The Other Side

I described my last post as impressionistic, not at all about facts, but certainly about truth.

It was not, however, the whole truth.

It does no good to tell the truth if you won't tell the whole, ugly mess.

This is the rest of it, about India and everywhere else. This is the part that the vanishing middle class could afford to ignore, until America inaugurated someone who is determined to make it the only truth for all but the top 1% of wealth holders in the world.

This is what our cities, our countryside, our planet will feed us by the time the mad, orange man with the black heart, twisted mind, and ravenous fingers is finished.

"I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children"

"Heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’ Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’ Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley"

"Oh, what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what’ll you do now, my darling young one? I’m a-goin’ back out ’fore the rain starts a-fallin’ I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest Where the people are many and their hands are all empty Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison Where the executioner’s face is always well hidden Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten Where black is the color, where none is the number And I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’ But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’ And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall"

This is Bob Dylan.