How does it feel, how does it feel?
Robert Allen Zimmerman, “Like A Rolling Stone”, Highway 61 Revisited (1965)
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone
A few weeks back, I began my journey down Highway 61, having reached the end of Highway 60 on my annual traipse around Sol. So, if you were excited that this post might be yet another review of Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited… well, sorry to disappoint.
So yeah, Happy Birthday to me… But seriously, no wishes necessary; I consciously chose that my 61st circumambulation be without fanfare, without any fuss. Pretty much like how most of my recent circumambulations have been.
About the only reason why I chose to reference Dylan’s 6th studio album is because of the title. By the way, the album will celebrate its 60th this year (released on 30 August 1965), a year-plus younger than yours truly. Give it a listen if you haven’t before. And if you have, give it a listen anyway.
While I am at the age I am, it might be of interest to know that Walski – that pesky third person who used to write on my behalf – is many years younger. Walski was born into this world sometime in the mid-1980s, courtesy of my very close college friend Jeff Suhy, who came up with the nickname during one of our close-knit group’s late-night mind-melding sessions. Let’s just say it was around 1987, give or take. Which makes Walski a very youthful 38 this year. The bastard…
Walski represents the repressed petulance I wish I could express in my everyday life. He is the conduit for my idealistic and liberal thoughts. Those who have followed my blog – both here and in the original Blogspot-based one – would realise I used to write in a third-person voice. As Walski himself.
But Walski hasn’t been repressed in any way, just so you know. He is alive and well, and still is who/what informs my general outlook when I write what I write here. And just because he doesn’t have a “voice”, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a voice. If you know what I mean.
It’s not easy being me. Been that way as long as I can remember. Growing up, nobody else I knew loved the music I loved, read the things I read. TV shows were perhaps the one commonality I had with my school friends. Speaking of school friends, my family moved from place to place every three years or so, due to my late dad’s career as an educator, and as a result, I never really had friends I’ve known since elementary school.
And now, I once again live a nomadic kind of life, co-running the art business with my better half; we do art fairs and collaborations around the region, so we’re never in Malaysia for any significant period at a time. Connecting the dots, life’s come full circle in that respect.
Other than in my college years, I never really had a peer group – friends with similar interests and outlooks – save for a small handful. But even they don’t completely have the same interests and outlooks as I do.
Does that sound like I’ve had a very lonely life? Well, to be perfectly honest, it does feel that way sometimes. There’s so much I’d like to share, so many thoughts to express… but hey, I’m not complaining. I mention this only because it kind of explains why I write what I write and express what I express. It’s better than talking to myself, and certainly much better than talking to Walski… ha ha.
If you’ve gotten this far, a quick thank you for putting up with this aimless verbal/textual diarrhoea.
But yeah, I’m a few weeks into my traversal down Highway 61. I think I’ll survive. Again. But with the completely FUBAR world we live in right now, who knows? Walski and I can only hope it will not end in tears. Or worse, nuclear winter.
As the world cycles through swinging as far right as the pendulum of reality allows, those of us closer to the other end of the political spectrum can only hope the pendulum doesn’t snap altogether.
And in times like these, I dare say that hope may just be the only counterbalance the pendulum has to swing back to territories of normalcy… at least the cautious optimist in me thinks so.
myAsylum 