Flying fleet of a Freeriding
As the hipster
burning Sun man
pierces its crimson
Reflecting in the grey-eyed dog
ol' Master we are not
in it for now
But in IT for the long haul.
The road snakes its way past the farm house
Where the red barn
Pigs cat dog
Hauls the hay
And picks at the pantry
The old lady
Sizzle, the eggs
As the smell of the cowboy
Spooks the lonesome traveler
As the black car
Escapes the pipe, coughing
The hitchhiking vagabond who doesn't believe
In you me them or god
Smokes his joint as the horse watches him
And the sweat rolls off the labourer as the hobo
Hums and strums and licks
And spits at his harmonica
Through a window we call our eyes.
It's a slow day
Mist and moon
There's no time for thinking or waiting
The road snakes its way down
Horizon swallows it up
It doesn't matter
Where it goes
Promises kept unkept
And lies like the spider
This web beautiful
But traps unsuspectfully
I’ve been contemplating something in my head all day (where else would I contemplate from? Puzzling) Bob Dylan says: « Some people feel the rain. Others just get wet. » Of course I am going to think that’s genius. It’s so honest. Think about it. Imagine a cold, rainy October morning. Downpours are followed by yet another one. The humongous rain drops fall from the sky like torpedoes, splattering on the pavement and your windshield, the wipers barely able to do their job. By the time you run inside to your office, you’re drenched and you discover your waterproof mascara isn’t so waterproof at all. In any case, the chances that more then one of your co-workers will comment on how much they hate this weather is high and probable. Right? Right. I’ll admit to being one of those, too often. Now reverse all the way back to your childhood; remember the days when rain was fun? I do. I remember one summer, a warm summer rain falling and making the air smell so clean…I put on my bathing suit and jumped on our trampoline, in the rain. Dangerous, but fun nonetheless. See, back then, without all the anxieties of adult life and the daily stress of work and responsibility, I FELT the rain. I remember being in the car and watching as the drops collected on my window, falling slowly but gaining momentum as it gathered force with the other droplets. An army of H2O.
Is it too much to ask for most of us to change mentality and return to a place where we can feel the rain, feel the wind, feel the snow and feel life?
The show was a Bob show; exactly what I wanted and expected. In today’s world, everyone expects something from everybody – act a certain way, talk a certain way. People expect you to be who they want you to be.
Bob has never really bought into that. I’ve always admired Bob’s ability to retain that air of nonchalance. Not ignorance, per say, but he does what he does not because it’s his duty but because he just wants to...man.
Back to the bright lights of the Never-Ending Tour: no chit-chat was needed between songs. As he once remarked, ‘what do you want me to say, really’. His voice was strong and still passionate. I only wished he would’ve picked up that guitar. What am I saying – he doesn’t have to play the guitar. The Evolution of Bob. Just accept it.
Some songs surprised me; ‘Nettie Moore’ made me incredibly emotional.
What Bob does, really, is dig down to the core of human existence. As I experience life, I understand Bob’s songs more (if that’s possible). I remark: ‘Ah, he’s always right, that Bobby.’
For any Dylanite, basking and revelling in the beautiful chance at seeing Bob in concert is a treat. Like ice cream.
Some days I believe that I understand his every word, or at least understand the underlying sentiment. But I’m sure Bob could prove that I’m all wrong. Enigmatic to the bone and I love it.