He looked like he came out of nightmare alley.

"You're A Big Girl Now"

Our conversation was short and sweet
It nearly swept me off-a my feet
And I'm back in the rain, oh, oh
And you are on dry land
You made it there somehow
You're a big girl now

Bird on the horizon, sitting on a fence
He's singing his song for me at his own expense
And I'm just like that bird, oh, oh
Singing just for you
I hope that you can hear
Hear me singing through these tears

Time is a jet plane, it moves too fast
Oh, but what a shame that all we've shared can't last
I can change, I swear, oh, oh
See what you can do
I can make it through
You can make it too

Love is so simple, to quote a phrase
You've known it all the time, I'm learning it these days
Oh, I know where I can find you, oh, oh
In somebody's room
It's a price I have to pay
You're a big girl all the way

A change in the weather is known to be extreme
But what's the sense of changing horses in midstream?
I'm going out of my mind, oh, oh
With a pain that stops and starts
Like a corkscrew to my heart
Ever since we've been apart

Bob Dylan, <i>Blood On The Tracks</i> (1975)

The actor Tony Curtis once told me that fame is an occupation in itself, that it is a separate thing. And Tony couldn't be more right. The old image slowly faded and in time I found myself no longer under
the canopy of some malignant influence. Eventually different anachronisms were thrust upon me — anachronisms of lesser dilemma — though they might seem bigger. Legend, Icon, Enigma (Buddha in European Clothes was my favorite) — stuff like that, but that was all right. These titles were placid and harmless, threadbare, easy to get around with them. Prophet, Messiah, Savior — those are tough ones.