I don't understand Bob Dylan. Maybe that's how it should be: something that fascinates is something that does not have to be, or cannot be, understood. I read Dylan's book of poetry, Tarantula, which he wrote in 1966 when he was twenty-five. In it, words move not like letters, not like vessels of meaning, but as sound, in their repetition, consonants, emphasis, and syllable length:
mother say go in…
Things happened quickly, beyond the expectations of Basuki Tjahaja Purnama (Ahok) and his legal team. Right after the panel of judges at the North Jakarta Administrative Court found Basuki guilty, on Tuesday last week, the prosecutor asked to meet with Basuki outside the courtroom. 'Come one, let's chat out back," said one prosecutor.