We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
With the Dylanologist on vacation, covering the fruited plains of the USA from NY to DC to Nashville to LA, I will fill in with my selection for the Thursday Dylan lyrics, Idiot Wind, from the masterpiece Blood on the Tracks:
Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out but when they will I can only guess. They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy, She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me. I can't help it if I'm lucky.
People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts. Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at, I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me better than that Sweet lady.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth, Blowing down the backroads headin' south. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth, You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like. There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door, You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars After losin' every battle.
I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars. You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies. One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes, Blood on your saddle.
Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb, Blowing through the curtains in your room. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth, You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart. Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped, What's good is bad, what's bad is good, you'll find out when you reach the top You're on the bottom.
I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes don't look into mine. The priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn.
Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull, From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth, You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe.
I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin' I was somebody else instead. Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy, I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory And all your ragin' glory.
I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free, I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me. You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above, And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love, And it makes me feel so sorry.
Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats, Blowing through the letters that we wrote. Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves, We're idiots, babe. It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves.