Clarice Lispector’s 1973 work ‘Agua Viva’ is written in the syllabic flow of a perfect novel, but expressed through streaming narratives and hellishly opaque metaphor. An outline. I think Bob Dylan had the same idea on ‘Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands’ – to write passively with lyrical latitude and have faith that between alien sentences rests something bodily. Its existence is self-rationalizing, silly, and serious. Like beautiful drunkards, the more sybaritic tracks on Blonde on Blonde stand next to complete realism: love going, coming, whirling. Bob sounds as joyous as ever. I can’t help but think of some albums as late-night bars. I’d like to be at this one.
A favourite: ‘Vision of Johanna’