Ruminations on the life of Bob Dylan, where six characters embody a different aspect of the musician's life and work.

Arthur: Seven simple rules of going into hiding: one, never trust a cop in a raincoat. Two, beware of enthusiasm and of love, both are temporary and quick to sway. Three, if asked if you care about the world's problems, look deep into the eyes of he who asks, he will never ask you again. Four, never give your real name. Five, if ever asked to look at yourself, dont. Six, never do anything the person standing in front of you cannot understand. And finlly seven, never create anything, it will be misinterpreted, it will chain you and follow you for the rest of your life.
Billy the Kid: People are always talking about freedom. Freedom to live a certain way, without being kicked around. Course the more you live a certain way, the less it feel like freedom. Me, uhm, I can change during the course of a day. I wake and I'm one person, when I go to sleep I know for certain I'm somebody else. I don't know who I am most of the time.
Arthur: I accept chaos. I don't know whether it accepts me.
Jude: God, I'm glad I'm not me.
Claire: I would like to know what is at the center of your world.
Robbie Clark: Well, I'm 22, I guess I would say me.
Jude: People actually think I have some kind of a fantastic imagination. It gets very lonesome.
Jude: Yeah it's chaos, it's clocks, it's watermelons, it's everything.
[first lines]
Narrator: There he lies. God rest his soul, and his rudeness. A devouring public can now share the remains of his sickness, and his phone numbers. There he lay: poet, prophet, outlaw, fake, star of electricity. Nailed by a peeping tom, who would soon discover...
Jude: A poem is like a naked person...
Arthur: ...but a song is something that walks by itself.
Arthur: Silence, experience shows, is what terrifies people most.
Reporter: Jude! One word for your fans?
Jude: Astronaut.
Jude: How can I answer that if you got the nerve to ask me?
Robbie Clark: [pointing to a billboard of Jack Rollins] It's not about me anymore, it's all about him.
Jude: [to a crucifix] How does it feel?
Allen Ginsberg: [to Jude] Maybe you sold out to God.
Woody Guthrie: [the jump cut into this scene occurs after Hobo Joe or Hobo Moe has, apparently, asked the 11-year-old African American boy who call himself Woody Guthrie where he's from] Well, Missouri, originally. A little town called Riddle.
Hobo Joe: [the rest of this dialogue is an almost exact paraphrase of dialogue from the 1957 film, A Face in the Crowd] Uh, is there really a town called Riddle?
Woody Guthrie: Well, tell you the flat truth, it's just a sort of a whatchamacallit, a...
Hobo Joe: ...A composite.
Woody Guthrie: Compost heap's more like it.
Jude: Look at all these medicines! Hey man what are those?
Man At Party: Mandy's, make you sleep.
Jude: Sleep? aint sleepin'... Sleep's for dreamers. I haven't slept in thirty days, man. Takes a lot of medicine to keep up this pace.
Jude: [looking up at a giant Jesus on the cross] Do your early stuff!
Arthur: Woody Guthrie was dead, Little Richard was becoming a preacher, so whether you're a folksinger or a Christian, Rock'n'Roll was the devil.
Jude: You know, saying 'cause of peace', it's like saying, 'hunk of butter', you know, I don't want you to listen to anybody who wants you to believe is dedicated to the hunk and not the butter.
Reporter: I'm not sure I follow.
Jude: You know, I didn't come out of some cereal box. There's no one out there who's gonna be converted by a song.
Hobo Joe: [Woody shows Hobo Joe and Hobo Moe his guitar case which says 'THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS'] You wouldn't be stashing no weapons in there, son?
Woody Guthrie: No sir, not in any literalized way.
[last lines]
Billy the Kid: It's like you got yesterday, today and tomorrow, all in the same room. There's no telling what can happen.
Jack Rollins: [looking up in the sky] It's hard not to go to Hell.There's so many distractions,so many influences.Start walking right and pretty soon,there's someone gonna drag you down.Sure as we're living,sure as we're born,look up,look up,
[there are three angels in the sky with trumpets]
Jack Rollins: Gabriel blows his horn.
Jude: Doesn't really matter, you know, what kind of nasty names people invent for the music. But, uh, folk music is just a word, you know, that I can't use anymore. What I'm talking about is traditional music, right, which is to say it's mathematical music, it's based on hexagons. But all these songs about, you know, roses growing out of people's brains and lovers who are really geese and swans are turning into angels - I mean, you know, they're not going to die. They're not folk music songs. They're political songs. They're already dead. You'd think that these traditional music people would - would gather that mystery, you know, is a traditional fact, you know, seeing as they're all so full of mystery.
Keenan Jones: And contradictions.
Jude: Yeah, contradictions.
Keenan Jones: And chaos.
Jude: Yes, it's chaos, clocks, and watermelons - you know, it's - it's everything. These people actually think I have some kind of, uh... fantastic imagination. It gets very, uh, lonesome. But traditional music is just, uh... it's too unreal to die. It doesn't need to be protected. You know, I mean, in that music is the only true valid death you can feel today, you know, off a record player. But like everything else in great demand, people try to own it. Has to do with, like, uh, the purity thing. I think its meaninglessness is holy. Everybody knows I'm not a folk singer.
Arthur: Y'know, it's nature's will. And I'm against nature. I don't dig nature at all.
Jude: [to an angry, knife-wielding busboy in his hotel room] Either be groovy or leave, man!

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