Word: thunderers
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...Streets are filled with the dead and dying, their moans drowned by the ceaseless thunder of the exploding shells. Somehow, a voice rises above the din, proclaiming, 'I can hear myself dying.' Said one resident of the strife-torn city who has vowed never to return: I shall pray for those who are fighting. Prayer is the only hope that they have left...
...simple, direct son. I preferred the imaginative one, the smooth, clever Jacob who sat in my tent watching the rages of Isaac turn first on the son within himself, the pitiful kitten fathered by a lion, careful of its stride, watching slow rage then turn on us like the thunder of winter sleet driving in from the mountains. So it wasn't for Jacob alone I schemed to steal Esau's blessing, laughing, giddy, a tenor different from Abraham's hard laugh...
...fact, all those night riders across the neon terrain not only summon familiar memories, but have misled some reviewers into thinking that Springsteen has driven himself right off Thunder Road and into a rut. "But," he says, "everything has its limitations and its ultimate possibilities, and you got to test them to find out what they are. It's like those Italian westerns at the drive-in. I always loved it that they showed 'em all at once. That's the way I make these albums?so they get played all at once...
Something happened over the last few years, the last few months. When we last remember leaving Dylan, it was amid no little confusion. History and myth, past hits and hints at new styles were tangled up in the touring Rolling Thunder Revue, the film Renaldo and Clara and the albums Desire and Hard Rain. Dylan was on shaky ground and knew it. The best moments of the period-the Revue and the concert footage in Renaldo and Clara-were a bow to the past, finding little support in Dylan's more recent work. The Revue, above all, indicated that...
...Nixon, whipping boy for the soul of America, actually did some good those four years. The man was a sparring partner for a nation struggling against the fat of Bicentennial complacency, always offering his glass jaw as a sacrifice to a nation worried about whether it still held the thunder in its looping left hook. Only now he doesn't fall so easily...