Did Dylan rip off Pynchon?

[Henry Musikar]

Ah, but is IV Pynchon...?

That said, one of the things that I appreciate in P-Lit is P's voice(s).
It's one of the things that DF Wallace shared with him, those interesting
voices.  There's more to writing than what is written about.

"Alice's" surname is not structure as any with which I am familiar, so while
I don't know for sure who Alice really is (can we ever really...), I don't
think that anyone is really named Wellintown.  Wellinton or Wellington, but
not Wellintown.  Not that it makes a heck of lot of difference to you.

Henry Mu
Sr. IT Consultant
http://astore.amazon.com/tdcoccamsaxe-20/  


-----Original Message-----
From: Carvill John

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

----------------------------------------
> From: alice wellintown
>
> 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