Dylan Plays the Blues

Photo: From 1975 via Yahoo

From Summer, slowly uploading…


Long day of getting hustled…

The ticket only covers the back section, extra for the front. Every rich suck-up and their kids are all spread out and sticky for some mild entertainment – come late and leave early – A field full of arsenal fans. At these prices I should get to walk wherever I want. Shit. How quickly they turn you to their propertarian thinking. Now I deserve this patch of grass and that portion of headspace… I’m entitled, bitter, cursed…

You can’t even bring your own. Everybody tries to of course but some give up under the pressure. It’s as tight as JFK for security; scanners, body searches, portable zippers, bags through the computer… No chance they go down the front tho so we’re safe – I still had to sweat though, checking and re-checking there’s no smell. Fuck. But the cones must be getting crushed all out of shape. Dry heat killing the mouth and the troops marching forward so slowly – it’s just a training exercise, it’ll be over soon, if you don’t shrivel in the heat you’re made of something –

There is so little consideration in the corporate world for the dignity of individuals, for groups, for communities, so common too that it might seem strange to call it violence… yet, I will – Because if we accept this level of harassment for leisure then what are we capable of allowing in harder times? The herding and the prodding corrupts my thinking, makes it stuffy and useless. No – I haven’t been hurt… just turned off, and I can’t help but think how easily we could organise ourselves but for our self-consciousness…

Neil Young hits through the favourites and out come the cones; all around, one for Heart of Gold, another for Old Man, Winterlong – I dream of On the Beach but know I’m forty years late for Ambulance Blues – Either way he moves everything inside, fucks off the sponsors and the process … “24 and there’s so much more… Live alone in a paradise…”  He takes the shine off the security jackets for a time, makes you feel free in an un-free place – I forgot I could only see him on a screen…

I’ve got a tired wave from the heat, 20 minutes to piss, half hour for a beer. As Dylan gets wheeled out some excited yuppie kicks my fresh one into oblivion; I think “Here Comes Lonely… Here Come the Blues…”  I think of BB King – “There must be a better world … Somewhere…”

It ain’t here. We’re stuck in the background of a police procedural, the band keep playing and the star keeps fucking up his lines. Here come the Jazz Blues, I’m just a kid at thee bar, no bits, no shot – sit and suck it up it’s what you came for…

1 hour or 2 passes, I should’ve left before but it might be the last time (I think of the first time and it was just as shit – and the first last time was probably in ’68) – None of it jumps or feels; square wheels forcing themselves over the road. I get the brain ready for more prodding and moving, full sardine style, I wonder if the legs will follow.

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