The Unbearable Sadness of the Dystopic Dylan

It's kind of funny really. I'm sitting in my art studio with artsy clothes on, doing artsy things listening to Dylan on the old cd player. The only thing missing is a beret.

Dylan croons...

"Yes, ’n’ how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they’re forever banned?...
Yes, ’n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
The answer is blowin’ in the wind."

And you know, I think to myself, this music is right on...still! I mean, it's more applicable now than it was then. I get behind this music. It has everlasting appeal. Those questions still do not have answers and it's a beautiful artistic statement. Then this song comes on...

"Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'."

Unbearably sad. The times they are a-remaining the same. Your sons and your daughters are not changing the old road. In fact they're laying down more old road. They elected a guy who takes all of the questions in Blowin in the Wind as rhetoric. How many years can some people exist, before they’re allowed to be free? Your sons and your daughters hired a guy that promulgates killing, racism and war. There's no "please get out of the new one, if you can't lend a hand." There is no new one. They listen to Dylan as if it were a utopian segment of our history. What's unbearably sad is, they're right. The people that you hoped would be standing next to you burning bras and Patriot Acts are reading Conservative magazines and wondering how they're going to stop gays from killing babies. More war! More bombs! Less education! And on the way we can sing along to Dylan songs.