{Pascal the existential Russian blue cat is currently researching the oranges origins of Christianity. He has persuaded his friend Mr. Obvious to submit a column in his stead.}
Numerous rigorously conducted and widely replicated scientific studies have shown that:
- life is hard
- not everyone is good at it
- some people are in over their heads from birth
- some people are never taught the rules
- some people are never taught how to break the rules
- bootstraps are in short supply
- as is tolerance for anyone who doesn’t fit the regnant social mold
- or anyone who doesn’t talk pretty
- consequently, our cities (in particular) are filled with misfit toys broken by life and also by well-meaning attempts to ‘repair’ them (i.e., get them to be ‘normal’).
‘We,’ of course, being so much better at life (or just luckier), consider the misfit toys a nuisance at best and a menace at worst. We treat them warily (avoid eye contact!), suspiciously even, and we tell each other stories about them, these human beings we don’t even know: They’re addicts, they’re con artists, they like being homeless, they’re beyond help, don’t talk to them, don’t give them money, don’t encourage them. They should be in jail, they should be rounded up and taken off the streets, they should be placed in tent cities, they should have a scarlet ‘L’ (for loser) branded on their foreheads, they should have to wear bells, like lepers, they should be sent to the moon, Alice.
At my age, you would think I would be used to all this, but, somehow, I am not. How ‘we’ treat those who are overwhelmed by life, temporarily or permanently, simultaneously makes me sick and breaks my heart.
I know these misfit toys—I am, at heart, one of them, as are many of my friends—and, on their behalf and quoting Anne Sexton, I would just like to say: "I would like to call attention to my problem." The problem is that mistakes have been made, perhaps by an Intelligent Designer, and that whoever dreamed up this game of Life needs to issue some corrections, change the rules, and shuffle the decks. "Everybody knows the dice are loaded," right? Get some new dice, some new decks, and some new dealers.
Be all that as it may, here is an anthem for the scorned and belittled broken ones among us:
Chimes of Freedom (Bob Dylan)
Far between sundown's finish an' midnight's broken toll We ducked inside the doorway, thunder crashing As majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds Seeming to be the chimes of freedom flashing Flashing for the warriors whose strength is not to fight Flashing for the refugees on the unarmed road of flight An' for each an' ev'ry underdog soldier in the night An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Through the city's melted furnace, unexpectedly we watched With faces hidden as the walls were tightening As the echo of the wedding bells before the blowin' rain Dissolved into the bells of the lightning Tolling for the rebel, tolling for the rake Tolling for the luckless, the abandoned an' forsaked Tolling for the outcast, burnin' constantly at stake An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Through the mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail The sky cracked its poems in naked wonder That the clinging of the church bells blew far into the breeze Leaving only bells of lightning and its thunder Striking for the gentle, striking for the kind Striking for the guardians and protectors of the mind An' the poet and the painter far behind his rightful time An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
In the wild cathedral evening the rain unraveled tales For the disrobed faceless forms of no position Tolling for the tongues with no place to bring their thoughts All down in taken-for-granted situations Tolling for the deaf an' blind, tolling for the mute For the mistreated, mateless mother, the mistitled prostitute For the misdemeanor outlaw, chained an' cheated by pursuit An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Even though a cloud's white curtain in a far-off corner flared An' the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale An' for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
Starry-eyed an' laughing as I recall when we were caught Trapped by no track of hours for they hanged suspended As we listened one last time an' we watched with one last look Spellbound an' swallowed 'til the tolling ended Tolling for the aching whose wounds cannot be nursed For the countless confused, accused, misused, strung-out ones an' worse An' for every hung-up person in the whole wide universe An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing
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Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Bob Dylan
Chimes of Freedom lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Bob Dylan - Chimes of Freedom (Official Audio) (youtube.com)
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