Did Dylan rip off Pynchon?

[Carvill John]

Again, that's pure Terrance. As unmistakably as IV is Pynchon.

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> Date: Thu, 13 Aug 2009 11:33:16 -0400
> Subject: Re: Did Dylan rip off Pynchon?
> From: alicewellintown at gmail.com
> To: pynchon-l at waste.org
>
> The letter, dated 01 April 1960, from Dylan to Pynchon settles this dispute.
>
> Tommy,
>
> Got the ha shshshshshs ...never know who's listening in and picking
> through my trash. Sorry not to return yours sooner ...been working on
> a new song. It's gonna blow the mid of the world. I've enclosed a
> draft. Let me know what you think.
>
> Keep Cool But Hairy,
>
> Zim
>
> Mason is at the Friday Hangings.
> Frenesi is Going Down.
> The Sailor’s Grave is full of sailors.
> Pig Bodine is back in town.
> Here comes Ronald Ray-Gun.
> They’ve got him in a trance.
> One hand is tied to V.’s Balloon.
> The other is in his pants.
> And the riot squads they’re restless.
> They need some place to go.
> As Brock and Frenesi make love tonight
> Out on Desolation Row.
>
> Fina, she seems so easy.
> “Benny, I’m Cherry,” she smiles.
> And puts her hand in her back pocket,
> Hector Zuniga style.
> And in comes Stencil, he’s moaning,
> “Stencil’s In Love with V-2!”
> And Slothrop says, “your in the wrong book my friend,
> I’m getting out with you.”
> And the only sound that’s left tonight
> After the Auctioneer Clears His Throat
> Is Zoyd Wheeler sweeping glass
> From Wagner’s haunted boat.
>
> Now the Thanatoids are waking
> Now everybody sing
> Hansel and Gretel are baking
> And Kong is Lord and King
> Not DL and Takeshi
> Not McClintock and Owlglass
> Not anyone is making love
> But inflicting pain, Alas.
> But The Weather Will Not Change
> As above, so below
> Where Profane and Angel Make A Myth
> For Gravity’s great rainbow
>
> Now Lake, she's no daddy’s girl
> For her I feel so afraid
> She’s wearing her Moma’s professional dress
> She won’t be no Miner’s old maid
> To her, death is quite romantic
> Cause she can not love success
> Her profession's her religion
> Her sin is her lifelessness
> And though her eyes are fixed upon
> Gravity’s great rainbow
> She spends her time peeking into Entropy boxes
> Out on Yo-yo-dyne Row
>
> Tesla, disguised as Robin Hood
> With his lightning in a trunk
> Passed this way an hour ago
> With Edison, both were drunk.
> They looked so immaculately frightful
> With Franklin and Kite in tow,
> As they hitched a ride from the Chums of Chance
> out to where Pirate’s mushrooms grow
> Now you would not think to look at them twice
> But they were all famous long ago
> For playing ukuleles in a glass armonica band
> On Desolation Row
>
> Dr. Hilarious he keeps his world
> Inside a windowpane
> But all his crazy patients
> Are convinced that the good doctor is insane
> Now his nurse, a victim of rhinoplasty
> She's in charge of the Dynamite LSD
> And she also keeps the Waite Tarot cards
> Under a lock and Key
> They all play hide the dynamite
> You can hear them when they blow
> If you lean your head out far enough
> From Desolation Row
>
> Across the street they've built a tower
> They're getting ready for the feast
> Barbequed Brains and Danish #9
> A Herero Soldier and a Bad Priest
> They will spoon-feed James Wood
> To get him to feel more assured
> Then they'll kill him with cartoons and self-confidence
> After poisoning him with words
> Then Dixon will land or not land a Quaker’s mighty blow
> And set all the enslaved persons free
> Out on Desolation Row
>
> Now at midnight Vibes agents
> And the whole sick crew
> Come out and round up everyone
> That knows more than they do
> Then they bring them to Ellison’s paint factory
> Where the Entropy machine
> Is fastened to their foreheads
> and run on Standard Oil kerosene
> Is brought in from the white house
> By investment bankers who go
> Check to see that nobody is escaping
> To Desolation Row
>
> Praise be to Zeros and Ones
> The Ship of Fools sails at dawn
> And everybody's shouting
> 'Which Side Are You On?'
> And Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot
> Fighting in the captain's tower
> While calypso singers laugh at them
> And hippie girls place flowers
> Into the guns of Pinkertons
> Where Blicero snorts white blow
> And nobody has to think too much
> About Desolation row
>
> Tom, I received your letter yesterday
> (About the time the doorknob broke)
> When you asked me how I was doing
> Was that some kind of joke
> All these people that I mention
> Yes, we know them, they're quite lame
> So please rearrange their faces
> And give them all another name
> Right now, I can't read too good
> Don't send me no more letters no
> Not unless you mail them
> From Desolation Row
>
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RenHNO19XKs
>

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