Thoughts 2022-04-22: Working Man Blues

　　Sitting in the living room, watching as the freaks wave their flags: two homeless crack heads are staggering up the street laughing uproariously at some joke that is clearly beyond me; come to think of it, my guess is it’s beyond them as well. Haunting melodies of Dylan echo up from my phone:

　　There’s an evening haze settling over town

　　Starlight by the edge of the creek

　　The buying power of the proletariat’s gone down

　　Money’s getting shallow and weak...

I’ve loved this song for a long time, it’s a favorite mellow tune. Funny that in all these years it’s never really meant that much to me on a professional level, until now that is. Now it rings true. This pandemic and the current economic climate have it echoing truth like Jesus and some of his disciples spreading the good news through Jerusalem.

I hearken back, as I am wont to do from time to time these days, to the early days of my youth. Those days stretched all the way into my 30’s, but they are long gone now. The boy/man I see when I look back is a familiar sight: Bright eyed and bushy tailed, full of piss and vinegar and dumb as a fucking stump. You see, that boy/man had been mislead for much of his life, and nobody thought to fill him in on the joke. We’ll tell you what you want to hear, but at some point, the truth will uppercut you like Tyson hitting a little kid on the bus.

I guess we all get it to a certain degree, this cruel treatment, sometimes life sorts us out, maybe for some of us it never does. I’m sure those crack heads clue into it at some point, when the buzz starts to wear off and they realize their pipe is empty. I think at that point they clue in a little bit; I think at that point they start to feel a little mislead. Their lie is a little more elaborate, ask them about it if you have some time. That is a cool story bro.

It’s the cruel trick...time for an aside: there was just a woman riding by on a bike wailing like a child, bawling out her discontent. This neighborhood never disappoints...sorry for the interruption I just couldn’t let that moment pass...Again, it’s the cruel trick we play on our children and our loved ones, a game we play with the best of intentions, that cruelest of games that can drive a person to meth, or booze, or any other manner of self destructive behavior, once the trick has been exposed: despite what our mothers and grandparents and every other loved one has said all our lives, through every stage of our upbringing, we’re not special, we’re not different and the universe was not created for our benefit. In the end, we’re the same as every other clown in this farce, even if our makeup is much weaker and runny. How do they get those sharp lines. I guess I’ll never know.

Nobody wants to realize this fact; nobody wants to let go of their uniqueness; nobody wants to believe they will cease to be and nobody wants that glaring flashlight to shine into our faces and illuminate what we truly are: just another blue-collar jellyfish floating on the currents of life, hoping for a windfall and patiently accepting the lack thereof. I found the truth through cancer, not the best route, but it is a lesson worth learning, you will be far less prone to waiting for life to come to you. Go out and sink your teeth in, that is what they are for.

There is a point to all this blather, I’m not just rambling on aimlessly, let’s get back to Bob Dylan:

　　Meet me at the bottom don’t lag behind

　　Bring me my boots and shoes

　　You can hang back or fight your best on the front lines

　　Sing a little bit of these workingman blues.

Of course, we all know Bob doesn’t know squat about workingman blues. I don’t think he ever worked a day in his life, and if he has it was so far back in the past it’s just a time and drug distorted memory now. Those observations aside, he hits it pretty square on this song. Maybe Merle hit it better, maybe he was a little closer to it, but Bob just sings it so well.

The current climate of climate change action, war and pandemics has hit hard in Alberta. I am sure it hard in other places as well, but here, man we had it good, what the hell is going on here? It’s like all of Alberta has collectively awakened from a long ass pipe dream, and we don’t like the fact that we’re laying in a puddle of our own vomit and shit under a piece of wet carpet in a damp and dank ravine. Sure, we’ve had a hell of a ride, and sure we all have quads and big trucks and sleds, but what the fuck? I just had to sell my goddamned Harley! This is most assuredly not fair. Not even a little bit. Or has the teeter totter found equilibrium? That is a question for smarter cats than this one. Leave it to them.

What folks want in Alberta is just what Merle sings about in his Working Man Blues, and Bob hints at in his redux: work hard all week, a couple beer tonight and then back to work in the morning, fair pay, a fat family and a spot at the lake. You must give the blue-collar beasts some credit there: they work hard. Give your average desk jockey the kinds of hours they work, and their heads would pop. That is a verifiable fact. Many have seen said heads a poppin’. But we all have our strengths and weaknesses. My weakness is now an inability to do much of anything.

It seems that work is no longer in my future, which is a weird thing to think about. Sometimes I feel too healthy to not be working, reality has a tendency to smack that thought right out of my head. I forget that I don’t have much strength. Same goes for this upcoming holiday, I keep thinking about all the cool things I am going to get up to and keep forgetting that my body has about a 3 hour battery these days. That will not translate well to hikes over lava rock that go on all day. Marine iguanas or not.

My cruel weapons have been put on the shelf

Come sit down on my knee

You are dearer to me than myself

As you yourself can see…

I guess my cruel weapons have been shelved, not much working left in my future. It’s a shame a little, not much, but a little. I might miss it a bit. Not that much though. I never much liked working; I always saw it as a means to an end. Not the end I have come upon, but that is a tale for another day. The rest of the song is worth a listen. It does not apply much to my current situation, but the song is great. I’ll always love it. It will always have a place in my heart to hum. So hang back or fight your best on the front line, have a beer and sleep in the kitchen with your feet in the hall, sleep that temporary death while we stave off the real one, if that is what you need, sing a little bit of these working man blues. For you and for me, even if my working days are done.