You, Beautiful Boy…John Lennon.

john 1

 

Had it been a colder winter, would Vicki been more aware of the day, the time…the shift of wind, to the subtle change of the earth’s emotions?  A typical day, no matter the season had been a hippie rainbow, splashed with a tie dye of skeleton, neon green and pink…

Typical?  No, no, fuckin’ way!  The day played out in the 13 year old’s, tainted by peace and love, screw the establishment…, mind.  This time though, it had been  recorded in tears.  Similar to looking at that larger than life, black-light, poster of Elvis, in a pantsuit…one toke shy of a good high!elvis

Sitting, lotus style on the shag carpeting of Lynn’s bedroom, attempting to really understand the true meaning of…

 

Terry Jack’s; Seasons in the Sun

 

A wonderful song about dying, the rebirth of spring and the friends we leave behind.

At the time, as two rebel freaks adverse to conformity…Vicki and Lynne only thought of the song as a sad good-bye to their childhood.  As it was certain, once High School began, the end poetically and physically, would be near.

Yet, none of that silly lonely life felt by many of similar breed and congruent thought mattered…For down below, in the bowels of the ancient home, sat, Lynne’s brother, Eddie.

Eddie, posted upon a stool made of stolen milk crates, smiled a mad-dog grin…as he and his buddies, banged out

Stairway to Heaven!

It hadn’t been that the band played poorly.  It wasn’t that the four mop-heads didn’t somehow resemble Muppet Puppets.   The simple fact had been, those fools just were not cool!  Anyway you cut it!  Those white boys had no rhythm and certainly, no style!

Vicki and Lynn cranked that hot pink record player.  So often had the needle been manually brought back to go that…well…one verse repeated itself over and over and over again.

Papa
Please pray for me
I was the black sheep of the family

No matter the loudness of the house.  No matter a child’s play at bettering the current situation.  No matter, the pleas, the tears and the questions…the ‘just give me some truth,’ could not be tucked away.

John Lennon, the prince of peace, the maker of all love, the heart and soul of a collective few living in a small New Hampshire city, tucked away in the middle class, had been killed the night before.

It had been a Monday night, 10:50 p.m., 1980!

John 2

The next day, with songs cranked, with outrage pouring out of every Yukon Jack bottle, with Vicki and Lynne attempting to drown their fears in the therapy of music…with all this…a handful of mourners headed for the capital.  One of these walking tributes to all that John Lennon could Imagine, had been Lynne’s mother.  Decked out with beaded vest, bell bottom Tough Skins…faded just right, and a pair of knee high, ‘knock me down and show me a good time’ black leather boots: Lynne’s mother made Stevie Nicks look like a girl scout in training.

And, it was on this day, Tuesday, December 9th, 1980…between the blue grass music being tortured by an all bad male band, and, the young ladies quietly paying respect through lyrics…Lynne’s mother lay entombed in her bedroom to distraught to go to work.

Odd, years later, Vicki would visit the Orpheum theater in Boston to see,  the Plastic Ono band.  She would be high on technicolor and acid!  She would not remember much of that night.  She would remember, Yoko’s acknowledgement of her long lost husband.  And, she would remember that day…a handful of years back…

That day, when within her little world of Peace, Love and Happiness, she learned of  new emotions.  Terror and pure hate!  To the current day, Vicki could not bring herself to read, ‘Catcher in the Rye’, she could not capitalize on anything relating to John’s death.  No new and recently found works of Lennons‘…posthumously!

Fading to black in the very back row of the Orpheum theater, weirdness abound, with necklaces made of Barbie Doll parts, Hippies zoned out on weed, the sweet smell corroding the walls…a simple verse is all that Vicki could recall…

Goodbye to you
My trusted friend

We’ve known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we’ve climbed hills and trees

john 3

Fond of Love

Love for Arts
Love for Arts (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It is regretful to say…as many have before me…I have squandered love. Held it too tight in the beginning and loosened my grip when I should have held on during the winds of change, in the end.
Sex is not love. Lust is not love. Kinship is not love. There is no better or for worse…for in love… that is always the case.
Love can lack in every department but one; the department of our honest souls. If in the fleeting glimpse of our life. The moments when health wanes. The days when the rain comes and stays for eternity…or at least a week. The slip of a tongue. The vacant glance of a stranger and the thoughtlessness of ‘it could be better’. Are all parts of myself in which I can only really allow one other to see.
Years spent with life and love as a concept like a timeshare in sunny climates…are perfect for love. For the trip back and forth may be filled with gale force winds and high climate drama…the road will still lead back to the ONLY ONE. The ONLY ONE with whom your soul has been embedded with all along.

AT LAST
My love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song

Oh yeah yeah
At last

The skies above are blue

...sing a song to it everyday
…sing a song to it everyday


My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you

I found a dream, that I could speak to
A dream that I can call my own
I found a thrill to press my cheek to
A thrill that I have never known

Oh yeah yeah
You smiled, you smiled
Oh and then the spell was cast
And here we are in heaven
for you are mine…

At Last