Rad note � the text contained in this entry was lifted from another entry and transferred here to its own, separate entry-page .. in order to give me better focus on my subject.
At the end of this entry (that you are now reading) I will provide a link to return you to the exact spot from which this text was lifted.
Here you go...
� Effect of the Artist on the Culture (and Vice Versa)
Anyway .. that is all I am going to say on the subject right now. Because I now find myself pondering [ i see the shift i must follow ] the role that is played by the artist in helping to define the culture (.. and vice versa).
But surely you can see how this might run parallel with ..
.. the topic of today's entry � exploring the limits of poetic (artistic) license.
Before leaving this subject however, let me just add that my intuition here ..
.. is that my friend, with the gift for words, is not limited to crafting lyrics.
You think I'm joking, or maybe even crazy, but I bet that, with a little practice, he could craft a very nice � children's book.
(Which is no mean feat, and probably requires the consultation of a third grader.) Or even a novel.
Because the gift is not limited to any one genre. The gift is not limited, period.
This is not the right way to say it, but you will catch my drift � the only limitation I have encountered with the gift is � the size of your balls.
And this man has large balls. Very large. Cojones grande huevos. Dragging on the floor behind him. "Anybody seen my wheelbarrow?" The cantaloupe man.
To be honest, I am surprised that avant-garde directors such as Tarantino havent solicited his song-writing talents (.. like Peckinpah did with Dylan).
Or maybe they did, and he turned them down.
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