boy from the midwest
Thank you for the laughter, the simple joy; for making me think-really think-about everything; thank you for writing about love, and writing about being in love and how to be bitter about love; thank you for your voice that's like gravel and sandpaper and a deep dark well; thank you for inspiring me; thank you for the music, thank you, thank you, thank you (and I'm not even midway through your body of work yet). Thank you.
(Of course the man is 70 today and he looks older and wiser nowadays, but Freewheelin' Bob Dylan is my favourite Bob Dylan, and anyway my scanner couldn't fit any other pictures from this ginormo 10"x10" illustrated biography my sister got for me the other day. <3333)
In some way or another Dylan has influenced a lot of the words and images in my sketch- and notebooks (words in particular that WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY hawhawhaw simply because said words are directly affected by this masterpiece but they never turn out very good at all). He's not the best good influence out there, but he's lovely, and he's one of my favourite people. I wish him the happiest of birthdays today. Let's all celebrate with our harmonicas and Ray-Bans, or maybe perhaps ditch that altogether and put on our white face make-up to confuse people!!