Preface by author: I have posted this in another board on another website; the reaction was silence, a cricket's chirp. Although it takes for it's basis a popular song by Bob Dylan, from what is written and heard I have attempted to yank any philosohpical matter out. I could have added more, as the more I listen to it the more I see. However I am lazy and feel sleep taking hold. Anyways I would be even more pleased if such add-ons were done in replies.
If Bob Dylan’s most revered song was written as a slant upon a nameless woman then he would not be known. Hamlet was not written as a slant on anyone, neither was Odyssey or Don Quixote. To think that all that his song about is a bitter taste from the lips of a petty girl is juvenile and frankly sick. Why, that would reduce it among the ranks of a note passed in a middle school classroom, and him among the culprit who wrote it. It is not, however, among the ranks of those works I juxtaposed with it; I used those as examples of mere art, which is what Like a Rolling Stone is. The song was written about himself. Any inkling that may hint at Edie or any woman else is an example of his lyrical dialogue, probably influenced from drugs, which, as a listener to say this is quite selfish, made it all the better for us. Take his recent Working Man’s Blues, which was not, obviously, influenced by drugs, at least not any heavy ones beyond Tobacco of Marijuana. It unanimous that that song is a backwards look upon himself, though, he has said before, never had a real job. Such is the same case for Like a Rolling Stone, and since the backwards glance was done at such a young age, probably due to guilt - see his “I was young when I left home,” if you have any doubts upon my conjecture - and aggravated by drugs, fame and life, the vision captured in the looking-glass is all the more intense; the bang in the star, sounds like an atomic bomb, is the feeling he felt when he looked in the mirror. But such is the feeling felt by everyone who looks into a mirror objectively; a feeling that you all you know of yourself is you are “with no direction home, a complete unknown, like a rolling stone.” A feeling that when someone attempts to say the opposite of, attempts to pin you down in crumb-bum Time Magazine, or when knee-deep in problems, under a heavy weight and sweating on a stage, someone thinks they got you all figured out cries “Judas!” posses you to scream “Play it *beep* loud!” Such is what we say, in one way or another everyday, to everyone, who thus says the does the same thing.
