THE AMERICAN CONDITION AND THE BODY OF BOB DYLAN
This is how the American condition was manifested: in the body of Bob Dylan. In the beginning the boy was young and strong and America was made up of a tame field of his hair. The first Americans, the ones learning how to feel, were able to run through the cornfield of Bob Dylan's hair and celebrate America with their feet. The sound of their running were hymns echoing forever on the Fourth of July. Hymns coursing over the surface of America. And Bob Dylan saw that it was good. And that America was good.
The first Americans, the ones still learning how to feel, saw the body of Bob Dylan as the body of themselves, as another part of their bodies. There was some hidden pool deep in the body of America and they were now able to drink from it. From the mouth of Bob Dylan, from the body of America. They could simply press their mouths onto his and then, there would be America. Justly delivered. So they would all stand in line to French-kiss the body of Bob Dylan and it was considered patriotic to give him a little extra tongue while your dad was watching.
And through it all the body of Bob Dylan continued to manifest the American condition and the first Americans, the ones who were were still trying but failing to learn how to feel -- these Americans stopped dreaming about running through the cornfield of Bob Dylan's hair and dreamed only of French-kissing the mouth of the body of Bob Dylan, or rather the mouth of the body of American. The thing that spoke loudest. The thing that ate the most glass. The thing that sold the most records.
And America became full of these Americans, the ones uninterested in feeling themselves (but with bodies and feelings that new who could blame them, really). The ones thinking too hard about what it meant to feel and how the world could be understood more complexly this way -- these people were born then. And they filled America but they could not understand the miracle. And the miracle was that they were young bodies in a young world. In America. But it was always something newer they wanted: whatever new thing they could get. And yet always thirsting for America. And for that water deep in the body of each of these First Americans.
And so they insisted on understanding it with their minds and ideas. They said they would understand all of it at once or none of it at all. And so they could no longer see America. They could not see that the body of Bob Dylan was getting tired. Tired of being America in the body of Bob Dylan and not simply Bob Dylan in body of America. And no one could see that his hair was turning wild and thick from all the electricity in his new albums. That it was growing like vines and overtaking the path back to the hidden pool deep in the body of America. So when the body of Bob Dylan became a Christian it was because he had been in a motorcycle accident and it was because America was confused. The path back to the hidden pool deep in the body of America was overtaken by Americans themselves, all standing in line to French-kiss their dads dressed in Army fatigues and weeping.
And Bob Dylan saw that it was all so fucked now. And that it was a new problem for a new body now. That America was no good anymore and that he had not been able to solve the mystery. That the body he was in would soon end. That God bless her but America, she would end too. And so the Jew cut off all of his hair and went wandering into the desert waiting for a cornfield to grow again there. Waiting for the desert to turn back into water. Waiting for America to pack up and move back to England, for all the dead Indians to wake up and take over the fast food industry, for more arenas to be built and filled with more and more Americans -- the kind that were through trying and failing to learn how to feel and to understand a world without precedents and traditions, without miracles. Because it was these Americans who felt compelled to use his body as their own. It these Americans who felt compelled to produce prime time network specials and to fry chicken meat in boiling vats of scalding oil.
The first Americans, the ones still learning how to feel, saw the body of Bob Dylan as the body of themselves, as another part of their bodies. There was some hidden pool deep in the body of America and they were now able to drink from it. From the mouth of Bob Dylan, from the body of America. They could simply press their mouths onto his and then, there would be America. Justly delivered. So they would all stand in line to French-kiss the body of Bob Dylan and it was considered patriotic to give him a little extra tongue while your dad was watching.
And through it all the body of Bob Dylan continued to manifest the American condition and the first Americans, the ones who were were still trying but failing to learn how to feel -- these Americans stopped dreaming about running through the cornfield of Bob Dylan's hair and dreamed only of French-kissing the mouth of the body of Bob Dylan, or rather the mouth of the body of American. The thing that spoke loudest. The thing that ate the most glass. The thing that sold the most records.
And America became full of these Americans, the ones uninterested in feeling themselves (but with bodies and feelings that new who could blame them, really). The ones thinking too hard about what it meant to feel and how the world could be understood more complexly this way -- these people were born then. And they filled America but they could not understand the miracle. And the miracle was that they were young bodies in a young world. In America. But it was always something newer they wanted: whatever new thing they could get. And yet always thirsting for America. And for that water deep in the body of each of these First Americans.
And so they insisted on understanding it with their minds and ideas. They said they would understand all of it at once or none of it at all. And so they could no longer see America. They could not see that the body of Bob Dylan was getting tired. Tired of being America in the body of Bob Dylan and not simply Bob Dylan in body of America. And no one could see that his hair was turning wild and thick from all the electricity in his new albums. That it was growing like vines and overtaking the path back to the hidden pool deep in the body of America. So when the body of Bob Dylan became a Christian it was because he had been in a motorcycle accident and it was because America was confused. The path back to the hidden pool deep in the body of America was overtaken by Americans themselves, all standing in line to French-kiss their dads dressed in Army fatigues and weeping.
And Bob Dylan saw that it was all so fucked now. And that it was a new problem for a new body now. That America was no good anymore and that he had not been able to solve the mystery. That the body he was in would soon end. That God bless her but America, she would end too. And so the Jew cut off all of his hair and went wandering into the desert waiting for a cornfield to grow again there. Waiting for the desert to turn back into water. Waiting for America to pack up and move back to England, for all the dead Indians to wake up and take over the fast food industry, for more arenas to be built and filled with more and more Americans -- the kind that were through trying and failing to learn how to feel and to understand a world without precedents and traditions, without miracles. Because it was these Americans who felt compelled to use his body as their own. It these Americans who felt compelled to produce prime time network specials and to fry chicken meat in boiling vats of scalding oil.
posted by wagner israel cilio iii @ 9:52 PM
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