Most Of The Time

Why lyrics come to mind these days, I don't know.

But they do.

I mean, I've got a whole drawer-full of freshly-pressed adjectives, and yet I end up being drawn to songs and pictures. Maybe it's lack of sleep, or feeling blue, or something deep in the DNA that pulls me to our own, native narrative poetry when the stakes feels so high and the tragedy feels so deep.

Whatever the reason, I heard Dylan's mournful ballad -- "Most Of The Time" -- again a few days ago, and almost as an audience to my own weird imagination, saw as the meaning of the song inverted itself in my head like a whale doing a slow roll, and snapped into an altogther different focus.

And wouldn't leave me be.

That's one of the pesky things about writing that writers don't talk about very much: that ideas often just strut right up and grab you by the lapel. They don't give a shit about what you wanted to write, and won't leave you alone until you exorcise it onto paper.

Which would be fine if such espisodes of compulsive "character possession" were preludes to wonderfulness but, often as not, they come out dumb or flat or just blah.

But that's just the way it goes.

So this from Bob Dylan from 1989, with pictures from here and now.

==============================================

Most of the time

I'm clear focused all around,


Most of the time

I can keep both feet on the ground,


I can follow the path,

I can read the signs,


Stay right with it,

when the road unwinds,


I can handle

whatever I stumble upon,


I don't even notice she's gone,

Most of the time.



Most of the time

It's well understood,


Most of the time

I wouldn't change it if I could,


I can't make it all match up

I can hold my own,


I can deal with the situation

right down to the bone

I can survive,

I can endure


And I don't even think about her

Most of the time.


Most of the time

My head is on straight,


Most of the time

I'm strong enough not to hate.


I don't build up illusion

'till it makes me sick,


I ain't afraid of confusion

no matter how thick


I can smile in the face of mankind.



Don't even remember

what her lips felt like on mine.

Most of the time.


Most of the time

She ain't even in my mind,

I wouldn't know her if I saw her

She's that far behind.


Most of the time

I can't even be sure


If she was ever with me


Or if I was with her.



Most of the time

I'm halfway content,


Most of the time

I know exactly where I went,


I don't cheat on myself,

I don't run and hide,

Hide from the feelings,

that are buried inside,


I don't compromise



And I don't pretend,



I don't even care

if I ever see her again

Most of the time.