well, no direction home raises more questions than answers, and thankfully i think most of the answers are lies anyway. i wonder what b. s. johnson would make of dylan cutting songs out of novels, and what i would make of myself if i got my way all the time. i should say i would make rather less than i do, but it would be more concentrated; i could conduct my own personality bleeding a la margaux (i am sure there is some posh french word for the process of pouring off grape must so as to concentrate the exposure of the remainder to the "cap" when making red wine, but i am damned if i know it off the top of my tired head).