Word: kid
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...Silk, directed by Su Chao-bin, tries a sciencey twist on the ghostly-kid genre spawned in Japan by The Ring and imitated by movie industries from Hong Kong's to Hollywood's. Beginning with that favorite Asian movie trope - sending some disposable Caucasian to his violent death - Silk focus on a Taipei research project that has managed, through some anti-gravity gizmo called the Menger Sponge, to capture the ghost of a nine-year old boy. Guess what? The death-child escapes...
...What changed Zimmerman was hearing Guthrie's songs. The Dust Bowl balladeer with the scrappy social conscience touched this kid, gave him purpose and ambition. "You could listen to his songs," he says in No Direction Home, "and actually learn how to live." Pierced to the heart, Bob actually left home this time, thumbing east to a Queens, N.Y., hospital, where Guthrie lay ailing of Huntington's Disease. That pilgrimage accomplished three things. It gave comfort to his idol; it gave Zimmerman, now Dylan, a vocal style; and it got him to New York City, where within a few months...
...never met. Which must be one of the great regrets of his life. But as a kid who loved folk music, I heard his stuff on a Philadelphia FM station and attended his first concert at our Town Hall. The local folk club, The Second Fret at 19th and Sansom Streets, hosted most of the singers Dylan hung out with and learned from. Dave Van Ronk played there; the gravel-voiced Brooklyn bear was one of my favorites, and an inspiration to the young Dylan. Indeed, I thought Dylan's "Baby Let Me Follow You Down" was a radio-friendly...
...loved rock 'n roll as much as folk and was exhilarated to think of the impact Dy;an could have in bringing an adolescent musical form to maturity. But by 1966 he wasn't having nearly as much fun making music as I was listening to it. The kid who wanted to be Elvis could now imagine dying like Buddy Holly: "You end up crashing in a private plane in the mountains of Tennessee. Or Sicily. ... I just wanna go home." He went home to upstate New York and crashed his 500cc T100S/R Triumph Tiger motorcycle...
...literally could not read, write or talk. When I would attempt to read the words would stumble off the page. I would try to write, my hands would shake violently. I'd try to talk, and I'd stutter. Before that? I was Mr. Happy Go Lucky, a kid who had everything. It was devastating to my family, to my friends. People just saw me fall apart right in front of them...