End of solipsism and its subsequent rings. The sea tones in the beginning enarmours the vigilant. White supremacist think tank ellipsis travels through jingle beats. The story ends and begins again. Time to time the beginning haunts the calypso conscience, for they are the white man’s circularity. The story follows linearity yet, circularity is oblivious of linear progression of facts. The music is deep traded omni-carnivorous. The jingle beats refers back Jazz improvisation. The story itself is improvised as ‘for-itself’ time’s zonal jingoism of white divide and rule. Latino’s play the pawn, for they are also within the solipsism’s ring. Drum beats play high, bringing in mind the evanescence of heroine shooter, down and out on the gay looked streets, the vendors hand in hand with impoverished sudden attacker, shooting spree, and mugging of the asshole white trumpet. The improvised singing together lands with the drum beat. Eco of nothings whereabouts and lonesome robbers. The song plays high end note to the remembering of Hurricane, by returning to his sole thema as a protectorate of Negro neighbourhood. Jazz improvises the nothings together, yet before the white eyes. Everyone remembers their colour. The jingoistic trumpet playing is ad-hoced through the grains of dust, of and in time. Who’s who of neighbourhood admonishes as police opens the gate. Live for thy neighbour, no more. Dylan re-creates the story again and again, for us to see through the admonishing of communitarian gayness. But the drum beats doesn’t stay, to show the other half of otherized white gayness. White trumpet playing gayness is delineated through the absence of moral goodwill between Latin and Negro community. Mouth organ plays the loneliness of solitary prison camps. In the end, the jingle plays high to make us see through the prison cell, a living hell.  Banjo and trumpet plays high. And this is the story of Hurricane. The song finishes as it started, to show us the rings of one-sidedness. Rings not of solipsism, but of gay troublesome Negro community’s strange Jazz like improvised impoverished life’s ad-hocship.

This article is inspired by comments on the song by Erica Cross.

Jeet Bhattacharya
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