Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again
Yes, can this really be the end? To be stuck inside of Mobile (River), the landscape’s rift, the trace, continuous flow of constant change, you’ll never step into the same river twice, »Everything flows, nothing stands still« (Heraclitus, the father of Logos, but mama, can this really be the end? (»No this is not the end, just verse 1 of 9! A little joke about the length of the song.« (quote from Rock genius)) To be stuck inside of mobility (even social, the madmen’s climbing on Grand Street), with no direction (except to the mobile) home, drifting in circles from the very beginning, »Oh, the ragman draws circles / Up and down the block«.
And after the silent ragman (»I’d ask him what the matter was / But I know that he don’t talk«) comes Shakespeare, wearing bells and pointed shoes. The presence of the french girl he talks to, is not mediated in speech that the I is able to hear, the cartesian reflection of being or not being is blurred corresponding to the reversal of the objects which represent the french girl’s writing, thus making it impossible »[t]o find out if she’s talked«.
The small piece of paper is like the ticket’s to the senator’s son, also out of Bob’s hands, but the ticket’s are free, are a moment of grace, given from the representation of the law, G-d maybe, and that would be the shortcoming of deconstruction, a level which deconstruction does not reach. It doesn’t have the ticket, but it longs for presence, for being present in the wedding of the son.