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: [to a crucifix
] How does it feel?
: How can I answer that if you got the nerve to ask me?
: Jude! One word for your fans? 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.
: God, I'm glad I'm not me.
: 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.
: [looking up at a giant Jesus on the cross
] Do your early stuff!
: Yeah it's chaos, it's clocks, it's watermelons, it's everything.
: 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... Narrator
: - even the ghost was more than one person. Arthur
: ...but a song is something that walks by itself.
: 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.
: People actually think I have some kind of a fantastic imagination. It gets very lonesome.
: [to an angry, knife-wielding busboy in his hotel room
] Either be groovy or leave, man!