Love Letters to Bob Dylan


Love Letters to Bob Dylan , Sinéad O’Connor
Dear Bob,

Three questions:

1. Please can I sing “Licence to Kill” with you and Mark Knopfler when you play together in Dublin in October? Infidels is my favorite album ever and I’m quite a good singer. Even if I do say so myself.

Being selfish and a demanding diva, I was hoping you and Mark would play and I would sing… wearing a miniscule army camouflage teeny-keeny… (not really… all of this would be strictly kosher).

2. Can I be your harmonica? I am asking this, because I really want to be your harmonica. But I promise to behave, unless you don’t. And if I can’t be good…

3. In the event my dying wish (see question #2) can’t come true, can you perhaps introduce me to any un-attached Zimmerman men from 44-years-old on?

You have set an unreachable standard in me… for what a man really is.

I am assuming, of course, that you would never be interested in one so ‘insane’ as to write you a love letter, and am also assuming you must be well covered with women…

I promise I’m slightly prettier than in the ABC News split screen of before and after… I was having a bad hair day.

Hugh Hefner has now offered me a million dollars to do the cover of Playboy — every girl’s dream. This is because I am monumentally gorgeous. Contrary to popular belief based on zero recent ‘sightings.’

I will implore the equally ‘lurve-starved’ ladies of influence at ABC News to sneakily switch photos so u can see me in my actual sexual gloriousness. So worry not. I’m well fit, sir.

Anyway… Please let me sing with you and Mark because that album was, is and always will be the full roots of my heart. Kisses from Jesus all over it.

Yeah and Mark’s pretty delicious too… but not as much as you, obviously. But if you don’t fancy a quick one, would you ever ask ol’ Mark what he reckons? In the dark I think he could pretend I’m gorgeous… if I put a few bags on my head…

My preference, if you are unattainable, would be to meet your middle-aged male relatives please.

Please do respond because as L’oreal says, Bob, I’m worth it.

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4 Responses to “Love Letters to Bob Dylan”

  1. Era Says:

    Eh, i ve dot faj Sinéad-it?! 😀

  2. ehe... Says:

    Qenka bere si Elsa Lila n’pleqni.
    Mbaj mend, dikur thelle ne vite, kur me kendonte ate kengen “nathing këmpeërs tu ju”, une ia beja ne shtepi : “pushoni ! qepeni tani !” dhe kepusja ca sharje, pastaj ia ngrija zerin tivuse dhe pastaj mberthehesha perpara. Kur shkonte aty qe e hollon zerin tek “i-ja” e nathingut, une çirrja faqet me thonj duke bertitur : shiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiid !!!!!

    Cfare tmerri ka qene, vertet. Familja ime e terrorizuar fare. Im ate strukej diku dhe s’pipetinte. Nena dilte ne dhome dhe qante me denese ne shtrat. Vetem motra me te cilen e kisha mire mundohej te me qetesonte, me afrohej dhe me mbante per supesh, e une pastaj shpertheja ne lot, ç’emocione te papara !

    Pastaj mora vesh se Shinidi kendonte dhe ate “uumëns… ” diçka tjeter. Me fustan te bardhe dhe lule ne dore, dhe pastaj del nga kisha dhe e le burrin si gallof. Une mbyllja syte dhe thosha me vete se mbase e prishi dasmen per mua, mbase ma kishte dhene fjalen mua, dhe pastaj ngjitesha me te ne nje pajton dhe ecnim te shtrenguar buze detit, dhe aty me thoshte : “ehe… per ty po e bej kete sakrifice se ndryshe s’do martohesha fare”. Une pastaj s’flisja gje por e shihja ne ata syte e jeshilte dhe humbisja ne to, me dukej se isha ne nje lendine, etj. etj.

    Me nje fjale, Shinidi eshte maj litëll bejbi. Mund te jem i vetmi fanc i saj qe me ka shkruar leter. Madje me ka ftuar dhe ne Irlande. Por s’kam shkuar ende, kam pasur shume pune. Do te shkoj nga vera tjeter, besoj.

    Baj dhë uej, kete letren me lart s’e mora vesh, s’paska qene shqip. Shpresoj te mos jete leter dashurie se ndryshe ia hoqa vizen asaj dhe jeten vetes sime. Pa tallje e kam, dashuria eshte kaq inekstrikablë !!!

  3. Tak-tak! Says:

    Natasha Lako rules!

  4. Dhiraj Says:

    The artist, as he enters eighth decade of life, has been described aptly as “the Methuselah of righteous cool” but he has been much more, a master of disdain now, a bard of decay only to surprise as a voice of longing for romance later. The elderly statesman of music has collided with forms ranging from folk to glam rock and many in between and has left them richer, altered forever

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