Writing in the Raw: Blown Away by the Idiot Wind

Bob Dylan.

Blood on the Tracks.

Idiot Wind.

Someone’s got it in for me, they’re planting stories in the press.

Bill Clinton knows what that feels like, so does Al Gore, so does John Kerry, so does Barack Obama, so does every Democrat who won’t kneel down and kiss the bloody ring of corporate power.    

An idiot wind has been blowing across this country for a generation.  It never stops.  It gusts every time the lips of a Republican start flapping, it blows harder every time the lips of corporate media hacks flap in praise of Republican lip flapping.

Brace yourself, Obama.  They’ll say you shot a man named Gray, and took his wife to Italy.  Drudge will say it, then Limbaugh will say it, then O’Reilly and Hume and Hannity will say it, then the networks will examine this new ELECTABILITY problem you seem to have, very seriously and responsibly, as they always do, then a million idiots will vote for McCain because they feel very strongly that someone who shot a man and ran off with his wife to Italy isn’t fit to be President.

The Idiot Wind howlers will be howling at full force between now and November . . .  

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 idiots, 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.

Can anyone remember what peace and quiet is like?  

Can anyone remember what justice is like?  

Can anyone remember what democracy is like?

Can anyone here remember?

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.

Death has subpoenaed every one of you.  Try ignoring that subpoena, you fucking criminals.  Death isn’t going to send letters your hack lawyers can mock and ignore.  It’s not going to settle for an off the record meeting with no transcripts.  Your babbling lies about executive privilege won’t prevent Death from hauling your treacherous asses to a cemetery and burying you all under six feet of dirt so decent people won’t have to look at you anymore.  Death is coming for you someday, it’s coming for me, it’s coming for everyone reading this, it’s coming for this whole planet and there’ll be nothing left but flies buzzing over the ruins if this Idiot Wind doesn’t stop blowing soon.

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 idiots, babe.

Its a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

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.

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 . . .

The bottom of an ocean of blood.

The bottom of a mountain of lies.

The bottom of the deepest shithole any pandering shoveler of shit ever found himself in.

So . . .

KEEP DIGGING.    

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.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And I’m still fucking waiting.

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 idiots, babe. It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe.

I can’t feel you anymore, Republican reptile brain reality wreckers,

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.

Long ago . . .

Before the Idiot Wind started howling . . .

Before it blew everything away . . .

America had a President worthy of remembering.

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.

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.

November 22, 1963.  The Idiot Wind started howling.  It howled out of the barrels of assassin’s guns, it howled across Dealey Plaza, it howled across America and it’s been howling ever since.

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

Blowing away our soldiers.

Blowing away our freedom.

Blowing away our future.

Until we’re nothing but dust on the Idiot Wind.

I’ve been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I’m finally free,

I kissed goodbye the howling beast . . .

on the borderline that separated you from me . . .

November 4, 2008.

The borderline.

Cross it, America.  Kill the Howling Beast of War, kill it with your votes, bury it under a landslide, bury it before it buries you.  

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, but in the final end we’ll win this war, after losin’ every battle.

Are you finally ready to stand up, America?

Are you finally ready to fight back?

Or are you just going to lay there bleeding?