and let me go, but that night, I sold them two thousand dollars worth of Israel Bonds.
NO REASON TO GET EXCITED
"No reason to get excited", the thief he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late".
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late".
By Lenny Bruce
Narrator: Here's a bit. It's about a good man, a man who was better than Christ and Moses: The Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger was so good that he never waited for a "Thank You." He cleaned up the whole town for you and split --
Mask Man (in the background): Hi Ho, Silver!
Dominic: What's with that putz? The schmuck didn't wait! Mamma made coffee and cake and everything. What is the hell is with that guy? I got my hand out like some jackoff and he's already on his horse already!
Person 2: Yeah, yeah: "The Lone Ranger" -- so what the hell does that make him?
Dominic: What an asshole! Is he kidding, that guy? Schmuck! I'm standing there like this with the Mayor and a plaque and everything. . . . I'm going to punch the shit out of him if I ever see him again!
Person 1: Take it easy, Dominic. . . .
Dominic: Take it easy, my balls! Is that guy kidding me?
Person 2: Look, he's the Lone Ranger. He's a good-natured schmuck, he ain't got a quarter. [Pause.] You don't know about him? He's got a problem and goes to analysis. He can't accept love.
Dominic: Eh?
Person 2: We don't even need him any more. He comes around here -- we recognize the mask with snot all over it. It's disgusting! But he likes to go through it so we play it out for him, ya know. Here's his favorite bit.
Person 3: Hey you! What'd ya have a mask on for? Are you an outlaw?
Person 2: This makes him really crazy.
Mask Man: I'm an outlaw! I'm an outlaw! You should be an outlaw the way I am an outlaw!
Person 3: So why do you wear a mask?
Mask Man: Never mind! I'm an outlaw. Get away from me kids, I hurt people.
Person 2: Is that believable? "I'm an outlaw"?!
Mask Man (to himself): Get a kick in the ass for being nice to people?! I'm out for Number One from now on, brother. No one is going to shit on me. I'm out for Number One, boy; Number One is the one and then they get, later.
Person 4: Nice guy?! How come the asshole leaves bullets then?
Person 1: I don't know. That is kinda weird.
Person 4: Sure he's nice: the asshole leaves bullets for kids to fool around with!
Person 2: I told you what the innuedo is: Dr. Ehrlich the Magic Bullet.
Person 4: What's that?
Person 2: Syphillis.
Person 4: Eh?
Person 2: He's telling you in his own special way that the whole world has syphillis.
Person 1: Dr. Ehrlich the Magic Bullet! Of course.
Person 2: Why do you think he rides off with his mouth closed?
Mask Man (in background): Hmmm hmmmm hmm-hmmmm!
Person 4: Are you kidding with that?
Person 2: Of course, when he's outta audible range he's goes on and on about how he thinks he might of caughta dose.
Dominic: Oh, yeah? Well, I'm going to beat the shit outta him. Get the horses ready: I'm gonna punch them first.
Sound of horses.
Sheriff: Hold the fire on the North ridge! Hold it!
Dominic: OK, Mask Man: I'm gonna whup the shit outta you, buddy, right now.
Sheriff: Whew! God-damn, it took us about 15 minutes -- boy, you think you're pretty god-damn smart. You're hot shit, aintcha, buddy?
Dominic: Look at these kids here, they made cookies and wrote a song called "Thank You, Mask Man." There's your hero! The man too good to accept a "Thank You" from little children, little children in the crey-paper costumes. Right now, buddy, you're going to explain or I'm going to whup the hell outta you, you hear?
Mask Man: I'll explain if you get your god-damn hands offa me, you barbarian! You see, the reason I never wait for "Denk you" izzat I put two boys true college.
Sheriff: What's that?
Mask Man: Dot's right! I put two boys true college and I don' even get a "Denk you"!
Sheriff: A "Denk you"?! Oi veys mir! The Mask Man's a Jew!
Mask man: Of course, schmuck! Dot's why I never talk on the radio show -- all you ever heard me say on the radio show was "Hi Ho Silver!" -- dot's all! You see. . . . Some goyim are coming? Zugnish! Don't zay a void! . . . OK. You I tell. The reason I never wait for a thank you is that -- well, supposing that I did wait for a thank you. Just for a supposition.
Little girl: Thank you, Mask Man.
Mask Man: What's that?
Little girl: Thank you, Mask Man.
Mask Man: "Thank you, Mask Man"? Who the fuck said that?
Little girl: I said it. Thank you, Mask Man.
Voices (in background): Help! Help! Mask man! Mask man!
Mask Man: Just a moment, getting a few thank-yous here.
Voices (in background): Mask man! Mask man! Help! Help!
Mask Man: Don't break my balls, now! I've done you people a whole lotta good and now I wanna get a few thank-yous in return.
Little girl: Thank you, mask Man.
Mask Man: "Thank you, Mask Man." Is zis vot I've been running away from all deese years? What a god-damn fool I've been to run away from a sound like dis. It's beautiful! Let me hear it again!
Voices (in background): Help! Mask Man! Mask man! Help!
Mask Man: Not you, you miserable ingrates! I mean you, wit da babyface.
Little girl: Thank you, mask Man.
Mask Man: "Thank you, Mask Man." Isn't that something? I'm going to get a "Thank you, Mask man" every god-damn day! I'll put 'em all down in a book: It'll say" Thank you, Mask Man." Do you think that I've always worked at this fucking hardware store? Hey, you see that? You see what it says right there?
Everybody: Thank you, Mask Man!
Mask Man: -- It's signed "People of Syosset, Long Island." Izzn't dot something? When I'm old, I can lean back on my book of "Thank You, Mask Man"s. Yes, it's true I can't ride anymore, but would you like to see a little something that I did? Look at that.
Woman formerly in distress: Thank you, mask Man.
Mask Man: Then one day, it's almost five o'clock. Where is the "Thank You Mask Man" Man? Has the "Thank You Mask man" Man been here today? You do have a "Thank You, Mask man" for me, don't you? I thought it would last forever. I've led a very flamboyant existence: I've pissed all my "Thank You's" away. You don't have have any, do you? Just gimme one, so I can make it to the next town. One "Thank You, Mask man"?
The Prophet (booming): There are no more "Thank You, Mask Man"s. The Messiah came during the night. All is pure. [Pause.] You're in the shithouse.
Mask man: The Messiah? But what has this to do with me?
The Prophet: Well, you see -- you are like men such as Jonas Salk, Lenny Bruce and J. Edgar Hoover. These men thrive upon the continuance of disease, segregation, and violence. The purity they do profess a need for, they just feed upon.
Mask Man: You mean?
The Prophet: Yes! Without polio, Salk is a putz.
Mask Man: Well, then, I'll make trouble. Because I'm geared for it. And I must have a "Thank you, Mask Man," at all costs. . . . You see, this way what I don't have, I don't miss -- that's why I always ride off without waiting for a thank you.
City official: God-damn it, Mask Man! Whoo-wee! You can sure talk your ass off! What the fuck you talkin' about? All this Commie horseshit: "Thank you, Mask Man." The kids fell asleep. Wilbur's got blue balls, he's got to get back to the base! He's got me dizzy with all that bullshit: "Thank you, Mask Man." Look, buddy, I'm here -- I'm working for the City, you know what I'm saying? I'm just here to take a photo with you for the Daily News, and then get the hell outta here. C'mon now, shape up and accept a present, and then we can haul ass.
Mask Man: A present? For the children? Alright I'll do it -- no ashtrays, though. . . . Gimme the Indian over there!
City official: Who, Tonto?
Mask Man: Yes, I want Tanta, or whatever the spic-half-bred's name is. I'll take him.
City official: Spic half-bred?! God-damn, you can't have Tonto.
Mask man: Bullshit! You made the deal, and that's what I want: I want Tanta the Indian!
City official: Look, buddy, his name ain't Tanta, its Tonto and you can't have Tonto.
Mask man: Bullshit! I want Tanta, I want Tanta the Indian!
City official: God-damn you, you hippy freak, I wanna tell you -- What the hell do you want Tonto for, anyway?
Mask Man: To perform an unnatural act.
City official: What?
Mask Man: You heard me: to perform an unnatural act.
City official: The Mask Man is a fag! God-damn! The Mask Man is a fag! The masked Fag Man! Oh, Lord! I'm getting dizzy. Don't look at him kids! The bad Fag Man. Oh! {Spluttering.] The Masked Bad Fag Damn Man. You fag bastard, you! God-damn it, kids! Mask Man, I never knew you were that way!
Mask Man: I'm not a fag, but I've heard so much about it, I've read a lot of exposes on how bad it is, and I want to try it, just once. . . . You know? I like what they do with fags in this country: the punishment is quite correct and consistent with the rest of the law: lock 'em up with a bunch of other men -- hmmm, very clever. . . . Uh, wash him up and get him ready! And, uh, I tell you what, uh -- give me that white horse, too.
City official: You twisted fag bastard!
City official: Get off him, Tanta, that's terrible!
Mask Man (riding off): Hi ho, Silver!
Narrator: Here's a bit. It's about a good man, a man who was better than Christ and Moses: The Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger was so good that he never waited for a "Thank You." He cleaned up the whole town for you and split --
Mask Man (in the background): Hi Ho, Silver!
Dominic: What's with that putz? The schmuck didn't wait! Mamma made coffee and cake and everything. What is the hell is with that guy? I got my hand out like some jackoff and he's already on his horse already!
Person 2: Yeah, yeah: "The Lone Ranger" -- so what the hell does that make him?
Dominic: What an asshole! Is he kidding, that guy? Schmuck! I'm standing there like this with the Mayor and a plaque and everything. . . . I'm going to punch the shit out of him if I ever see him again!
Person 1: Take it easy, Dominic. . . .
Dominic: Take it easy, my balls! Is that guy kidding me?
Person 2: Look, he's the Lone Ranger. He's a good-natured schmuck, he ain't got a quarter. [Pause.] You don't know about him? He's got a problem and goes to analysis. He can't accept love.
Dominic: Eh?
Person 2: We don't even need him any more. He comes around here -- we recognize the mask with snot all over it. It's disgusting! But he likes to go through it so we play it out for him, ya know. Here's his favorite bit.
Person 3: Hey you! What'd ya have a mask on for? Are you an outlaw?
Person 2: This makes him really crazy.
Mask Man: I'm an outlaw! I'm an outlaw! You should be an outlaw the way I am an outlaw!
Person 3: So why do you wear a mask?
Mask Man: Never mind! I'm an outlaw. Get away from me kids, I hurt people.
Person 2: Is that believable? "I'm an outlaw"?!
Mask Man (to himself): Get a kick in the ass for being nice to people?! I'm out for Number One from now on, brother. No one is going to shit on me. I'm out for Number One, boy; Number One is the one and then they get, later.
Person 4: Nice guy?! How come the asshole leaves bullets then?
Person 1: I don't know. That is kinda weird.
Person 4: Sure he's nice: the asshole leaves bullets for kids to fool around with!
Person 2: I told you what the innuedo is: Dr. Ehrlich the Magic Bullet.
Person 4: What's that?
Person 2: Syphillis.
Person 4: Eh?
Person 2: He's telling you in his own special way that the whole world has syphillis.
Person 1: Dr. Ehrlich the Magic Bullet! Of course.
Person 2: Why do you think he rides off with his mouth closed?
Mask Man (in background): Hmmm hmmmm hmm-hmmmm!
Person 4: Are you kidding with that?
Person 2: Of course, when he's outta audible range he's goes on and on about how he thinks he might of caughta dose.
Dominic: Oh, yeah? Well, I'm going to beat the shit outta him. Get the horses ready: I'm gonna punch them first.
Sound of horses.
Sheriff: Hold the fire on the North ridge! Hold it!
Dominic: OK, Mask Man: I'm gonna whup the shit outta you, buddy, right now.
Sheriff: Whew! God-damn, it took us about 15 minutes -- boy, you think you're pretty god-damn smart. You're hot shit, aintcha, buddy?
Dominic: Look at these kids here, they made cookies and wrote a song called "Thank You, Mask Man." There's your hero! The man too good to accept a "Thank You" from little children, little children in the crey-paper costumes. Right now, buddy, you're going to explain or I'm going to whup the hell outta you, you hear?
Mask Man: I'll explain if you get your god-damn hands offa me, you barbarian! You see, the reason I never wait for "Denk you" izzat I put two boys true college.
Sheriff: What's that?
Mask Man: Dot's right! I put two boys true college and I don' even get a "Denk you"!
Sheriff: A "Denk you"?! Oi veys mir! The Mask Man's a Jew!
Mask man: Of course, schmuck! Dot's why I never talk on the radio show -- all you ever heard me say on the radio show was "Hi Ho Silver!" -- dot's all! You see. . . . Some goyim are coming? Zugnish! Don't zay a void! . . . OK. You I tell. The reason I never wait for a thank you is that -- well, supposing that I did wait for a thank you. Just for a supposition.
Little girl: Thank you, Mask Man.
Mask Man: What's that?
Little girl: Thank you, Mask Man.
Mask Man: "Thank you, Mask Man"? Who the fuck said that?
Little girl: I said it. Thank you, Mask Man.
Voices (in background): Help! Help! Mask man! Mask man!
Mask Man: Just a moment, getting a few thank-yous here.
Voices (in background): Mask man! Mask man! Help! Help!
Mask Man: Don't break my balls, now! I've done you people a whole lotta good and now I wanna get a few thank-yous in return.
Little girl: Thank you, mask Man.
Mask Man: "Thank you, Mask Man." Is zis vot I've been running away from all deese years? What a god-damn fool I've been to run away from a sound like dis. It's beautiful! Let me hear it again!
Voices (in background): Help! Mask Man! Mask man! Help!
Mask Man: Not you, you miserable ingrates! I mean you, wit da babyface.
Little girl: Thank you, mask Man.
Mask Man: "Thank you, Mask Man." Isn't that something? I'm going to get a "Thank you, Mask man" every god-damn day! I'll put 'em all down in a book: It'll say" Thank you, Mask Man." Do you think that I've always worked at this fucking hardware store? Hey, you see that? You see what it says right there?
Everybody: Thank you, Mask Man!
Mask Man: -- It's signed "People of Syosset, Long Island." Izzn't dot something? When I'm old, I can lean back on my book of "Thank You, Mask Man"s. Yes, it's true I can't ride anymore, but would you like to see a little something that I did? Look at that.
Woman formerly in distress: Thank you, mask Man.
Mask Man: Then one day, it's almost five o'clock. Where is the "Thank You Mask Man" Man? Has the "Thank You Mask man" Man been here today? You do have a "Thank You, Mask man" for me, don't you? I thought it would last forever. I've led a very flamboyant existence: I've pissed all my "Thank You's" away. You don't have have any, do you? Just gimme one, so I can make it to the next town. One "Thank You, Mask man"?
The Prophet (booming): There are no more "Thank You, Mask Man"s. The Messiah came during the night. All is pure. [Pause.] You're in the shithouse.
Mask man: The Messiah? But what has this to do with me?
The Prophet: Well, you see -- you are like men such as Jonas Salk, Lenny Bruce and J. Edgar Hoover. These men thrive upon the continuance of disease, segregation, and violence. The purity they do profess a need for, they just feed upon.
Mask Man: You mean?
The Prophet: Yes! Without polio, Salk is a putz.
Mask Man: Well, then, I'll make trouble. Because I'm geared for it. And I must have a "Thank you, Mask Man," at all costs. . . . You see, this way what I don't have, I don't miss -- that's why I always ride off without waiting for a thank you.
City official: God-damn it, Mask Man! Whoo-wee! You can sure talk your ass off! What the fuck you talkin' about? All this Commie horseshit: "Thank you, Mask Man." The kids fell asleep. Wilbur's got blue balls, he's got to get back to the base! He's got me dizzy with all that bullshit: "Thank you, Mask Man." Look, buddy, I'm here -- I'm working for the City, you know what I'm saying? I'm just here to take a photo with you for the Daily News, and then get the hell outta here. C'mon now, shape up and accept a present, and then we can haul ass.
Mask Man: A present? For the children? Alright I'll do it -- no ashtrays, though. . . . Gimme the Indian over there!
City official: Who, Tonto?
Mask Man: Yes, I want Tanta, or whatever the spic-half-bred's name is. I'll take him.
City official: Spic half-bred?! God-damn, you can't have Tonto.
Mask man: Bullshit! You made the deal, and that's what I want: I want Tanta the Indian!
City official: Look, buddy, his name ain't Tanta, its Tonto and you can't have Tonto.
Mask man: Bullshit! I want Tanta, I want Tanta the Indian!
City official: God-damn you, you hippy freak, I wanna tell you -- What the hell do you want Tonto for, anyway?
Mask Man: To perform an unnatural act.
City official: What?
Mask Man: You heard me: to perform an unnatural act.
City official: The Mask Man is a fag! God-damn! The Mask Man is a fag! The masked Fag Man! Oh, Lord! I'm getting dizzy. Don't look at him kids! The bad Fag Man. Oh! {Spluttering.] The Masked Bad Fag Damn Man. You fag bastard, you! God-damn it, kids! Mask Man, I never knew you were that way!
Mask Man: I'm not a fag, but I've heard so much about it, I've read a lot of exposes on how bad it is, and I want to try it, just once. . . . You know? I like what they do with fags in this country: the punishment is quite correct and consistent with the rest of the law: lock 'em up with a bunch of other men -- hmmm, very clever. . . . Uh, wash him up and get him ready! And, uh, I tell you what, uh -- give me that white horse, too.
City official: You twisted fag bastard!
City official: Get off him, Tanta, that's terrible!
Mask Man (riding off): Hi ho, Silver!
"There must be some way out of here" said the joker to the thief
"There's too much confusion", I can't get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.
"No reason to get excited", the thief he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late".
All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.
"There's too much confusion", I can't get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.
"No reason to get excited", the thief he kindly spoke
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late".
All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.
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artist: Bob Dylan lyrics
title: Highway 61 Revisited
albums: Highway 61 Revisited, Before The Flood
Oh God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"
Abe says, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"
God say, "No." Abe say, "What ?"
God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin' you better run"
Well Abe says, "Where do you want this killin' done ?"
God says. "Out on Highway 61".
Well Georgia Sam he had a bloody nose
Welfare Department they wouldn't give him no clothes
He asked poor Howard where can I go
Howard said there's only one place I know
Sam said tell me quick man I got to run
Ol' Howard just pointed with his gun
And said that way down on Highway 61.
Well Mack the finger said to Louie the King
I got forty red white and blue shoe strings
And a thousand telephones that don't ring
Do you know where I can get ride of these things
And Louie the King said let me think for a minute son
And he said yes I think it can be easily done
Just take everything down to Highway 61.
Now the fift daughter on the twelfth night
Told the first father that things weren't right
My complexion she said is much too white
He said come here and step into the light he says hmmm you're right
Let me tell second mother this has been done
But the second mother was with the seventh son
And they were both out on Highway 61.
Now the rowin' gambler he was very bored
He was tryin' to create a next world war
He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor
He said I never engaged in this kind of thing before
But yes I think it can be very easily done
We'll just put some bleachers out in the sun
And have it on Highway 61.
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artist: Bob Dylan lyrics
title: Highway 61 Revisited
albums: Highway 61 Revisited, Before The Flood
Oh God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"
Abe says, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"
God say, "No." Abe say, "What ?"
God say, "You can do what you want Abe, but
The next time you see me comin' you better run"
Well Abe says, "Where do you want this killin' done ?"
God says. "Out on Highway 61".
Well Georgia Sam he had a bloody nose
Welfare Department they wouldn't give him no clothes
He asked poor Howard where can I go
Howard said there's only one place I know
Sam said tell me quick man I got to run
Ol' Howard just pointed with his gun
And said that way down on Highway 61.
Well Mack the finger said to Louie the King
I got forty red white and blue shoe strings
And a thousand telephones that don't ring
Do you know where I can get ride of these things
And Louie the King said let me think for a minute son
And he said yes I think it can be easily done
Just take everything down to Highway 61.
Now the fift daughter on the twelfth night
Told the first father that things weren't right
My complexion she said is much too white
He said come here and step into the light he says hmmm you're right
Let me tell second mother this has been done
But the second mother was with the seventh son
And they were both out on Highway 61.
Now the rowin' gambler he was very bored
He was tryin' to create a next world war
He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor
He said I never engaged in this kind of thing before
But yes I think it can be very easily done
We'll just put some bleachers out in the sun
And have it on Highway 61.
BOB DYLAN
MEMPHIS BLUES
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
And now, people just get uglier
And I have no sense of time
And here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice
Oh, the ragman draws circles
Up and down the block
I'd ask him what the matter was
But I know that he don't talk
And the ladies treat me kindly
And furnish me with tape
But deep inside my heart
I know I can't escape
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Well Shakespeare he's in the alley
With his pointed shoes and his bells
Speaking to some French girl
Who says she knows me well
And I would send a message
To find out if she's talked
But the post office has been stolen
And the mailbox is locked
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Mona tried to tell me
To stay away from the train line
She said that all the railroad men
Just drink up your blood like wine
And I said "Oh I didn't know that
But then again there's only one I've met
And he just smoked my eyelids
And punched my cigarette"
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Grandpa died last week
And now he's buried in the rocks
But everybody still talks about
How badly they were shocked
But me, I expected it to happen
I knew he'd lost control
When he built a fire on Main Street
And shot it full of holes
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the senator came down here
Showing ev'ryone his gun
Handing out free tickets
To the wedding of his son
And me, I nearly get bursted
And wouldn't it be my luck
To get caught without a ticket
And be discovered beneath a truck
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the preacher looked so baffled
When I asked him why he dressed
With twenty pounds of headlines
Stapled to his chest
But he cursed me when I proved it to him
Then I whispered, "Not even you can hide
You see, you're just like me
I hope you're satisfied"
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the rainman gave me two cures
Then he said, "Jump right in"
The one was Texas medicine
The other was just railroad gin
And like a fool I mixed them
And it strangled up my mind
And now, people just get uglier
And I have no sense of time
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Now the bricks lay on Grand Street
Where the neon madmen climb
They all fall there so perfectly
It all seems so well timed
And here I sit so patiently
Waiting to find out what price
You have to pay to get out of
Going through all these things twice
Oh, Mama, is this really the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.
Bob Dylan lyrics are the property of the owners...
And yet, and yet . . . Denying temporal succession, denying the self, denying the astronomical universe, are apparent desperations and secret consolations. Our destiny is not frightful by being unreal; it is frightful because it is irreversible and iron-clad. Time is the substance I am made of. Time is a river which sweeps me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger which destroys me, but I am the tiger; it is a fire which consumes me, but I am the fire. The world, unfortunately, is real; I, unfortunately, am Borges.
-- Essay: "A New Refutation of Time," 1946
Music, states of happiness, mythology, faces belabored by time, certain twilights and certain places try to tell us something, or have said something we should not have missed, or are about to say something; this imminence of a revelation which does not occur is, perhaps, the aesthetic phenomenon.
-- Essay: "The Wall and the Books"
-- Essay: "A New Refutation of Time," 1946
Music, states of happiness, mythology, faces belabored by time, certain twilights and certain places try to tell us something, or have said something we should not have missed, or are about to say something; this imminence of a revelation which does not occur is, perhaps, the aesthetic phenomenon.
-- Essay: "The Wall and the Books"
Jorge borges
BORGES ACTUALLY MAKING SENSE
In adultery, there is usually tenderness and self-sacrifice; in murder, courage; in profanation and blasphemy, a certain satanic splendour. Judas elected those offences unvisited by any virtues: abuse of confidence and informing.
-- "Three Versions of Judas"
In adultery, there is usually tenderness and self-sacrifice; in murder, courage; in profanation and blasphemy, a certain satanic splendour. Judas elected those offences unvisited by any virtues: abuse of confidence and informing.
-- "Three Versions of Judas"
DUVALL QUITE GODFATHER 3
Al Pacino, Diane Keaton, and Talia Shire reprise their roles from the first two films. According to Coppola's audio commentary on the film in The Godfather DVD Collection, Robert Duvall refused to take part unless he was paid a salary comparable to Pacino. On an episode of Inside the Actor's Studio, Duvall said he understood that Pacino was the star but felt insulted by the difference in their salaries. When Duvall dropped out, Coppola rewrote the screenplay to portray Tom Hagen as having died before the story begins. Coppola created the character B. J. Harrison, played by George Hamilton, to replace the Hagen character in the story. The director further states that, to him, the movie feels incomplete "without [Robert] Duvall's participation." According to Coppola, had Duvall agreed to take part in the film, the Hagen character would have been heavily involved in running the Corleone charities.
MIKE KILLS SOLLOZZO
TOM
Now he's definitely on Sollozzo's payroll, and for big money. McCluskey has agreed to be the Turk's bodyguard. What you have to understand, Sonny, is that while Sollozzo is being guarded like this, he is invulnerable. Now nobody has ever gunned down a New York police captain -- never. It would be disastrous. All the Five Families would come after you, Sonny. The Corleone Family would be outcasts! Even the old man's political protection would run for cover! So do me a favor -- take this into consideration.
SONNY
Alright. We'll wait.
MICHAEL
We can't wait.
SONNY
Huh?
MICHAEL (who's seated with his arms on the chair's arms)
We can't wait. I don't care what Sollozzo says about a deal, he's gonna kill Pop, that's it. That's the key for him. Gotta get Sollozzo.
CLEMENZA
Mike is right...
SONNY
Lemme ask you something ...What about McCluskey? Huh? What do we do with this -- cop here?
MICHAEL
They wanna to have a meeting with me, right? It will be me -- McCluskey -- and Sollozzo. Let's set the meeting. Get our informers to find out where it's gonna be held. Now, we insist it's a public place -- a bar, a restaurant -- some place where there's people so I feel safe. They're gonna search me when I first meet them, right? so I can't have a weapon on me then. But if Clemenza can figure a way -- to have a weapon planted there for me, then I'll kill 'em both.
[Clemenza, Tessio and Sonny laugh. Tom shrugs]
SONNY
Hey, whataya gonna do, nice college boy, eh? Didn't want to get mixed up in the Family business, huh? Now you wanna gun down a police captain, why, because he slapped ya in the face a little bit? Hah? What do you think this is, the Army, where you shoot 'em a mile away? You've gotta get up close like this and bada-bing! you blow their brains all over your nice Ivy League suit. Come're...
MICHAEL (as Sonny kisses his head)
Sonny...
SONNY
You're taking this very personal. Tom, this is business and this man is taking it very very personal.
MICHAEL
Where does it say that you can't kill a cop?
HAGEN
Come on, Mikey...
MICHAEL
Tom, wait a minute. I'm talking about a cop -- that's mixed up in drugs. I'm talking about -- a dishonest cop -- a crooked cop who got mixed up in the rackets and got what was coming to him. That's a terrific story. And we have newspaper people on the pay roll, don't we, Tom? [Hagen nods in the affirmative] And they might like a story like that.
HAGEN
They might, they just might...
MICHAEL
It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business.
CUT TO:
Clemenza's Cellar. Clemenza is showing Michael the gun he's to use -day
CLEMENZA
It's as cold as they come -- impossible to trace, so you don't worry about prints, Mike. I put a
special tape on the trigger, and the butt. Here, try it... (then, after Michael tries it but doesn't shoot it) What's the matter, the trigger too tight?
MICHAEL (after shooting the gun)
Oh, my ears...
CLEMENZA (laughs)
Yeah, I left it noisy -- that way it scares any pain-in-the-ass innocent bystan ders away. (then)
All right, you shot'em both -- now what do you do?
MICHAEL
Sit down, finish my dinner...
CLEMENZA
Come on, kid, don't fool around. Just let your hand drop to your side, and let the gun slip out. Everybody'll still think you got it. They're gonna be staring at your face , Mike -- so walk outta the place real fast -- but you don't run. Don't look nobody directly in t he eye -- but you don't look away, either. Hey, they're gonna be scared still of you, believe me, so don't worry about nothin'. You know, you're going to turn out all right. You take a long vacation -- nobody knows where -- and we're gonna catch the hell.
MICHAEL
How bad do you think it's gonna be?
CLEMENZA
Pretty goddamn bad. Probably all the other Families will line up against us. That's alright -- this things gotta happen every five years or so -- ten years -- helps to get ri d of the bad blood. Been ten years since the last one. You know you got to stop them at the beginni ng, like they should have stopped Hitler at Munich, They should've never let him get away with that. They were just asking for big trouble. You know, Mike, we was all proud of you -- being a hero and all. Your father, too.
[Clemenza hands Michael the gun after adjusting it. Michael points and fires the unloaded gun]
CUT TO:
The Corleone Dining Room (6:30pm). Sonny, Clemenza, Tessio and Rocco are sitting around, eating Chinese food while waiting for news about where the Sollozzo meeting will take place. Michael smokes as the others eat. -early evening
TOM (as he enters)
Nothing. Not a hint. Absolutely nothing -- even Sollozzo's people don't know where the meeting's going to be held.
MICHAEL
How much time do we have?
SONNY (checking his watch)
They're gonna pick you up in front of Jack Dempsey's joint in an hour and a half. Exactly an
hour and a half.
CLEMENZA
We could put a tail on them and see how it turns out...
SONNY
Sollozzo'd lose our ass going around the block!
TOM
What about the negotiator?
CLEMENZA
He's over at my place playin' pinochle with a couple of my men. He's happy, they're lettin' him win...
TOM
There's too much of a risk for Mike -- maybe we outta call it off, Sonny.
CLEMENZA
The negotiator keeps on playing cards until Mike comes back safe and sound.
SONNY
So why don't he just blast whoever's in the goddamn car?
CLEMENZA
Too dangerous -- they'd be lookin' for that.
TOM
Sollozzo might not even be in the car, Sonny!
[the phone rings, Sonny gets up to get it]
SONNY
I'll get it. (then, into the phone) Yeah -- Yeah -- Well, thanks... (then, after hanging up the phone and returning to the table) Louis' Restaurant in the Bronx.
TOM
Well is it reliable?
SONNY
That's my man in McCluskey's precinct. A police captain's gotta be on call twenty-four hours a day. He signed out at that number between eight and ten. Anybody know this joint?
TESSIO
Yeah, sure, I do. It's perfect for us. A small family place, good food. Everyone minds his business. It's perfect. Pete they got an old-fashion toilet -- you know, the box, and the chain-thing. We might be able to tape the gun behind it.
CLEMENZA
All right. Mike: you go to the restaurant, you eat, you talk for a while, you relax. You make them relax. Then you get up and you go take a leak. No -- better still -- you ask for permission to go. Then when you come back, you come out blastin', and don't take any chances -- two shots in the head apiece.
SONNY
Listen, I want somebody good -- and I mean very good -- to plant that gun. I don't want my brother coming out of that toilet with just his dick in his hands, alright?
CLEMENZA
The gun'll be there...
SONNY
All right (then, to Tessio) Listen, you drive him and you pick him up after the job, okay?
CLEMENZA
Come on, let's move...
[as they're standing by the door, preparing to leave]
MICHAEL'S VOICE (OS)
Thank you, Tom...
SONNY
Did he tell you to drop the gun right away?
MICHAEL
Yeah, a million times.
CLEMENZA
You don't forget: two shots apiece in the head soon as you come out the door, ah? Let's go...
MICHAEL
How long do you think it'll be before I can come back?
SONNY
At least a year, Mike. Listen - um - I'll square it with Mom, uh - you know, you're not seeing her before you leave; and uh, I'll get a message to that girlfriend, when I think the time is right. (then, after he and Michael embrace) Take care, huh?
TOM
Take care, Mike...
MICHAEL (embracing Tom)
Tom.
DISSOLVE TO:
Jack Dempsey's Restaurant (8:00pm). Michael's waiting on the sidewalk until Sollozzo's car pulls up and he gets in. -evening
SOLLOZZO
I'm glad you came, Mike. I hope we can straighten everything out. I mean, this is terrible - it's not the way I wanted things to go at all. It should've never happened.
MICHAEL
We'll straighten everything out tonight. I don't want my father bothered any mo re...
SOLLOZZO
He won't be, Mike; I swear on my children he won't be. But you gotta keep an op en mind
when we talk. I mean, I hope you're not a hothead like your brother Sonny. You -- can't talk
business with him... [something in Italian]
McCLUSKEY
Ahh, he's a good kid. (then, as he leans forward) I'm sorry about the other night, Mike. I gotta frisk you, so turn around uh -- on your knees, facing me. (then, as McCluskey frisks Michael)
I guess I'm gettin' too old for my job. Too grouchy -- can't stand the aggravation. You know how it is... (then, to Sollozzo) He's clean.
[A little while later, as the car begins to cross the Triborough bridge . Michael notices the
sign that says "To New Jersey"]
MICHAEL
We're goin' to Jersey?
SOLLOZZO
Maybe...
[Sollozzo's car does a high-speed U-turn, cutting off cars who sound th ere horn, as he
crosses over the road's divider into the other direction across the bridge]
SOLLOZZO
Nice work, Lou.
[Later, the car pulls up to Louis' Italian-American Restaurant. They go in]
DISSOLVE TO:
At a table in Louis' Italian Restaurant. The waiter brings a bottle of wine to the table. -evening
McCLUSKEY
How's the Italian food in this restaurant?
SOLLOZZO
Good -- try the veal -- it's the best in the city.
McCLUSKEY
I'll have it.
SOLLOZZO (to the waiter)
Capide? (then, after the waiter nods, opens the bottle and pours the wine) All right. (then, to McCluskey) I'm gonna speak Italian to Mike.
McCLUSKEY
Go ahead...
SOLLOZZO
Me dispiace? (then, after Michael nods) [Sounds like, in Italian: "What happened to your father was business -- I have much respect for your father -- but your father -- his thinking is old fashioned. You must understand why I had to do that"...]
MICHAEL
[Sounds like, in Italian: "I understand that..."]
SOLLOZZO (after the waiter brings McCluskey's veal and leaves)
[In Italian: "Now let's work through where we go from here..."]
MICHAEL
[In Italian]...come si diche...? (then, in English) What I want -- what's most important to me -- is that I have a guarantee: No mo re attempts on my father's life.
SOLLOZZO
What guarantees could I give you, Mike? I am the hunted one! I missed my chance . You
think too much of me, kid -- I'm not that clever. All I want, is a truce.
MICHAEL (after a while)
I have to go to the bathroom. Is that all right?
McCLUSKEY (while eating)
You gotta go, you gotta go... (then, after Sollozzo begins to frisk Michael as he's standing) I frisked him -- he's clean.
SOLLOZZO
Don't take too long...
McCLUSKEY (while watching Michael enter the bathroom)
I've frisked a thousand young punks...
CUT TO:
Inside the restroom, Mike's looking for the gun behind the tank: He can't find it
CUT TO:
Table. McCluskey glances toward the restroom; Sollozzo smokes
CUT TO:
Restroom, when Michael finally finds the gun. He's relieved
CUT TO:
Table. McCluskey glances up again
CUT TO:
Restroom, where Michael hesitates by the door, preparing himself as a train is loudly heard passing close by, just before he goes back to the dining area.
CUT TO:
Dining room: Sollozzo and McCluskey watch Michael emerge from the restroom, hesitate at the door, then sit down
SOLLOZZO (voice fading into background)
[Sounds like, in Italian: "Everything alright? -- Look -- Your father...]
[Michael doesn't pay attention to Sollozzo -- he's under too much mental anguish. He rises, and quickly shoots Sollozzo in the head. He then shoots McCluskey in the throat, then the forehead as McCluskey holds his throat. McCluskey falls, overturning the table. Michael goes to exit, dropping the gun. Outside, Michael gets picked up by Tessio, and they speed off]
[The Mattresses sequence, as we hear ragtime music being played:]
DISSOLVE TO:
newspaper stack showing headline: "Police Hunt Cop Killer"
DISSOLVE TO:
newspaper headline: "City Cracks Down"
Now he's definitely on Sollozzo's payroll, and for big money. McCluskey has agreed to be the Turk's bodyguard. What you have to understand, Sonny, is that while Sollozzo is being guarded like this, he is invulnerable. Now nobody has ever gunned down a New York police captain -- never. It would be disastrous. All the Five Families would come after you, Sonny. The Corleone Family would be outcasts! Even the old man's political protection would run for cover! So do me a favor -- take this into consideration.
SONNY
Alright. We'll wait.
MICHAEL
We can't wait.
SONNY
Huh?
MICHAEL (who's seated with his arms on the chair's arms)
We can't wait. I don't care what Sollozzo says about a deal, he's gonna kill Pop, that's it. That's the key for him. Gotta get Sollozzo.
CLEMENZA
Mike is right...
SONNY
Lemme ask you something ...What about McCluskey? Huh? What do we do with this -- cop here?
MICHAEL
They wanna to have a meeting with me, right? It will be me -- McCluskey -- and Sollozzo. Let's set the meeting. Get our informers to find out where it's gonna be held. Now, we insist it's a public place -- a bar, a restaurant -- some place where there's people so I feel safe. They're gonna search me when I first meet them, right? so I can't have a weapon on me then. But if Clemenza can figure a way -- to have a weapon planted there for me, then I'll kill 'em both.
[Clemenza, Tessio and Sonny laugh. Tom shrugs]
SONNY
Hey, whataya gonna do, nice college boy, eh? Didn't want to get mixed up in the Family business, huh? Now you wanna gun down a police captain, why, because he slapped ya in the face a little bit? Hah? What do you think this is, the Army, where you shoot 'em a mile away? You've gotta get up close like this and bada-bing! you blow their brains all over your nice Ivy League suit. Come're...
MICHAEL (as Sonny kisses his head)
Sonny...
SONNY
You're taking this very personal. Tom, this is business and this man is taking it very very personal.
MICHAEL
Where does it say that you can't kill a cop?
HAGEN
Come on, Mikey...
MICHAEL
Tom, wait a minute. I'm talking about a cop -- that's mixed up in drugs. I'm talking about -- a dishonest cop -- a crooked cop who got mixed up in the rackets and got what was coming to him. That's a terrific story. And we have newspaper people on the pay roll, don't we, Tom? [Hagen nods in the affirmative] And they might like a story like that.
HAGEN
They might, they just might...
MICHAEL
It's not personal, Sonny. It's strictly business.
CUT TO:
Clemenza's Cellar. Clemenza is showing Michael the gun he's to use -day
CLEMENZA
It's as cold as they come -- impossible to trace, so you don't worry about prints, Mike. I put a
special tape on the trigger, and the butt. Here, try it... (then, after Michael tries it but doesn't shoot it) What's the matter, the trigger too tight?
MICHAEL (after shooting the gun)
Oh, my ears...
CLEMENZA (laughs)
Yeah, I left it noisy -- that way it scares any pain-in-the-ass innocent bystan ders away. (then)
All right, you shot'em both -- now what do you do?
MICHAEL
Sit down, finish my dinner...
CLEMENZA
Come on, kid, don't fool around. Just let your hand drop to your side, and let the gun slip out. Everybody'll still think you got it. They're gonna be staring at your face , Mike -- so walk outta the place real fast -- but you don't run. Don't look nobody directly in t he eye -- but you don't look away, either. Hey, they're gonna be scared still of you, believe me, so don't worry about nothin'. You know, you're going to turn out all right. You take a long vacation -- nobody knows where -- and we're gonna catch the hell.
MICHAEL
How bad do you think it's gonna be?
CLEMENZA
Pretty goddamn bad. Probably all the other Families will line up against us. That's alright -- this things gotta happen every five years or so -- ten years -- helps to get ri d of the bad blood. Been ten years since the last one. You know you got to stop them at the beginni ng, like they should have stopped Hitler at Munich, They should've never let him get away with that. They were just asking for big trouble. You know, Mike, we was all proud of you -- being a hero and all. Your father, too.
[Clemenza hands Michael the gun after adjusting it. Michael points and fires the unloaded gun]
CUT TO:
The Corleone Dining Room (6:30pm). Sonny, Clemenza, Tessio and Rocco are sitting around, eating Chinese food while waiting for news about where the Sollozzo meeting will take place. Michael smokes as the others eat. -early evening
TOM (as he enters)
Nothing. Not a hint. Absolutely nothing -- even Sollozzo's people don't know where the meeting's going to be held.
MICHAEL
How much time do we have?
SONNY (checking his watch)
They're gonna pick you up in front of Jack Dempsey's joint in an hour and a half. Exactly an
hour and a half.
CLEMENZA
We could put a tail on them and see how it turns out...
SONNY
Sollozzo'd lose our ass going around the block!
TOM
What about the negotiator?
CLEMENZA
He's over at my place playin' pinochle with a couple of my men. He's happy, they're lettin' him win...
TOM
There's too much of a risk for Mike -- maybe we outta call it off, Sonny.
CLEMENZA
The negotiator keeps on playing cards until Mike comes back safe and sound.
SONNY
So why don't he just blast whoever's in the goddamn car?
CLEMENZA
Too dangerous -- they'd be lookin' for that.
TOM
Sollozzo might not even be in the car, Sonny!
[the phone rings, Sonny gets up to get it]
SONNY
I'll get it. (then, into the phone) Yeah -- Yeah -- Well, thanks... (then, after hanging up the phone and returning to the table) Louis' Restaurant in the Bronx.
TOM
Well is it reliable?
SONNY
That's my man in McCluskey's precinct. A police captain's gotta be on call twenty-four hours a day. He signed out at that number between eight and ten. Anybody know this joint?
TESSIO
Yeah, sure, I do. It's perfect for us. A small family place, good food. Everyone minds his business. It's perfect. Pete they got an old-fashion toilet -- you know, the box, and the chain-thing. We might be able to tape the gun behind it.
CLEMENZA
All right. Mike: you go to the restaurant, you eat, you talk for a while, you relax. You make them relax. Then you get up and you go take a leak. No -- better still -- you ask for permission to go. Then when you come back, you come out blastin', and don't take any chances -- two shots in the head apiece.
SONNY
Listen, I want somebody good -- and I mean very good -- to plant that gun. I don't want my brother coming out of that toilet with just his dick in his hands, alright?
CLEMENZA
The gun'll be there...
SONNY
All right (then, to Tessio) Listen, you drive him and you pick him up after the job, okay?
CLEMENZA
Come on, let's move...
[as they're standing by the door, preparing to leave]
MICHAEL'S VOICE (OS)
Thank you, Tom...
SONNY
Did he tell you to drop the gun right away?
MICHAEL
Yeah, a million times.
CLEMENZA
You don't forget: two shots apiece in the head soon as you come out the door, ah? Let's go...
MICHAEL
How long do you think it'll be before I can come back?
SONNY
At least a year, Mike. Listen - um - I'll square it with Mom, uh - you know, you're not seeing her before you leave; and uh, I'll get a message to that girlfriend, when I think the time is right. (then, after he and Michael embrace) Take care, huh?
TOM
Take care, Mike...
MICHAEL (embracing Tom)
Tom.
DISSOLVE TO:
Jack Dempsey's Restaurant (8:00pm). Michael's waiting on the sidewalk until Sollozzo's car pulls up and he gets in. -evening
SOLLOZZO
I'm glad you came, Mike. I hope we can straighten everything out. I mean, this is terrible - it's not the way I wanted things to go at all. It should've never happened.
MICHAEL
We'll straighten everything out tonight. I don't want my father bothered any mo re...
SOLLOZZO
He won't be, Mike; I swear on my children he won't be. But you gotta keep an op en mind
when we talk. I mean, I hope you're not a hothead like your brother Sonny. You -- can't talk
business with him... [something in Italian]
McCLUSKEY
Ahh, he's a good kid. (then, as he leans forward) I'm sorry about the other night, Mike. I gotta frisk you, so turn around uh -- on your knees, facing me. (then, as McCluskey frisks Michael)
I guess I'm gettin' too old for my job. Too grouchy -- can't stand the aggravation. You know how it is... (then, to Sollozzo) He's clean.
[A little while later, as the car begins to cross the Triborough bridge . Michael notices the
sign that says "To New Jersey"]
MICHAEL
We're goin' to Jersey?
SOLLOZZO
Maybe...
[Sollozzo's car does a high-speed U-turn, cutting off cars who sound th ere horn, as he
crosses over the road's divider into the other direction across the bridge]
SOLLOZZO
Nice work, Lou.
[Later, the car pulls up to Louis' Italian-American Restaurant. They go in]
DISSOLVE TO:
At a table in Louis' Italian Restaurant. The waiter brings a bottle of wine to the table. -evening
McCLUSKEY
How's the Italian food in this restaurant?
SOLLOZZO
Good -- try the veal -- it's the best in the city.
McCLUSKEY
I'll have it.
SOLLOZZO (to the waiter)
Capide? (then, after the waiter nods, opens the bottle and pours the wine) All right. (then, to McCluskey) I'm gonna speak Italian to Mike.
McCLUSKEY
Go ahead...
SOLLOZZO
Me dispiace? (then, after Michael nods) [Sounds like, in Italian: "What happened to your father was business -- I have much respect for your father -- but your father -- his thinking is old fashioned. You must understand why I had to do that"...]
MICHAEL
[Sounds like, in Italian: "I understand that..."]
SOLLOZZO (after the waiter brings McCluskey's veal and leaves)
[In Italian: "Now let's work through where we go from here..."]
MICHAEL
[In Italian]...come si diche...? (then, in English) What I want -- what's most important to me -- is that I have a guarantee: No mo re attempts on my father's life.
SOLLOZZO
What guarantees could I give you, Mike? I am the hunted one! I missed my chance . You
think too much of me, kid -- I'm not that clever. All I want, is a truce.
MICHAEL (after a while)
I have to go to the bathroom. Is that all right?
McCLUSKEY (while eating)
You gotta go, you gotta go... (then, after Sollozzo begins to frisk Michael as he's standing) I frisked him -- he's clean.
SOLLOZZO
Don't take too long...
McCLUSKEY (while watching Michael enter the bathroom)
I've frisked a thousand young punks...
CUT TO:
Inside the restroom, Mike's looking for the gun behind the tank: He can't find it
CUT TO:
Table. McCluskey glances toward the restroom; Sollozzo smokes
CUT TO:
Restroom, when Michael finally finds the gun. He's relieved
CUT TO:
Table. McCluskey glances up again
CUT TO:
Restroom, where Michael hesitates by the door, preparing himself as a train is loudly heard passing close by, just before he goes back to the dining area.
CUT TO:
Dining room: Sollozzo and McCluskey watch Michael emerge from the restroom, hesitate at the door, then sit down
SOLLOZZO (voice fading into background)
[Sounds like, in Italian: "Everything alright? -- Look -- Your father...]
[Michael doesn't pay attention to Sollozzo -- he's under too much mental anguish. He rises, and quickly shoots Sollozzo in the head. He then shoots McCluskey in the throat, then the forehead as McCluskey holds his throat. McCluskey falls, overturning the table. Michael goes to exit, dropping the gun. Outside, Michael gets picked up by Tessio, and they speed off]
[The Mattresses sequence, as we hear ragtime music being played:]
DISSOLVE TO:
newspaper stack showing headline: "Police Hunt Cop Killer"
DISSOLVE TO:
newspaper headline: "City Cracks Down"
GODFATHER CLOSING SCENE
KAY
Michael, is it true?
MICHAEL
Don't ask me about my business, Kay...
KAY
Is it true?
MICHAEL
Don't ask me about my business...
KAY
No.
MICHAEL (as he slams his hand on the desk)
Enough! (then) Alright. This one time -- this one time I'll let you ask me about my affairs...
KAY (whispering)
Is it true? -- Is it?
MICHAEL (quietly, shaking his head)
No.
KAY (after a sigh of relief and Michael kisses and hugs her) I guess we both need a drink, huh?
[Kay leaves the room to fix Michael a drink. At the same time, Rocco, Clemenza, and Neri enter the office. Clemenza shakes Michael's hand. Kay turns her head to watch them. They embrace Michael, then kiss his hand.]
CLEMENZA (kissing Michael's hand)
Don Corleone...
[Rocco kisses Michael's hand as Neri shuts the door blocking Kay's view ]
FADE TO BLACK
THE END
Michael, is it true?
MICHAEL
Don't ask me about my business, Kay...
KAY
Is it true?
MICHAEL
Don't ask me about my business...
KAY
No.
MICHAEL (as he slams his hand on the desk)
Enough! (then) Alright. This one time -- this one time I'll let you ask me about my affairs...
KAY (whispering)
Is it true? -- Is it?
MICHAEL (quietly, shaking his head)
No.
KAY (after a sigh of relief and Michael kisses and hugs her) I guess we both need a drink, huh?
[Kay leaves the room to fix Michael a drink. At the same time, Rocco, Clemenza, and Neri enter the office. Clemenza shakes Michael's hand. Kay turns her head to watch them. They embrace Michael, then kiss his hand.]
CLEMENZA (kissing Michael's hand)
Don Corleone...
[Rocco kisses Michael's hand as Neri shuts the door blocking Kay's view ]
FADE TO BLACK
THE END
LUCA BRASI REHEARSES HIS LINES
Outside of the Corleone residence, Luca sits, rehearsing his lines -day
LUCA BRASI (rehearsing his lines aloud)
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your home on the wedding day of your daughter. And may their first child be a masculine child. (then, starting over, which continues throughout the following dialogue ) Don -- Don Corleone...
KAY
Michael, that man over there is talking to himself. See that scary looking guy over there?
LUCA'S VOICE
...on the wedding day of your daughter...
MICHAEL (after glancing over at Luca)
He's a very scary guy.
KAY
Well, who is he? What's his name?
MICHAEL
His name is Luca Brasi -- an' he helps my father out sometimes.
CUT TO:
Luca Brasi in Don Corleone's office -day
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter's wedding...on the day of your daughter's wedding. And I hope that their first child be a masculine child. I pledge my ever-ending loyalty. --
[Playing kids run into the room and then are escorted out by Tom]
LUCA BRASI (then, as Luca hands Don Corleone a cash-filled envelope)
For your daughter's bridal purse.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you, Luca, my most valued friend.
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I'm gonna leave you now, because I know you are busy.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you.
[Tom escorts Luca out]
LUCA BRASI (rehearsing his lines aloud)
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your home on the wedding day of your daughter. And may their first child be a masculine child. (then, starting over, which continues throughout the following dialogue ) Don -- Don Corleone...
KAY
Michael, that man over there is talking to himself. See that scary looking guy over there?
LUCA'S VOICE
...on the wedding day of your daughter...
MICHAEL (after glancing over at Luca)
He's a very scary guy.
KAY
Well, who is he? What's his name?
MICHAEL
His name is Luca Brasi -- an' he helps my father out sometimes.
CUT TO:
Luca Brasi in Don Corleone's office -day
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter's wedding...on the day of your daughter's wedding. And I hope that their first child be a masculine child. I pledge my ever-ending loyalty. --
[Playing kids run into the room and then are escorted out by Tom]
LUCA BRASI (then, as Luca hands Don Corleone a cash-filled envelope)
For your daughter's bridal purse.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you, Luca, my most valued friend.
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I'm gonna leave you now, because I know you are busy.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you.
[Tom escorts Luca out]
Godfather Party Scene
Outside of the Corleone residence, Luca sits, rehearsing his lines -day
LUCA BRASI (rehearsing his lines aloud)
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your home on the wedding day of your daughter. And may their first child be a masculine child. (then, starting over, which continues throughout the following dialogue ) Don -- Don Corleone...
KAY
Michael, that man over there is talking to himself. See that scary looking guy over there?
LUCA'S VOICE
...on the wedding day of your daughter...
MICHAEL (after glancing over at Luca)
He's a very scary guy.
KAY
Well, who is he? What's his name?
MICHAEL
His name is Luca Brasi -- an' he helps my father out sometimes.
[Luca stands up, facing Mike and Kay, seemingly coming toward them]
KAY
Oh, Michael, wait a minute; he's coming over here...
TOM
Mike!
MICHAEL
Oh!
TOM (embracing Michael)
Heh...! You look terrific!
MICHAEL
My brother, Tom Hagen -- this is Kay Adams.
TOM
How do you do.
KAY
How do you do, Tom
TOM (into Michael's ear)
Your father's been asking for you (then, to Kay, before he leaves) Very nice to meet you
KAY
Nice to meet you. (then, after Tom exits) If he's your brother, why does he have a different name?
MICHAEL
Oh, , that - when my brother Sonny was a kid, he found Tom Hagen in the stre et. And he had no home - and so my father took him in - and he's been with us ever since . He's a good lawyer. Not a Sicilian, but - I think he's gonna be consiglieri.
KAY
What's that?
MICHAEL
That's um, like a counselor -- an advisor -- very important to the family. (then) You like your lasagna?
CUT TO:
Luca Brasi in Don Corleone's office -day
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter's wedding...
(then, after realizing he messed up his rehearsed lines, he fails to recover) ...on the day of your daughter's wedding. And I hope that their first child be a masculine child. I pledge my ever-ending loyalty. --
[Playing kids run into the room and then are escorted out by Tom]
LUCA BRASI (then, as Luca hands Don Corleone a cash-filled envelope)
For your daughter's bridal purse.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you, Luca, my most valued friend.
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I'm gonna leave you now, because I know you are busy.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you.
[Tom escorts Luca out]
LUCA BRASI (rehearsing his lines aloud)
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your home on the wedding day of your daughter. And may their first child be a masculine child. (then, starting over, which continues throughout the following dialogue ) Don -- Don Corleone...
KAY
Michael, that man over there is talking to himself. See that scary looking guy over there?
LUCA'S VOICE
...on the wedding day of your daughter...
MICHAEL (after glancing over at Luca)
He's a very scary guy.
KAY
Well, who is he? What's his name?
MICHAEL
His name is Luca Brasi -- an' he helps my father out sometimes.
[Luca stands up, facing Mike and Kay, seemingly coming toward them]
KAY
Oh, Michael, wait a minute; he's coming over here...
TOM
Mike!
MICHAEL
Oh!
TOM (embracing Michael)
Heh...! You look terrific!
MICHAEL
My brother, Tom Hagen -- this is Kay Adams.
TOM
How do you do.
KAY
How do you do, Tom
TOM (into Michael's ear)
Your father's been asking for you (then, to Kay, before he leaves) Very nice to meet you
KAY
Nice to meet you. (then, after Tom exits) If he's your brother, why does he have a different name?
MICHAEL
Oh, , that - when my brother Sonny was a kid, he found Tom Hagen in the stre et. And he had no home - and so my father took him in - and he's been with us ever since . He's a good lawyer. Not a Sicilian, but - I think he's gonna be consiglieri.
KAY
What's that?
MICHAEL
That's um, like a counselor -- an advisor -- very important to the family. (then) You like your lasagna?
CUT TO:
Luca Brasi in Don Corleone's office -day
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your daughter's wedding...
(then, after realizing he messed up his rehearsed lines, he fails to recover) ...on the day of your daughter's wedding. And I hope that their first child be a masculine child. I pledge my ever-ending loyalty. --
[Playing kids run into the room and then are escorted out by Tom]
LUCA BRASI (then, as Luca hands Don Corleone a cash-filled envelope)
For your daughter's bridal purse.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you, Luca, my most valued friend.
LUCA BRASI
Don Corleone, I'm gonna leave you now, because I know you are busy.
VITO CORLEONE
Thank you.
[Tom escorts Luca out]
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Alan Watts on Buddhism
"I have tried to show what the Way beyond the West is all about. It exists for a minority in Asia, and I feel that in the present climate of Western science and philosophy, our great religious upheaval, and our discontent with our own traditions, it is enormously interesting and of great value to us.
----Alan Watts
----Alan Watts
ALAN WATTS
Eastern ways share something of the scientists spirit of openness and nondogmatism,
I have tried to show, by contrasting it with the three great forms of Western wisdom, what the Way beyond the West is all about. It exists for a minority in Asia, and I feel that in the present climate of Western science and philosophy, our great religious upheaval, and our discontent with our own traditions, it is enormously interesting and of great value to us.
I am not--I must be very emphatic about this--a missionary for Zen Buddhism or Taoism trying to convert Western people to these things.
On the contrary, I am trying to integrate their ideas with our own.
American civilization is a syncretism of cultures of peoples, and this integration of Eastern and Western ideas is simply going to happen. And it is that integration that is the Way beyond the West.
I have tried to show, by contrasting it with the three great forms of Western wisdom, what the Way beyond the West is all about. It exists for a minority in Asia, and I feel that in the present climate of Western science and philosophy, our great religious upheaval, and our discontent with our own traditions, it is enormously interesting and of great value to us.
I am not--I must be very emphatic about this--a missionary for Zen Buddhism or Taoism trying to convert Western people to these things.
On the contrary, I am trying to integrate their ideas with our own.
American civilization is a syncretism of cultures of peoples, and this integration of Eastern and Western ideas is simply going to happen. And it is that integration that is the Way beyond the West.
TWINS
The hallmark of liberalism is that changes in the social environment produce corresponding changes in human development. But if people's destinies are written in their genes, why waste money on social programs? Such thinking has led to a profound conservative shift in the last thirty years. This can be demonstrated by comparing the shifting climate of opinion in the United States, which in 1965 produced the Great Society--a vast number of social programs designed to improve the health and welfare of the poor, the elderly, and the minority populations--and in 1995 brought about the Contract with America, which generated cutbacks in many of those same programs and marked a change in attitude about what government can be expected to do for its citizens. These changes have taken place not only in the West but in many other countries as well. Indeed, the widespread retreat of communism as a force in world politics is doubtlessly linked to the collapse of faith in social engineering, caused by the failure of communism to create the positive changes expected of it.
STORY BY ARTHUR C. CLARKE
The Nine Billion Names of God
By Arthur Clarke
"This is a slightly unusual request," said Dr. Wagner, with what he hoped was commendable restraint. "As far as I know, it’s the first time anyone’s been asked to supply a Tibetan monastery with an automatic sequence computer. I don’t wish to be inquisitive, but I should hardly thought that your --ah-- establishment had much use for such a machine. Could you explain just what you intend to do with it?"
"Gladly," replied the lama, readjusting his silk robe and carefully putting away the slide rule he had been using for currency conversions. "Your Mark V computer can carry out any routine mathematical operation involving up to ten digits. However, for our work we are interested in letters, not numbers. As we wish you to modify the output circuits, the machine will be printing words, not columns of figures."
"I don’t understand . . ."
"This is a project on which we have been working for the last three centuries -- since the lamasery was founded, in fact. It is somewhat alien to your way of thought, so I hope you will listen with an open mind while I explain it."
"Naturally."
"It is really quite simple. We have been compiling a list which shall contain all the possible names of God."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We have reason to believe," continued the lama imperturbably, "that all such names can be written with not more than nine letters in an alphabet we have devised."
"And you have been doing this for three centuries?"
"Yes. We expected it would take us about fifteen thousand years to complete the task."
"Oh." Dr. Wagner looked a little dazed. "Now I see why you wanted to hire one of our machines. But exactly what is the purpose of this project?"
The lama hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Wagner wondered if he had offended him. If so, there was no trace of annoyance in the reply.
"Call it ritual, if you like, but it’s a fundamental part of our belief. All the many names of the Supreme Being -- God, Jehovah, Allah, and so on -- they are only man-made labels. There is a philosophical problem of some difficulty here, which I do not propose to discuss, but somewhere among all the possible combinations of letters, which can occur, are what one may call the real names of God. By systematic permutation of letters, we have been trying to list them all."
"I see. You’ve been starting at AAAAAAAAA . . . and working up to ZZZZZZZZZ . . ."
"Exactly -- though we use a special alphabet of our own. Modifying the electromatic typewriters to deal with this is, of course, trivial. A rather more interesting problem is that of devising suitable circuits to eliminate ridiculous combinations. For example, no letter must occur more than three times in succession."
"Three? Surely you mean two."
"Three is correct. I am afraid it would take too long to explain why, even if you understood our language."
"I’m sure it would," said Wagner hastily. "Go on."
"Luckily it will be a simple matter to adapt your automatic sequence computer for this work, since once it has been programmed properly it will permute each letter in turn and print the result. What would have taken us fifteen thousand years it will be able to do in a thousand days."
Dr. Wagner was scarcely conscious of the faint sounds from the Manhattan streets far below. He was in a different world, a world of natural, not man-made, mountains. High up in their remote aeries these monks had been patiently at work, generation after generation, compiling their lists of meaningless words. Was there any limit to the follies of mankind? Still, he must give no hint of his inner thoughts. The customer was always right . . .
"There’s no doubt," replied the doctor, "that we can modify the Mark V to print lists of this nature. I’m much more worried about the problem of installation and maintenance. Getting out to Tibet, in these days, is not going to be easy."
"We can arrange that. The components are small enough to travel by air -- that is one reason why we chose your machine. If you can get them to India, we will provide transport from there."
"And you want to hire two of our engineers?"
"Yes, for the three months which the project should occupy."
"I’ve no doubt that Personnel can manage that." Dr. Wagner scribbled a note on his desk pad. "There are just two other points--"
Before he could finish the sentence, the lama had produced a small slip of paper.
"This is my certified credit balance at the Asiatic Bank."
"Thank you. It appears to be--ah--adequate. The second matter is so trivial that I hesitate to mention it -- but it’s surprising how often the obvious gets overlooked. What source of electrical energy have you?"
"A diesel generator providing 50 kilowatts at 110 volts. It was installed about five years ago and is quite reliable. It’s made life at the lamasery much more comfortable, but of course it was really installed to provide power for the motors driving the prayer wheels."
"Of course," echoed Dr. Wagner. "I should have thought of that."
The view from the parapet was vertiginous, but in time one gets used to anything. After three months George Hanley was not impressed by the two-thousand-foot swoop into the abyss or the remote checkerboard of fields in the valley below. He was leaning against the wind-smoothed stones and staring morosely at the distant mountains whose names he had never bothered to discover.
This, thought George, was the craziest thing that had ever happened to him. "Project Shangri-La," some wit at the labs had christened it. For weeks now, Mark V had been churning out acres of sheets covered with gibberish. Patiently, inexorably, the computer had been rearranging letters in all their possible combinations, exhausting each class before going on to the next. As the sheets had emerged from the electromatic typewriters, the monks had carefully cut them up and pasted them into enormous books. In another week, heaven be praised, they would have finished. Just what obscure calculations had convinced the monks that they needn’t bother to go on to words of ten, twenty, or a hundred letters, George didn’t know. One of his recurring nightmares was that there would be some change of plan and that the High Lama (whom they’d naturally called Sam Jaffe, though he didn’t look a bit like him) would suddenly announce that the project would be extended to approximately 2060 A.D. They were quite capable of it.
George heard the heavy wooden door slam in the wind as Chuck came out onto the parapet beside him. As usual, Chuck was smoking one of the cigars that made him so popular with the monks -- who, it seemed, were quite willing to embrace all the minor and most of the major pleasures of life. That was one thing in their favor: they might be crazy, but they weren’t bluenoses. Those frequent trips they took down to the village, for instance . . ." "Listen, George," said Chuck urgently. "I’ve learned something that means trouble."
"What’s wrong? Isn’t the machine behaving?" That was the worst contingency George could imagine. It might delay his return, than which nothing could be more horrible. The way he felt now, even the sight of a TV commercial would seem like manna from heaven. At least it would be some link from home.
"No -- it’s nothing like that." Chuck settled himself on the parapet, which was unusual, because normally he was scared of the drop.
"I’ve just found out what all this is about."
"What d’ya mean -- I thought we knew."
"Sure -- we know what the monks are trying to do. But we didn’t know why. It’s the craziest thing --"
"Tell me something new," growled George.
" . . . but old Sam’s just come clean with me. You know the way he drops in every afternoon to watch the sheets roll out. Well, this time he seemed rather excited, or at least as near as he’ll ever get to it. When I told him we were on the last cycle he asked me, in that cute English accent of his, if I’d ever wondered what they were trying to do. I said, ‘Sure’ -- and he told me."
"Go on, I’ll buy it."
"Well, they believe that when they have listed all His names -- and they reckon that there are about nine billion of them -- God’s purpose will have been achieved. The human race will have finished what it was created to do, and there won’t be any point in carrying on. Indeed, the very idea is something like blasphemy."
"Then what do they expect us to do? Commit suicide?"
"There’s no need for that. When the list’s completed, God steps in and simply winds things up . . . bingo!"
"Oh, I get it. When we finish our job, it will be the end of the world."
Chuck gave a nervous little laugh.
"That’s just what I said to Sam. And do you know what happened? He looked at me in a very queer way, like I’d been stupid in class, and said, ‘It’s nothing as trivial as that’."
George thought this over for a moment.
"That’s what I call taking the Wide View," he said presently.
"But what d’ya suppose we should do about it? I don’t see that it makes the slightest difference to us. After all, we already knew that they were crazy."
"Yes -- but don’t you see what may happen? When the list’s complete and the Last Trump doesn’t blow -- or whatever it is that they expect -- we may get the blame. It’s our machine they’ve been using. I don’t like the situation one little bit."
"I see," said George slowly. "You’ve got a point there. But this sort of thing’s happened here before, you know. When I was a kid down in Louisiana we had a crackpot preacher who said the world was going to end next Sunday. Hundreds of people believed him-- even sold their homes. Yet nothing happened; they didn’t turn nasty, as you’d expect. They just decided that he’d made a mistake in his calculations and went right on believing. I guess some of them still do."
"Well, this isn’t Louisiana, in case you hadn’t noticed. There are just two of us and hundreds of these monks. I like them, and I’ll be sorry for old Sam when his lifework backfires on him. But all the same, I wish I was somewhere else."
"I’ve been wishing that for weeks. But there’s nothing we can do until the contract’s finished and the transport arrives to fly us out."
"Of course," said Chuck thoughtfully, "we could always try a bit of sabotage."
"Like hell we could! That would make things worse."
"Not the way I meant. Look at it like this. The machine will finish its run four days from now, on the present twenty-hours-a-day basis. The transport calls in a week. O.K., then all we need to do is to find something that wants replacing during one of the overhaul periods -- something that will hold up the works for a couple of days. We’ll fix it, of course, but not too quickly. If we time matters properly, we can be down at the airfield when the last name pops out of the register. They won’t be able to catch us then."
"I don’t like it," said George. "It will be the first time I ever walked out on a job. Besides, it would make them suspicious. No, I’ll sit tight and take what comes."
"I still don’t like it," he said seven days later, as the tough little mountain ponies carried them down the winding road. "And don’t you think I’m running away because I’m afraid. I’m just sorry for those poor old guys up there, and I don’t want to be around when they find what suckers they’ve been. Wonder how Sam will take
it?"
"It’s funny," replied Chuck, "but when I said goodbye I got the idea he knew we were walking out on him -- and that he didn’t care because he knew the machine was running smoothly and that the job would soon be finished. After that -- well, of course, for him there just isn’t any After That . . ."
George turned in his saddle and stared back up the mountain road. This was the last place from which one could get a clear view of the lamasery. The squat, angular buildings were silhouetted against the afterglow of the sunset; here and there lights gleamed like portholes in the sides of an ocean liner. Electric lights, of course, sharing the same circuit as the Mark V. How much longer would they share it? wondered George. Would the monks smash up the computer in their rage and disappointment? Or would they just sit down quietly and begin their calculations all over again?
He knew exactly what was happening up on the mountain at this very moment. The High Lama and his assistants would be sitting in their silk robes, inspecting the sheets as the junior monks carried them away from the typewriters and pasted them into the great volumes. No one would be saying anything. The only sound would be the incessant patter, the never-ending rainstorm, of the keys hitting the paper, for the Mark V itself was utterly silent as it flashed through its thousands of calculations a second. Three months of this, thought George, was enough to start anyone climbing up the wall.
"There she is!" called Chuck, pointing down into the valley. "Ain’t she beautiful!"
She certainly was, thought George. The battered old DC-3 lay at the end of the runway like a tiny silver cross. In two hours she would be bearing them away to freedom and sanity. It was a thought worth savoring like a fine liqueur. George let it roll around in his mind as the pony trudged patiently down the slope.
The swift night of the high Himalayas was now almost upon them. Fortunately the road was very good, as roads went in this region, and they were both carrying torches. There was not the slightest danger, only a certain discomfort from the bitter cold. The sky overhead was perfectly clear and ablaze with the familiar, friendly stars. At least there would be no risk, thought George, of the pilot being unable to take off because of weather conditions. That had been his only remaining worry.
He began to sing but gave it up after a while. This vast arena of mountains, gleaming like whitely hooded ghosts on every side, did not encourage such ebullience. Presently George glanced at his watch.
"Should be there in an hour," he called back over his shoulder to Chuck. Then he added, in an afterthought, "Wonder if the computer’s finished its run? It was due about now."
Chuck didn’t reply, so George swung round in his saddle. He could just see Chuck’s face, a white oval turned toward the sky.
"Look," whispered Chuck, and George lifted his eyes to heaven. (There is always a last time for everything.)
Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.
By Arthur Clarke
"This is a slightly unusual request," said Dr. Wagner, with what he hoped was commendable restraint. "As far as I know, it’s the first time anyone’s been asked to supply a Tibetan monastery with an automatic sequence computer. I don’t wish to be inquisitive, but I should hardly thought that your --ah-- establishment had much use for such a machine. Could you explain just what you intend to do with it?"
"Gladly," replied the lama, readjusting his silk robe and carefully putting away the slide rule he had been using for currency conversions. "Your Mark V computer can carry out any routine mathematical operation involving up to ten digits. However, for our work we are interested in letters, not numbers. As we wish you to modify the output circuits, the machine will be printing words, not columns of figures."
"I don’t understand . . ."
"This is a project on which we have been working for the last three centuries -- since the lamasery was founded, in fact. It is somewhat alien to your way of thought, so I hope you will listen with an open mind while I explain it."
"Naturally."
"It is really quite simple. We have been compiling a list which shall contain all the possible names of God."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We have reason to believe," continued the lama imperturbably, "that all such names can be written with not more than nine letters in an alphabet we have devised."
"And you have been doing this for three centuries?"
"Yes. We expected it would take us about fifteen thousand years to complete the task."
"Oh." Dr. Wagner looked a little dazed. "Now I see why you wanted to hire one of our machines. But exactly what is the purpose of this project?"
The lama hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Wagner wondered if he had offended him. If so, there was no trace of annoyance in the reply.
"Call it ritual, if you like, but it’s a fundamental part of our belief. All the many names of the Supreme Being -- God, Jehovah, Allah, and so on -- they are only man-made labels. There is a philosophical problem of some difficulty here, which I do not propose to discuss, but somewhere among all the possible combinations of letters, which can occur, are what one may call the real names of God. By systematic permutation of letters, we have been trying to list them all."
"I see. You’ve been starting at AAAAAAAAA . . . and working up to ZZZZZZZZZ . . ."
"Exactly -- though we use a special alphabet of our own. Modifying the electromatic typewriters to deal with this is, of course, trivial. A rather more interesting problem is that of devising suitable circuits to eliminate ridiculous combinations. For example, no letter must occur more than three times in succession."
"Three? Surely you mean two."
"Three is correct. I am afraid it would take too long to explain why, even if you understood our language."
"I’m sure it would," said Wagner hastily. "Go on."
"Luckily it will be a simple matter to adapt your automatic sequence computer for this work, since once it has been programmed properly it will permute each letter in turn and print the result. What would have taken us fifteen thousand years it will be able to do in a thousand days."
Dr. Wagner was scarcely conscious of the faint sounds from the Manhattan streets far below. He was in a different world, a world of natural, not man-made, mountains. High up in their remote aeries these monks had been patiently at work, generation after generation, compiling their lists of meaningless words. Was there any limit to the follies of mankind? Still, he must give no hint of his inner thoughts. The customer was always right . . .
"There’s no doubt," replied the doctor, "that we can modify the Mark V to print lists of this nature. I’m much more worried about the problem of installation and maintenance. Getting out to Tibet, in these days, is not going to be easy."
"We can arrange that. The components are small enough to travel by air -- that is one reason why we chose your machine. If you can get them to India, we will provide transport from there."
"And you want to hire two of our engineers?"
"Yes, for the three months which the project should occupy."
"I’ve no doubt that Personnel can manage that." Dr. Wagner scribbled a note on his desk pad. "There are just two other points--"
Before he could finish the sentence, the lama had produced a small slip of paper.
"This is my certified credit balance at the Asiatic Bank."
"Thank you. It appears to be--ah--adequate. The second matter is so trivial that I hesitate to mention it -- but it’s surprising how often the obvious gets overlooked. What source of electrical energy have you?"
"A diesel generator providing 50 kilowatts at 110 volts. It was installed about five years ago and is quite reliable. It’s made life at the lamasery much more comfortable, but of course it was really installed to provide power for the motors driving the prayer wheels."
"Of course," echoed Dr. Wagner. "I should have thought of that."
The view from the parapet was vertiginous, but in time one gets used to anything. After three months George Hanley was not impressed by the two-thousand-foot swoop into the abyss or the remote checkerboard of fields in the valley below. He was leaning against the wind-smoothed stones and staring morosely at the distant mountains whose names he had never bothered to discover.
This, thought George, was the craziest thing that had ever happened to him. "Project Shangri-La," some wit at the labs had christened it. For weeks now, Mark V had been churning out acres of sheets covered with gibberish. Patiently, inexorably, the computer had been rearranging letters in all their possible combinations, exhausting each class before going on to the next. As the sheets had emerged from the electromatic typewriters, the monks had carefully cut them up and pasted them into enormous books. In another week, heaven be praised, they would have finished. Just what obscure calculations had convinced the monks that they needn’t bother to go on to words of ten, twenty, or a hundred letters, George didn’t know. One of his recurring nightmares was that there would be some change of plan and that the High Lama (whom they’d naturally called Sam Jaffe, though he didn’t look a bit like him) would suddenly announce that the project would be extended to approximately 2060 A.D. They were quite capable of it.
George heard the heavy wooden door slam in the wind as Chuck came out onto the parapet beside him. As usual, Chuck was smoking one of the cigars that made him so popular with the monks -- who, it seemed, were quite willing to embrace all the minor and most of the major pleasures of life. That was one thing in their favor: they might be crazy, but they weren’t bluenoses. Those frequent trips they took down to the village, for instance . . ." "Listen, George," said Chuck urgently. "I’ve learned something that means trouble."
"What’s wrong? Isn’t the machine behaving?" That was the worst contingency George could imagine. It might delay his return, than which nothing could be more horrible. The way he felt now, even the sight of a TV commercial would seem like manna from heaven. At least it would be some link from home.
"No -- it’s nothing like that." Chuck settled himself on the parapet, which was unusual, because normally he was scared of the drop.
"I’ve just found out what all this is about."
"What d’ya mean -- I thought we knew."
"Sure -- we know what the monks are trying to do. But we didn’t know why. It’s the craziest thing --"
"Tell me something new," growled George.
" . . . but old Sam’s just come clean with me. You know the way he drops in every afternoon to watch the sheets roll out. Well, this time he seemed rather excited, or at least as near as he’ll ever get to it. When I told him we were on the last cycle he asked me, in that cute English accent of his, if I’d ever wondered what they were trying to do. I said, ‘Sure’ -- and he told me."
"Go on, I’ll buy it."
"Well, they believe that when they have listed all His names -- and they reckon that there are about nine billion of them -- God’s purpose will have been achieved. The human race will have finished what it was created to do, and there won’t be any point in carrying on. Indeed, the very idea is something like blasphemy."
"Then what do they expect us to do? Commit suicide?"
"There’s no need for that. When the list’s completed, God steps in and simply winds things up . . . bingo!"
"Oh, I get it. When we finish our job, it will be the end of the world."
Chuck gave a nervous little laugh.
"That’s just what I said to Sam. And do you know what happened? He looked at me in a very queer way, like I’d been stupid in class, and said, ‘It’s nothing as trivial as that’."
George thought this over for a moment.
"That’s what I call taking the Wide View," he said presently.
"But what d’ya suppose we should do about it? I don’t see that it makes the slightest difference to us. After all, we already knew that they were crazy."
"Yes -- but don’t you see what may happen? When the list’s complete and the Last Trump doesn’t blow -- or whatever it is that they expect -- we may get the blame. It’s our machine they’ve been using. I don’t like the situation one little bit."
"I see," said George slowly. "You’ve got a point there. But this sort of thing’s happened here before, you know. When I was a kid down in Louisiana we had a crackpot preacher who said the world was going to end next Sunday. Hundreds of people believed him-- even sold their homes. Yet nothing happened; they didn’t turn nasty, as you’d expect. They just decided that he’d made a mistake in his calculations and went right on believing. I guess some of them still do."
"Well, this isn’t Louisiana, in case you hadn’t noticed. There are just two of us and hundreds of these monks. I like them, and I’ll be sorry for old Sam when his lifework backfires on him. But all the same, I wish I was somewhere else."
"I’ve been wishing that for weeks. But there’s nothing we can do until the contract’s finished and the transport arrives to fly us out."
"Of course," said Chuck thoughtfully, "we could always try a bit of sabotage."
"Like hell we could! That would make things worse."
"Not the way I meant. Look at it like this. The machine will finish its run four days from now, on the present twenty-hours-a-day basis. The transport calls in a week. O.K., then all we need to do is to find something that wants replacing during one of the overhaul periods -- something that will hold up the works for a couple of days. We’ll fix it, of course, but not too quickly. If we time matters properly, we can be down at the airfield when the last name pops out of the register. They won’t be able to catch us then."
"I don’t like it," said George. "It will be the first time I ever walked out on a job. Besides, it would make them suspicious. No, I’ll sit tight and take what comes."
"I still don’t like it," he said seven days later, as the tough little mountain ponies carried them down the winding road. "And don’t you think I’m running away because I’m afraid. I’m just sorry for those poor old guys up there, and I don’t want to be around when they find what suckers they’ve been. Wonder how Sam will take
it?"
"It’s funny," replied Chuck, "but when I said goodbye I got the idea he knew we were walking out on him -- and that he didn’t care because he knew the machine was running smoothly and that the job would soon be finished. After that -- well, of course, for him there just isn’t any After That . . ."
George turned in his saddle and stared back up the mountain road. This was the last place from which one could get a clear view of the lamasery. The squat, angular buildings were silhouetted against the afterglow of the sunset; here and there lights gleamed like portholes in the sides of an ocean liner. Electric lights, of course, sharing the same circuit as the Mark V. How much longer would they share it? wondered George. Would the monks smash up the computer in their rage and disappointment? Or would they just sit down quietly and begin their calculations all over again?
He knew exactly what was happening up on the mountain at this very moment. The High Lama and his assistants would be sitting in their silk robes, inspecting the sheets as the junior monks carried them away from the typewriters and pasted them into the great volumes. No one would be saying anything. The only sound would be the incessant patter, the never-ending rainstorm, of the keys hitting the paper, for the Mark V itself was utterly silent as it flashed through its thousands of calculations a second. Three months of this, thought George, was enough to start anyone climbing up the wall.
"There she is!" called Chuck, pointing down into the valley. "Ain’t she beautiful!"
She certainly was, thought George. The battered old DC-3 lay at the end of the runway like a tiny silver cross. In two hours she would be bearing them away to freedom and sanity. It was a thought worth savoring like a fine liqueur. George let it roll around in his mind as the pony trudged patiently down the slope.
The swift night of the high Himalayas was now almost upon them. Fortunately the road was very good, as roads went in this region, and they were both carrying torches. There was not the slightest danger, only a certain discomfort from the bitter cold. The sky overhead was perfectly clear and ablaze with the familiar, friendly stars. At least there would be no risk, thought George, of the pilot being unable to take off because of weather conditions. That had been his only remaining worry.
He began to sing but gave it up after a while. This vast arena of mountains, gleaming like whitely hooded ghosts on every side, did not encourage such ebullience. Presently George glanced at his watch.
"Should be there in an hour," he called back over his shoulder to Chuck. Then he added, in an afterthought, "Wonder if the computer’s finished its run? It was due about now."
Chuck didn’t reply, so George swung round in his saddle. He could just see Chuck’s face, a white oval turned toward the sky.
"Look," whispered Chuck, and George lifted his eyes to heaven. (There is always a last time for everything.)
Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.
LIKE A ROLLING STONE
Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring,
you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring,
you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.
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