The revolution was televised — and still nobody saw it coming.

It came through words, sounds — not the images.

“Oh, the history books tell it
They tell it so well
The cavalries charged
The Indians fell
The cavalries charged
The Indians died
Oh, the country was young
With God on its side”


Bob Dylan is an old man now, but wasn’t always. Once he was young and new, which meant better in his world, and he and all those like him, those borne of the great war but never in it, grew quick to reject the past and its lies and its lies about its lies — yet they never fully recognized the turmoil, the hate and divisiveness bubbling up, with their pushing against one another and everyone from before raising the heat of the world.

They did not yet know of all the death to come.

“If God’s on our side, he’ll stop the next war.”

God did not.

Vietnam robbed the forever young of their youth.

Fast forward — always the case: Dylan is now old, his kindred are old, and it is their lies now rejected, their world being burned down, torn apart, left behind.

“Oh my name it ain’t nothing. My age it means less.”

Time puts everyone on the wrong side of history.


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