RevolutionZ
RevolutionZ
Ep 344 Mamdani, Gaza, Rebel Lyrics, and Us
Episode 344 of RevolutionZ begins with some reflections on Zohran Mamdani's inspiring electoral win. How? By his campaign mobilizing an astonishing 50,000 volunteers. How? By he and his campaign feeling real and honest, and by offering real and meaningful vision. By electoral politics and grassroots activism becoming a mutual aid tag team rather than competing opponents.
The episode then moves from Gaza's gut wrenching fascistic horrors to our own American "Twilight Zone" reality that seeks to entrench fascistic tendencies as normal life. The episode then takes a break from its usual patterns to look at some music, some lyrics, hoping to find some clarity, courage, and, well, dignity. Hoping to find some potential sources for an emerging new youth culture which is something that we all, young and older alike, profoundly need to create, experience, and embrace.
Bruce Springsteen's "Youngstown" documents capitalism's broken promises. His "The Ghost of Tom Joad" reminds our moral obligations. But mainly the episoode hopes to introduce and propel some some emerging voices of today, not only old ones from yesterday. We hear Jesse Wells' and Carsey Blanton's unflinching and yet also moving and eloquent lyrics that directly confront power. "Rich people been fucking us all." Back not too long, we re-surface Iris DeMent's "Wasteland of the Free" and Bob Dylan's "Gates of Eden" and "Dignity." The point of it all is to celebrate how artists have long conveyed a vocabulary of resistance that we desperately need today.
I hope the songs whose lyrics I offer reveal that cultural resistance isn't separate from political action—it's an essential aid. It helps us imagine and create more just futures. Even more, it can help establish a mood, a disposition, aspirations, and confidence in the face of deadly hate. In the coming months of defense and then in coming years of positive gain, we will need to disobey authoritarianism, eliminate ecological nightmare, and reduce staggering inequality. We will need to entrench in their place self managed participation, productive and ecological sanity, and real soli;darity and equity. I hope the lyrics in this episode and others that you go on to find, to sing, and to hear, music and all, can help provide the rebellious soundtrack for our necessary actions. When I was a child we had that. The culture around us propelled us. We didn't win all we needed to, but some. Now new generations have to prevent the elimination of all that and, more, have to expand the victory vastly further. I hope artists and their audiences do their part to help propel all that. It ought to come naturally.
Hello, my name is Michael Albert and I am the host of the podcast that's titled Revolution Z. This is our 344th episode and I could use a break, or somewhat of a break, or a sort of break, from strategizing about the hellish insanities we now confront each day and which we must, of course, banish from everyone's life. So, to come at it all from the side, I thought I would again journey into the world of music, and mainly lyrics, since lyrics are all I can offer for music in an episode and for a further change, I shall not only try to not repeat songs that I have offered before, but even the main lyricist I have quoted before, bob Dylan, though I may have trouble leaving him out completely. But first a few other matters Mamdani, gaza, the Twilight Zone and our activism. Mamdani, new York, new York, whoops. I guess that is already a song, but it's also home for Zohran, mamdani and, as well, aoc.
Speaker 1:Earlier today I watched on YouTube a CNN interview with Mamdani. What can I say about it? Watch it yourself. It is a brilliant display of substance and also great vibes. He is someone to get excited about, which is why his campaign had 50,000 volunteers 50,000. And that is the recipe for victories of all kinds.
Speaker 1:Here's the thing All that ought to matter in an election or in any struggle is arguably the message, not the messenger. The substance, not the vehicle. Hell the drink but not the glass. But we don't live in that world yet. In our world, the messenger, the look, the feel, the tone, the ease, the response rate, the listening, the speaking, the words to get you involved and aware, and not just their actual meaning, all matter. Partly all that matters directly, because when we elect someone with a program or when we relate strongly to someone with a program, the program matters, but so does the person. How does the person come across? At least most of the time that matters. Mamdani has a great program. He gives great interview and great speech. He has great vibes, like AOC. Of course there are those who will spin any little misinterpretable gesture or word or look into claims of monstrous danger. But with Mamdani, as with AOC, that is not going to be easy. They have substance to communicate and they know how to communicate it to be heard and not misunderstood.
Speaker 1:What's my point? We leftists who want to put Trump in a museum of horrific past violations and who indeed want to do the same for racism, sexism, capitalism and authoritarianism and who want to turn from suicidal ecological stupidity to informed ecological wisdom, including leftists who devote our lives to just those pursuits and to the grassroots, consciousness-raising, sustained, organizing, militant activism and durable organization-building. We need to realize that elections are not all of the agenda, but they are part of it, and Mamdani and AOC, like Sanders before them and others to come, are part of the agenda. To posture as if to dismiss them or to denigrate them or to reject them is somehow exalted and admirable radical wisdom is instead its opposite decrepit and dismal, extreme ignorance and sometimes even outright stupidity. I'm sorry, but if someone thinks they can't favor a fundamental, comprehensive revolution of all sides of life, such as myself, or even of any one side, and simultaneously appreciate and even also learn from the work of someone else who is instead mostly focused on electoral matters rather than mostly focused on street heat, then that person simply does not understand our current world and especially the steps and involvements that can help produce the new world that we seek. Mamdani, who calls himself a democratic socialist, who is a validly and demonstrably feminist and anti-racist and who, I would imagine, would probably disagree with you or me, say about many things just ran a campaign in one city, not the whole country, that attracted 50,000 volunteers volunteers and I bet it is going to hold them and more deeply involve them in what is likely to be an incredibly contentious mayoral run and Trumpism battling run in coming months and then hold them in working to transform the city in ways that not only benefit New Yorkers but people throughout the country, by moving toward a better world. Aoc same thing.
Speaker 1:So might they go off track under vicious assault? I don't expect it, but of course it's possible, of course it's conceivable. But you know what diminishes the likelihood of that occurring and adds to the likelihood that their efforts will create conditions that aid eventually attaining fundamental change. Lots of things, but one thing that most certainly won't aid, that is to dismiss them, denigrate them or, for that matter, even just ignore them. We should instead help them, help us even as we also pursue our own paths, when and if they need advice, offering ideas they haven't yet heard. That may help is fine. On the other hand, to say they are misleaders who will attack us is, at this point, beyond ignorant. And yes, looking at how they communicate and relate to huge populations may even teach us a thing or two.
Speaker 1:And then some Gaza. I have lost all sense of how to talk about Gaza. What do you say when a nuclear power tries to erase an already repressed and ruled population? How do you sanely comment on enforced starvation that is occasionally interrupted by having food delivered to sites where your soldiers then target those desperate enough to arrive to get the food? This is killing fields made into lunch accompaniment. I don't want to believe what is happening is happening, but it is in fact happening. The IDF obeys bloody orders to commit mass murder of desperate souls and the US provides arms and sanction. And it goes on and on, striving to become normal and stop only when stopping it is better for Zionism than continuing it. And so now what? To top it off, it may well be that Trump has so situated himself that stopping him is the best way to support Palestinians, at least for those in the US, and at least for now. I almost wish there was such a thing as hell, so Netanyahu and Trump could share lodgings there.
Speaker 1:The Twilight Zone. Okay, maybe it dates me accurately that this still comes to my mind. So be it. The point is subtle. Sophisticated book-length assessments aside, are we not in some kind of weird zone never before experienced? Look around. It isn't all new, not by a long shot. Immigrants, bashed violence, heating up stupidity in high places, war and, yes, murder as an antidote for starvation. But while not new, it is all escalated. And in the US, the issue isn't just manifestations of the moment, but a very serious, very explicit attempt to change the government and also education, schooling, culture, the economy, to make all the horrible things that periodically surface into permanent, perpetually sought-after and intended outcomes of institutions retooled for just that purpose.
Speaker 1:What is Twilight Zone like goes beyond Trump's grotesque caricature of what is vile personified in himself and his policies to structurally entrenching what is vile as normal. And yes, I know, of course, I know that patriarchal, racist, classist structures that we have long had have gotten us to where we now endure, but I also know until now it has had its limits, whereas what Trump's Project 2025 seeks is not just Trump on top, not just fractured democracy, but no limits on kings and obliterated democracy, entrenched fascism. So it feels unreal, it feels like it can't come to this, can it? This too, will pass. Well, yes, it will pass, but for now and for some time to come. It can come to this if we don't prevent it.
Speaker 1:The obstacle to fascism's entrenchment depends not on past history, not on good wishes, not on prayers, not on the courts, but on active resistance, stopping the cowardly king's obliteration of democracy and then moving on to win a better world depends on people turning out to not only say no but to literally disobey, and on people forming or connecting to organizations that will last. And just that is happening, but it needs to continue and to grow. So perhaps, where you are, july 4th is an opportunity to demonstrate, or if not, then July 17th likely is. And if you have another country, then mind to be concerned with where resistance is also needed to stop a vicious rightward lurch. And then innovative, positive thought and activism are needed to go beyond prior business as usual to real liberation. If your next demo days aren't yet set, fine, set them. If not now, when has never reverberated as meaningfully as it echoes now? And so now, after all these asides, I guess how about some lyrics? And then maybe you will give the lyrics, with their music, a listen.
Speaker 1:So let's start with a song about a city not New York which is rightly in the news and will very soon be the site of a monumental electoral race for mayor that Mamdani and all those working with him and thus all of us will hopefully win. But instead, youngstown, ohio, the song is by the only boss I ever not only didn't hate but very much appreciated, bruce Springsteen. The song goes like this here in Northeast Ohio, back in 1803, james and Danny Heaton found the ore that was lying in Yellow Creek. They built a blasphemous here along the shore and they made the cannonballs that helped the Union win the war. Here in Youngstown.
Speaker 1:Here in Youngstown, my sweet Jenny, I'm seeking down here, darling in Youngstown. Well, my daddy worked the furnaces, kept them hotter than hell. I came home from NAMM, worked my way to Scarfer a job that'd suit the devil as well. Taconite coke and limestone fed my children and made my pay. Then smokestacks reaching like the arms of God into a beautiful sky of soot and clay. Here in Youngstown, here in Youngstown, my sweet Jenny, I'm sinking down here, darling in Youngstown. Well, my daddy came on the Ohio Works when he come home from World War II. Now the yard's just scrap and rubble. He said them big boys did what Hitler couldn't do these mills. They built the tanks and bombs. They won the country's wars. We sent our sons to Korea and Vietnam. Now we're wondering what they were dying for. Here in Youngstown, here in Youngstown, my sweet Jenny, I'm sinking down here, darling, in Youngstown, from the Monongala Valley to the Mesabi Iron Range, to the coal mines of Appalachia, the story's always the same 700 tons of metal a day. Now, sir, you tell me, the world's changed once. I made you rich enough, rich enough to forget my name. In Youngstown. In Youngstown, my sweet Jenny, I'm sinking down here, darling, in Youngstown, when I die, I don't want no part of heaven. I would not do heaven's work well. I pray the devil comes and takes me to stand in the fiery furnaces of hell.
Speaker 1:The next lyric is from Jesse Wells. He has been at the music pursuit for over a decade but has recently begun to find a growing audience. How far that will go, I don't know. I bring this up because, chatting recently with a friend who is way more attuned to cultural complexities and histories than I am, we both bemoaned that today's youth don't have a cultural context helping them navigate injustice and find commitment to justice. But maybe it is coming, and if so, I believe this guy named Jesse will be part of it happening. He is very prolific. This guy named Jesse will be part of it happening. He is very prolific and this song of his is titled I Hate it here, but I Need the Money.
Speaker 1:It goes like this oh, marketing, it is my trade these days. You know it's global. I prostitute my talent to a product so ignoble. I rob the poor, I glut the rich. I keep the downward mobile. I hate it here, but I need the money. I never see the ugly things. They're shipped out of Korea, but I inundate the planet with hard-hitting diarrhea and the VP makes me execute each stupid new idea. I hate it here, but I need the money. Oh God, whatever gods there are, forgive my sad complicity, but people everywhere arise, arise, pour out of sweatshops, homeless shelters, pigsties, computer banks, laboratories arise, annihilate the satellite infested skies. My brain feels like it's in a vice. The pressure is so emphatic I squirm here at the nursery of a power-mad fanatic, and this top-to-bottom structure is so anti-democratic. I hate it here, but I need the money.
Speaker 1:Here's another from Jesse, I think it is called. That Can't Be Right. It goes like this Some folks go to school, others have to learn that most of life is wishing. Some folks go to school, others have to learn that most of life is wishing. Trying to get back to a memory of a memory you might never have had my heart's. A locomotive runs on blackened coal and cigarettes and coffee. I could never roll my own. I'm borrowing matches from the Padre, hearing church bells toll, wondering what the hell's the difference between dying and getting old. That can't be right.
Speaker 1:What year is it this year's? Tonight, if I die, I'll die of fright. That can't be right. That acid flashback really, really cracked my eyes. Do the right drug once, you'll get to do it twice. And now I'm crowing about places and things I've never been. You know that I'm never going to whore it out and take that gig again. I believe the light is cracking around the edge of anesthesia, lying on a table with the whole world reaching in you. Hope to Jesus, buddha, bob, that they wash their hands. There's no class action passage to break all my shitty bands. That can't be right. What year is it this year? Tonight, if I die, I'll die of fright. That can't be right. When I was younger it confused me. Now I think I get it. My old man. He don't like pictures, especially if he's in them. Time is not a mirror. It's some distorted view of the way you thought you was and what you thought they thought of you and all the trash that I tossed out. It weren't by no means good. But just because someone tells you don't really mean you should, my friends would try to cheer me on the best they knew to do. There's no rescuing a diver with two cinder blocks for shoes. That can't be right. What year is it this year? Tonight, if I die, I'll die of fright. That can't be right. What year is it this year? Tonight, if I die, I'll die of fright. That can't be right. I'm still agog with mortal dogs and skills I don't possess. I'm a practitioner of practice. I'm a giving it my best. I'm left and I'm still leaving. I got several miles to go. I ain't ready to do something till there's something I'm ready for. There's a pillar in the desert and it's all lit with flames. It's been burning there for eons. It's the end of all the games. We owe apologies and ass whoopings. It seems to even out. You can't ever know. You're happy if you've never lived without and that's all right. What year is it this year? Tonight, if I die, I'll die of fright. That can't be right. That can't be right. What year is it this year tonight? Four white horses toward the light. That can't be right. How about we go back to Bruce for one called the Ghost of Tom Joad? That goes like this Men walking along the railroad tracks going someplace and there's no going back.
Speaker 1:Highway patrol choppers coming up over the ridge, hot soup on a campfire under the bridge, shelter lines stretching around the corner. Welcome to the new world order. Families sleeping in the cars in the Southwest, no home, no job, no peace, no rest. Well, the highway is alive tonight, but nobody's kidding nobody about where it goes. I'm sitting down here in the campfire light searching for the ghost of Tom Jode. He pulls a prayer book out of his sleeping bag, preacher lights up a butt butt and he takes a drag Waiting for when the last shall be first and the first shall be last. In a cardboard box neath the underpass Got a one-way ticket to the promised land. You got a hole in your belly and a gun in your hand, sleeping on a pillow of solid rock, bathing in the city aqueduct.
Speaker 1:The highway is alive tonight. Where it's headed, everybody knows. I'm sitting down here in the campfire light waiting for the ghost of Tom Joad. Now Tom said Mom, wherever there's a cop beating a guy, wherever a hungry newborn baby cries, where there's a fight against the blood and hatred in the air, look for me, mom, I'll be there. Wherever somebody's fighting for a place to stand or a decent job or a helping hand, wherever somebody's struggling to be free, look in their eyes, ma, and you'll see me.
Speaker 1:Well, the highway is alive tonight. Nobody's kidding nobody about where it goes. I'm sitting down here in the campfire light with the ghost of old Tom Joad. I hope you won't begrudge me offering yet another from Bruce. I longingly remember singing along with it, rock to the core, the band's music and Bruce's voice each perfectly fitted to carry these lyrics about living in and escaping badlands.
Speaker 1:It goes like this Lights out tonight, trouble in the heartland, got a head-on collision smashing in my guts, man Caught in a crossfire. That I don't understand. But there's one thing I know for sure, girl I don't give a damn For the same old played-out scenes. I don't give a damn for just the in-betweens. Honey, I want the heart, I want the soul, I want control.
Speaker 1:Right now To talk about a dream, try to make it real. You wake up in the night with a fear so real you spend your life waiting for a moment that just don't come. Well, don't waste your time waiting. Bad lambs, you got gotta live it every day. Let the broken heart stand as the price you gotta pay. Keep pushing till it's understood. These bad lambs start treating us good. Working in the field, you get your back burned. Working beneath the wheels you get your facts learned. Baby, I got my facts learned real good, right now. You better get it straight, darling. Poor men wanna be rich. Rich men want to be king, and a king ain't satisfied till he rules everything. I want to go out tonight. I want to find out what I got. Well, I believe in the love that you gave me. I believe in the faith that could save me. I believe in the hope and I pray that someday it may raise me above these badlands. You got to live it every day. Let the broken heart stand as the price you've got to pay. Keep pushing till it's understood. These badlands start treating us good. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. For the ones who had a notion, a notion deep inside, that it ain't no sin to be glad you're alive, I want to find one face that ain't looking through me. I want to find one place I want to spit in the face of these badlands. You got to live it every day. Let the broken heart stand as the price you've got to pay. Keep pushing till it's understood and these badlands start treating us good. Good advice, I think, but still it's from way back Closer to now. Well, still 30 years back.
Speaker 1:Consider Iris de Merit's Wasteland of the Free. It goes like this we got preachers dealing in politics and diamond mines, and their speech is growing increasingly unkind. They say they are Christ's disciples, but they don't look like Jesus to me and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free. We got politicians running races on corporate cash. Now don't tell me they don't turn around and kiss them people's ass. You may call me old-fashioned, but that don't fit my picture of a true democracy, and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free. We got CEOs making 200 times the workers pay, but they'll fight like hell against raising the minimum wage and if you don't like it, mister, they'll ship your job to some third world country across the sea.
Speaker 1:And it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free. Living in the wasteland of the free, where the poor have now become the enemy. Let's blame our troubles on the weak ones Sounds like some kind of Hitler remedy. Living in the wasteland of the free, we got little kids with guns fighting inner city wars. So what do we do? We put these little kids behind prison doors and we call ourselves the advanced civilization. That sounds like crap to me and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free. We got high school kids running around in Calvin Klein and Guess but who cannot pass a sixth grade reading test. But if you ask them they can tell you the name of every crotch on MTV. And it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free. We kill for oil, then we throw a party when we win. Some guy refuses to fight and we call that the sin, but he's standing up for what he believes in, and that seems pretty damned American to me. And it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free. Living in the wasteland of the free, where the poor have now become the enemy let's blame our troubles on the weak ones Sounds like some kind of Hitler remedy. Living in the wasteland of the free. While we sit gloating in our greatness, justice is sinking to the bottom of the sea. Living in the wasteland of the free Living in the wasteland of the free Living in the wasteland of the free.
Speaker 1:Here's another from now. This time from another young voice, carsey Blanton. She too, like Jesse, is finding an audience, and first, here is how she herself introduced the song titled Rich People. Let me begin by saying that's Carsey writing this. Let me begin by saying that I'm aware that many of you may consider yourselves rich and that I myself am sort of rich in comparison to the majority of the people who are living now or who have ever lived, who are living now or who have ever lived.
Speaker 1:This song is not about us. This song is about capitalism, which is a system by which the people who control the most resources control the world. It means that, at any given time, a handful of people are deciding how much we have to work and what kind of work we're doing, who has access to health care or housing or nutritious food, what our scientists study, who gets to run in our elections and what we are allowed to vote on. They also fund our universities and run our media companies, which ensures that we are usually blaming somebody besides them. Is that democratic? Not very.
Speaker 1:I got the idea for this song from an ongoing argument with somebody in my life who was decidedly left of center, which means they aren't blaming blacks or Jews or immigrants, but Republicans and rednecks, and quote idiots. I probably don't need to tell you this, but that's another load of bullhockey brought to you by exactly the same folks, because as long as we're blaming each other, we aren't blaming them. So that was Corsi's introduction to her song Rich People, which goes like this Seems like bad news. All of the time we got floods and fires and wars and crime. They try to tell me who I ought to blame, but I know who it is because it's always the same. Don't be ashamed if you get confused when you talk to your friends or you watch the news. They try to tell you where it all went wrong. Now you don't have to argue, just sing this song.
Speaker 1:It was rich people stacking the deck. Rich people with big fat checks. Rich people, they're having a ball. Rich people been fucking us all back in 1979. Rich people been fucking us all Back in 1979, the Western world was in decline. So Ronald Reagan and Thatcher too. They fixed it right up, but not for you, just for rich people Stack on the deck. Rich people with big fat checks. Rich people having a ball. Rich people been fucking us all. Who runs the world? It ain't the Jews. Rich people don't pay no dues. Who did the crime? It ain't the Jews. Rich people don't pay no dues. Who did the crime? It ain't the blacks. Rich people don't pay no taxes. Who took your job? It ain't immigration, it's rich people with corporations. Who threw the vote? It ain't rednecks. Rich people with big fat checks. Rich people stacking the decks. Rich people with big fat checks. Rich people having a ball.
Speaker 1:And that being so good, here is another one from Carson Glenn. It's called the People vs Elon Musk. Maybe she and Jesse Wells can break through the media barriers together to help turn around modern youth culture and adult culture too. The song goes like this Elon Musk is a fuck of a man. Just look at his rich kid face. I'd like to make his dream come true and shoot him into outer space. Wasn't it Vladimir Lenin who said there ain't no competition when the rich buy up all the capital, they buy the law and the politicians. He's not an inventor, he's an investor. If you don't lance those, they start to fester. So if you're running around in a panic wondering who you can trust. It's socialism or barbarism, the people or Elon Musk. Elon Musk is a husk of a man, born on an emerald mine. He's a big bootlicking grifter with a mediocre mind. When we say power to the workers, that ain't just exactly it. We're the ones who fucking run this place. Them rich guys don't know shit. He's not an inventor, he's an investor. If you don't lance those, they start to fester. So if you're looking around in a panic, wondering who you can trust, it's socialism or barbarism, the people or Elon Musk your choice.
Speaker 1:And here's yet another from Carsey. I fervently hope her music and voice can keep up with and wonderfully present her words that go like this for her song Labor of Love. For her song Labor of Love, well, they ought to be afraid of us, because the whole world is made of us, people working hard to get along. It isn't that I really care I'll never be a millionaire but I get the feeling something's going wrong. It's a labor of love, I guess, because it sure doesn't pay to work this job or raise these kids or feel this way. Dinner's on the table and I put a roof above, but goddamn this labor of love. Well, I don't mind working hard. But I get home after dark and I feel my spirit sink into the floor. Pretty sure I used to be something more than an employee, but I hardly can remember anymore.
Speaker 1:It's a labor of love, I guess, because it sure doesn't pay to work this job or raise these kids or feel this way Dinner's on the table and I put a roof above. But goddamn this labor of love. It's a rich man's game and they play to win. But there's more of us than there are of them. I think sometimes they should change the locks. We're a powder keg, they're a tinderbox and I don't know. If you might, brother, can you give me a light? It's a labor of love, I guess, because it sure doesn't pay to work this job or raise these kids or feel this way Dinner's on the table and I put a roof above. But goddamn this labor of love. Well, they ought to be afraid of us, because the whole world is made of us. Back to me, and I have to say there is something happening here, now and tomorrow. Will today's youth escape the long shackles of Instagram, facebook and X? Will they rise above fear and confusion to produce and celebrate great substance that extends beyond selfies to collective commitment. I think it's happening, but it needs to grow.
Speaker 1:How about another song or two from way back this time, to end this episode In our Twilight Drone situation? Maybe we need not only some activism, some fight and some vision, but some dignity. First, from a guy whose words I can't seem to escape, even when I want to. First, a very cinematic and challenging song called Gates of Eden, and then one easier to feel, titled with one word Dignity. The first goes like this Of war and peace, the truth just twists Its curfew.
Speaker 1:Gull just glides Upon four-legged forest clouds, the cowboy angel rides With his candle lit into the sun, though its glow is waxed in black, all except one. Neath the trees of Eden, the lamppost stands with folded arms, its iron claws attached to curbs neath holes where babies wail though its shadows. Metal badge, all in all, can only fall with a crashing but meaningless blow. No sound ever comes from the gates of Eden. The savage soldier sticks his head in sand and then complains unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf but still remains upon the beach where hound dogs bay at ships with tattooed shales heading for the gates of Eden With a time-rusted compass blade.
Speaker 1:Aladdin and his lamp sits with utopian hermit monks side-saddle on the golden calf and on their promises of paradise, you will not hear a laugh, all except inside the gates of Eden. Relationships of ownership they whisper in the wings to those condemned to act accordingly and wait for succeeding kings. And I try to harmonize with songs. The lonesome sparrow sings there are no kings inside the gates of Eden. The motorcycle black Madonna, two-wheeled gypsy clean and her silver-studded phantom cause the gray-flannel dwarf to scream as he weeps to wicked birds of prey who pick up on his breadcrumb.
Speaker 1:Sins, and there are no sins inside the gates of Eden. The kingdoms of experience and the precious winds they rot while porpoise change possessions, each one wishing for what the other has got, and the princess and the prince discuss what's real and what is not. It doesn't matter. Inside the gates of Eden, the foreign sun. It squits upon a bed that is never mine, as friends and other strangers from their fates try to resign, leaving men wholly, totally free to do anything they wish to do, but die. And there are no trials inside the gates of Eden. At dawn, my lover comes to me and tells me of her dreams, with no attempts to shovel a glimpse into the ditch of what each one means.
Speaker 1:At times I think there are no words but these to tell what's true, and there are no truths outside the gates of Eden. What do you make of that? It is so dense. It might be a kind of social Rorschach test, but I think you may find, if you pursue it, some inspiration. But Dylan can also be quite clear. So for our last song we have a demonstration that not everyone most wants money, that swears. Not everyone most needs commercial aid and not all aspirations are material.
Speaker 1:All conveyed by a song titled Dignity. That goes like this Fat man looking in a blade of steel. Thin man looking at his last meal. Hollow man looking in a cotton field for dignity. Wise man looking in a blade of grass. Young man looking in the shadows that passed. Poor man looking through painted glass for dignity. Someone got murdered on New Year's Eve. Somebody said dignity was the first to leave.
Speaker 1:I went into the city, went into the town, went into the land of the midnight sun, searching high, searching low, searching everywhere I know, asking the cops wherever I go. Have you seen dignity? Blind man breaking out of a trance, puts both his hands in the pockets of chance, hoping to find one circumstance of dignity. I went to the wedding of Mary Lou. She said I don't want nobody to see me talking to you. Said she could get killed if she told me what she knew about dignity. I went down where the vultures feed. I would have gone deeper, but there wasn't any need. Heard the tongues of angels and the tongues of men Wasn't any difference to me. Chilly wind, sharp as a razor blade, house on fire, debts, unpaid. Gonna stand at the window gonna ask the maid. Have you seen dignity Drinking man. Listens to the voice he hears in a crowded room full of covered up mirrors looking into the lost, forgotten years.
Speaker 1:For dignity, met Prince Philip at the home of the blues. Said he'd give me information if his name wasn't used. He wanted money up front. Said he was abused by dignity Footprints running across the silver sand steps going down into tattoo land. I met the sons of darkness and the sons of light in the border towns of despair. Got no place to fade, got no coat. I'm on the rolling river in a jerking boat trying to read a note.
Speaker 1:Somebody wrote about dignity Sick man looking for the doctor's cure, looking at his hands for the lines that were, and into every masterpiece of literature. For dignity, english man stranded in the black heart wind, combing his hair back his future, looks thin, bites the bullet and looks within for dignity. Someone showed me a picture and I just laughed. Dignity, never been photographed. I went into the red, went into the black, into the valley of dry bone dreams. So many roads, so much at stake, so many dead ends. I'm at the edge of the lake. Sometimes I wonder what it's going to take to find dignity. And all that said this is Michael Albert signing off for now for Revolution Z.