Across Our Universe
Like a Rolling Stone
Forward a little:
“How does it feel?
How does it feel, to be on your own?
With no direction Home
Like a rolling stone”
Walking, yeah I was walking, walking through the Haight it was nineteen sixty eight, and the streets were crowded. Each step was a revolution of the mind. Yes I was stoned, but there was so much more.
” They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made,
exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and thing.”
Sounds, sounds, sounds, the laughter, the smiles, the protests. Everything was unbounded to the figure. The diggers were across the road. Do you recall the diggers acts?
“There is anarchy in the air!” One of them screamed, as she twisted around, and danced to the beat of that music. All that music, from each window of the street the stereos played different beats. It was the soundtrack of the scene, and we were all dancing, all dancing, thinking, drinking, walking, living…
“Free my soul” A group of girls and guys sang around the corner, they were always there, giving flowers to wear on your head. Their clothes were all loose and even ripped, their hair had not been brushed for weeks, and the kohl on their eyes, on our eyes, made colors shine behind.
Each step was a revolution; each step was rolling down the street and crashing to the clash of the counter culture.
I was tired of walking, and I sat by the intersection of Ashbury, there on the concrete of the side walk. The steam and the smoke dangling on the air. The tunes mixing and licking my ears.
Then a flash, quick flash of light, and I could see a picture held on the time. Some of us were talking by the signs of the roads, a camera captured the image and it’s still hanging there, silently following the tune of the diggers act, the tune of the flowers tangled on the hair, the tune of the minds dropping out of space.
“How does it feel?
How does it feel, to be on your own?
With no direction Home
Like a rolling stone”
Walking, yeah I was walking, walking through the Haight it was nineteen sixty eight, and the streets were crowded. Each step was a revolution of the mind. Yes I was stoned, but there was so much more.
” They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made,
exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and thing.”
Sounds, sounds, sounds, the laughter, the smiles, the protests. Everything was unbounded to the figure. The diggers were across the road. Do you recall the diggers acts?
“There is anarchy in the air!” One of them screamed, as she twisted around, and danced to the beat of that music. All that music, from each window of the street the stereos played different beats. It was the soundtrack of the scene, and we were all dancing, all dancing, thinking, drinking, walking, living…
“Free my soul” A group of girls and guys sang around the corner, they were always there, giving flowers to wear on your head. Their clothes were all loose and even ripped, their hair had not been brushed for weeks, and the kohl on their eyes, on our eyes, made colors shine behind.
Each step was a revolution; each step was rolling down the street and crashing to the clash of the counter culture.
I was tired of walking, and I sat by the intersection of Ashbury, there on the concrete of the side walk. The steam and the smoke dangling on the air. The tunes mixing and licking my ears.
Then a flash, quick flash of light, and I could see a picture held on the time. Some of us were talking by the signs of the roads, a camera captured the image and it’s still hanging there, silently following the tune of the diggers act, the tune of the flowers tangled on the hair, the tune of the minds dropping out of space.
♠ ♠ ♠
The diggers were (as anyone into the movement should know) a drama group that performed on plain street. They usually gave free food and clothes to the locals, and they were anarchists.Like a Roling Stone by Bob Dylan.
The infamous picture of "THe Haight" 1967