rockin_millie

The Art of Loving by John Lennon

Sat, 02 Feb 2008 14:37:59 GMT

I love him.

Which means I hate him.

Such is how my fucked up little brain works.

You see, if anything has been learned in my twenty something years of being, it’s that those you love will enviably turn on you or, perhaps worse, simply forget that you even exist.

“Why do you push everyone so hard John?”

So my wife quietly asks. She’s annoying like this; asking questions she knows I will never honestly answer just to make a point, trying to be manipulating when she bloody well knows she’s not smart enough to be. I make some nonsense comment about how it keeps the Germans in order, and she leaves and I avoid her for the rest of the day.

But to her credit, it’s a fair question. Why do I push everyone so hard?

And to my credit, it was a fair answer. If you replace Germans with assholes. So I’m not so hard to read after all, despite what the teachers said. But I digress.

The simple truth is that people I have loved, one by one, have left and betrayed me. Me dad left, my mum gave me up and my aunt was the nastiest bitch I have ever come in contact with. I can still remember back when I was a kid; one minute she was as polite and as loving as possible; playing games with me and taking me to the theatre to see some stupid kiddie show, and the next she would blow up at something small and smack me across the room and scream in my face. Maybe I accidentally drug mud around the hall or maybe I ate something I wasn’t supposed to. I was too young and too small to fight back so I just curled up on my bed and cried and still loved her because what else can you do when you’re that small and the person you trust most in the world beats you?

They hit me at school too.

I guess people really just don’t like kids.

This time it was for hitting someone else or failing to do my homework or god knows what.

At any rate I, along with the other trouble makers, started to grow up and learn how to avoid being hit at school by lying and blaming someone else and running away and intimidating the other kids and just not showing up for school. And then the complaints rolled in. Why does John lie, even though we beat him with a paddle when he’s honest? Why is John so violent, even though it’s the only way to keep the other little snots from attacking him? Why doesn’t John do his work, even though it’s completely pointless and no one really cares anyway? Why does John hate his teachers, even though they’re mindless bastards who make fun of all their students and don’t know what the hell they’re talking about because if they did they surely wouldn’t have wound back in shitty old Liverpool?

The only person that really seemed to have any sense in those years was me mum. She understood that I, despite what everyone seemed to think, was different from all those clowns who were going to go on and make a pound a week driving a bus or some stupid thing. That the jobs they were trying to train me to do were not what I was going to be good at. She bought me my first guitar. Taught me banjo in the first place. Let me skip school because really, what was the bloody point? She could relate to me as I could her, a trait unheard of for adults who were suppose to just tell you to shut up and get in line before they smacked your ears off. She was the only one who ever said she loved me, and then didn’t go on to prove otherwise.

So it kinda makes sense that she would get hit by a police car.

And oh, Jesus you can’t make me say anything more about that because you can’t make me and I’m fucking tired of being depressed and I’m fucking tired of hurting and I’m not going to cry, I’m not going to fucking cry…

That’s better.

So you see pushing people around gives you the dominant stance and when you have the dominant stance, you’re untouchable. And if you’ll notice all those people mentioned earlier were in a state of supreme power. That is, they were older and bigger and had a stick to hit people with.

I won’t say they were smarter, because they bloody well weren’t. Which would help me later.

When I got to a certain age, me aunt stopped hitting me. Because I could hit back. And I would hit back. We both knew this.

And when she started screaming, I would start screaming.

And then, sometimes, I’d win an argument. And from that time forward, she had no power.

I grew to realize that no one could make you do anything. No one, if you fought hard enough. I also realized that not everyone understood this, and some of those who didn’t were among those who had tried to control me with harsh words and pain.

So after years of abuse, I took revenge. Those bastards who’d tried to make me learn suddenly had a very big problem on their hands. They found they couldn’t turn around without me making fun of what they said or how they said it or what they looked like. And once I showed the world all their faults, all the other students realized that I was right and those blundering idiots never won back their respect.

I can remember back in high school, I had a math teacher Mr. O’Conner. He was some million year old shit who’d probably never seen the outside of the dingy neighborhood or a decent looking cunt in his life. Anyway, we all thought he must be a bit addled in the head because he would sometimes sigh in the middle of a sentence for no reason. Just ‘huuh’ out of no where. So one day I was talking to a mate of mine and O’Conner snaps at me, “Perhaps you huuh would know the answer to the question, Mr. Lennon. You seem very ready to talk.”

And he really shouldn’t have said that because he acted so damn self righteous and looked so repulsive and I was not having a good day so I answered, “No huuh I don’t huuh know the answer huuh because huuh I can’t huuh understand a huuh fucking huuh word your huuh saying.”

All the other kids had to stifle their laughter and this quivering fag went beet red in the face, lost for words. And then, you won’t fucking believe it, he nanced over to me a whacked my hand with a ruler. Hard too, but it was more annoying than painful. Well, of coarse I was just waiting for him to do something stupid like that so I stood up and pushed him hard so he fell back and toppled over. He just laid there staring at me like I’d raped him up the arse. So I just left the class, having nothing else to do and too fucking fed up with everything to care. As I left, I heard someone cheer.

You can’t imagine how good that felt, to be in power for once. To treat everyone with cold and indifferent disdain. No more pushing Johnny boy around.

Another thing I’d like to point out, I got more attention doing this shit then I ever would have gotten as a straight- A student.

Because again, despite what everyone told us, the good boys and girls were never very well liked. Sure the teachers pretended to like them so everyone would try and be like them, but they only ever did that to try and get everyone to be quiet and obedient so they could hear themselves talk without distraction.

The other kids didn’t like them either. They were no fun and reminded them that they were never going to be good enough.

And where did straight- A students wind up?

Back in Liverpool.

As teachers.

Making a couple pounds a week.

As miserable and useless as everyone else.

It’s sometimes lonely, being so hard. But it’s safe and it’s fun. And I have a good few friends. And haven’t I proved all of the adults wrong? I’m more important than they’ll ever be. Their superiors come to me for autographs and try to intimidate me to prove to themselves he’s just a kid, just an entertainer, I’m just as good as he is, aren’t I?

Of coarse not.

But let them think what they will.

But it’s not as good as everyone seems to think it is. Being famous is fun for a few weeks and then after the novelty has worn off you just want to crawl in bed and hide for a couple months. I finally got away, I finally did what I’ve been wanting to do my whole life, I’m finally free, but it’s not what I thought it would be.

I realize running away didn’t fix everything like I somehow convinced myself it would. I still miss mum. I’m still feeling sad and exhausted, and to top it off I have no privacy left. I may be safe now with all my defenses, but I’m also trapped. I don’t feel like I can trust anyone. Real happiness is still a hard emotion to come by.

Unless he’s there.

I love them all, but he’s different somehow. He’s so happy and optimistic, it drives me insane but I love him for it. After everything that’s happened to him, he still seems okay. He’s still open and he’s still comfortable with who he is and where he’s going. Perhaps he’s not as open as he used to be, but he’s certainly more open than me. He’s untouchable.

He’s not either false. He knows what he knows and he’s not afraid to tell people the truth, a trait that seems to escape almost everyone. If my song that I’m writing is shit, he’ll say as much.

Most importantly, we seem to… understand each other. I dunno. We’ve gone through a lot together, have a lot of the same experiences, want the same things, etc etc, but it goes even deeper; it’s as if we have similar subconscious minds, as if on a deep and uncontrollable level are the same, even if we seem so different on the outside. I can just look at him and sense what he’s feeling; can tell when he’s really happy or just putting on a show for everyone else. Can tell when he’s bored or irritated or horny or whatever just by looking at him.

But then he can go on and still surprise me.

One day we were messing around in the studio for instance, playing and goofing and waiting for lunch, then Paul leaned his bass against the wall and went to get some water. While he was out, George snuck up behind me and literally shoved me off my stool and yelled

“Tag!”

Then he ran off laughing.

Smirking, I got up and tried to chase the bastard but tripped on Paul’s damn bass and fell to the floor. Smacked my face pretty fucking hard and managed to scuff up the bass pretty bad, not to mention bust up two strings.

“Fuck.” I muttered. Paul would rip me to fucking pieces for that, I knew it. From my position on the floor I saw Paul’s shoes walk into the room and stop in front of me. There was a heavy silence.

Embarrassed, afraid and angry with myself I braced myself for the fight and stood up. Glaring defiantly at him I waited for the tirade.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah.” I snapped, waiting for the accusations.

He bent down and calmly picked up the ruined guitar to examine it.

“The guitar doesn’t look so bad; I’ll put on some new strings during lunch.” He looked at me and frowned slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You fell pretty damn hard.”

“… I’m fine.” I muttered, suspicious.

“If you say so.” He said, walking past me to sit down.

“Sorry.” I muttered as he passed, still wary.

“Don’t worry about it; ‘snot your fault.” He said brightly, and sat down.

His breezy attitude shocked me senseless, leaving me dizzy and rooted to the spot.

I wrecked his bass.

He loves that stupid thing.

I’m off the hook.

He didn’t scream.

I’m forgiven.

He asked if I was okay.

I didn’t know why the hell I was so relieved, why I was so shook up. It was just a stupid accident after all, why should it be a big deal?

Because to anyone else in my life it would have been a big deal. I’d been hassled so much for so little over the years human kindness seemed foreign to me. I can’t really describe it; it was like drinking clear water after years of drinking nothing but sludge. I felt stupid just standing there, but it was taking an embarrassingly long time for what had happened to sink in.

“Ey, you going to sit down?” called Paul.

“Yeah.” I said, probably too loud. I strode back to my chair and sat down, trying to concentrate on work.

And so my life as Beatle John! continues. And the reporters ask us when will the bubble burst? When will all this glorious fame end? Aren’t you afraid you’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone?

No.

We mean a lot to our fans, our millions of fans. They won’t let us go that fast, despite what the grown people in the world seem to think. I should have guessed they wouldn’t understand, they’ve never understood anything.

So pray tell, lord of rock and rebeller of all things superior, what, you say, do you fear? What makes John Lennon quiver in terror and search for the nearest corner to cower against?

Honestly, my partner and best friend Paul.

Because I love him.

And every time he glares at me for doing something stupid, every time he ignores me, every time he blows me off to hang out with someone else, it kills me.

Even with all my defenses against people, my snotty attitude, my teasing, my superior demeanor, I’m still back where I started; at the mercy of someone else’s affection.

In fact, now it’s even worse. My own self- induced isolation has left me more starved for unconditional love than ever.

And some day, I know Paul will leave. Just like everyone else.

And I don’t know how I’ll stand the pain.

And the only way I know how to soften that fall is to push him away as much as I dare.

So I hate the way he smiles at me.

And I hate the way he makes me laugh.

I hate it how we can talk and goof off all night.

I hate how well he can sing.

I hate it when we write together.

I hate the way he hides my glasses.

I hate how he laughs whenever I tickle him.

I hate how he looks when he’s sleeping.

I hate it when he teams up with me when I make fun of some wanker who won’t leave us alone.

I hate that feeling I get when he bites his lip and widens his eyes to look innocent.

I hate how much we understand each other.

I hate how everything is more fun when he’s around.

Most of all

I hate how I really don’t hate him.

At all.

Yellow Submarine

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 18:05:23 GMT

Yellow Submarine

Re; Under the sea, which looks just like on land, but whatever.

ANNOUNCER (in blank monotone)

Once upon mumble mumble long ago mumble mumble not so sure, mumble mumble mumble Pepperland. Mumble something something mumble mumble mumble with a large camel like mumble mumble; John didn’t like being on top, however, so mumble something blah.

AUDIENCE

Er…

The audience is forced to gather the back story from the unfolding scene. Some utopian area is under attack by blue chia pets just because the movie demands some semblance of a plot. The blue chia pets (blue meanies) all have MICKEY MOUSE hats on.

ANIMATORS

We’re not jealous of Disney. Really.

Re; Liverpool

RINGO is gloomy. He explains his emotions through a series of clichés and endless wit because that’s how the book Pulling off a Cheap Beatle Movie for Dummies told the SCREENWRITER to write.

RINGO STARR

I feel like a broken drumstick. Liverpool can be a lonely place Saturday night, and it’s only Thursday morning. Woe is me. Moods can be gloomy at the docks, not to mention wet. Not unlike Paul watching the tub scene in A Hard Days Night. Why did the chicken cross the road? Knock Knock. Once upon a time…

DIRECTOR

That’s enough. You can stop now.

RINGO STARR

Thanks.

OLD FRED from Pepperland flies through the air using a submarine. Oddly this is one of the lease trippy scenes in the whole movie.

OLD FRED

Ringo! You have to help me! My homeland is under attack and the only thing that can stop the attackers is mildly funny wit and jokes involving numerous puns!

RINGO STARR

Okay. But I’m already tired from my first speech, so I’ll call on my now interchangeable friends to help me. They are…

JOHN LENNON

Johnnie, sporting a very gay flower print yellow jacket.

GEORGE HARRISON

George, who has decided to adopt a Scottish accent for this film because the studio is too cheap to find someone from England.

PAUL MCCARTNEY

And Paul, who, through the power of animation, has gone from being the prettiest Beatle to being the ugliest Beatle.

They all hop aboard the yellow submarine. Yes, it’s the yellow submarine. And they go through the sea of holes and the sea of time… the whole movie is one big in joke.

Anyway, a bunch of SHIT happens, but everyone’s too busy being blasted with MUSIC, COLOR, BRITISH HUMOR and FLASHING LIGHTS to notice. Everyone under four and over forty in the audience has a SEIZURE.

Re; Pepperland

JOHN LENNON

Well, here we are. Now what?

OLD MAYOR LORD PERSON THING

Now you must drive the Blue Meanies out by playing music. They hate music played by young rock stars. They also hate long hair, the idea of peace, liberals, pot, the TWO VIRGINS album cover, acceptance, all bad manners except snobbery, black people, Jews, disrespect to war heroes, other people having sex, Hitler, the Japanese, and they like to complain about the general price of things.

GEORGE HARRISON

Gee, I wonder what generation the Blue Meanies represent.

Our heroes find a tuba, a trumpet and a baton and using only these instruments somehow manage to pull off the Sgt. Pepper song pretty damn well.

Everyone in Pepperland chases the Blue Meanies back. Then they destroy a big blue glove using the lyrics to All You Need Is Love. I don’t know what the hell that’s supposed to represent, but there you are. Then SOME FUZZY THING THAT WEARS A MASK OR IS THAT HIS FACE? Comes along and attacks the head meanie with flowers.

The blue meanies, beaten by the power of virtually harmless plants, look sad and/or run away.

SCREENWRITER

… I’m not on LSD…

JOHN LENNON

Come back blue meanies! Won’t you join us? Hook up, hang out, jive together, co- exist, hang out wid my homeboys, add us to your ‘friends’ list on MySpace, marry a girl pepperlander and then embark on a kinda- funny- kinda- controversial- but- not- really sitcom about it that shows every Wednesday night for three years, and otherwise co- mingle?

And, in its strange, fucked up little way, Yellow Submarine the movie manages to pull off something completely new and profound. Instead of chasing off the bad guys once and for all, the Pepperlanders forgive the blue meanies for their crimes and welcome them to their world with open arms. They accept their faults and allow the ‘bad guys’ to live with them, proving that different people can truly get along once they understand each other and are willing to look past shortcomings, and that this thing in people we call ‘evil’ is often times overcome able, if given the chance. This humane and provocative scene is never repeated in movies again. Ever.

The LIVE ACTION BEATLES decide they like the film and give a small scene featuring them at the end. By now they are so fed up with being forced to act in films they just blow the whole thing off by acting as CHEESY AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. All the audience members that haven’t had SEIZURES yet cringe with embarrassment.

THE END.

Two of Us Parody

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 18:26:28 GMT

Two of us

Re; New York, 197whatever, JARED HARRIS’S apartment.

AIDAN QUINN decides to visit JARED because apparently there just aren’t enough Beatle movies out there. Plus the SCREENWRITER needed more money for pot.

AIDAN QUINN, (as JARED opens the door.)

…Hey John…

JARED HARRIS

You’re surprised to see me after so many years?

AIDAN QUINN

No, it’s just… you look nothing like John Lennon… I mean, maybe if you stood in the dark and we only got to see your glasses or something I could imagine a resemblance… you look a bit like Ringo, maybe even Elton John, but Lennon? And your voice, I mean, did you even try to get the accent right? You’re all squeaky and…

JARED HARRIS

Shut up and come inside. Yoko and Sean are conveniently not here for reasons never really explained, so that should give us plenty of time to examine my behavior and reasons behind my mental anguish.

AIDAN QUINN

Examine your…? I just dropped by for a visit…

JARED HARRIS

You can’t build a movie on nothing, son.

AIDAN QUINN

But all the other Beatles movies were built on nothing.

AIDAN and HARRIS awkwardly hang out. AIDAN eventually hands out POT.

SCREENWRITER MARK STANFIELD

Interesting, eh? This must be one of the only movies that has illegal drug use and doesn’t immediately follow it up with severe consequences.

AUDIENCE

Yeah, but this scene really doesn’t really add anything to the movie and no one even begins to act high, so it’s a bit pointless…

SCREENWRITER MARK STANFIELD

Shut up. I’m controversial, dammit.

AIDAN and JARID start arguing about past wounds. JARED makes fun of AIDAN’S solo work, despite his solo work being JUST AS SHITTY. AIDAN, strangely, fails to point this out.

DIRECTOR MICHAEL LINDSAY-HOGG

Isn’t this interesting? Two old famous friends getting everything not said out into the open; laying out old pain, anger and accusations.

AUDIENCE

Yeah, it’s really interesting.

DIRECTOR MICHAEL LINDSAY-HOGG (bemused)

It really is.

Half the movie passes

AUDIENCE

…uh, so, is anything gonna, you know, happen?

DIRECTOR MICHAEL LINDSAY-HOGG

What? Oh, yeah, let’s have them go to the park or something.

Re; Central Park

JARED and AIDAN hang out in the park and help smoke A SAUSAGE- THICK BONG and, once again, fail to get high. They tease some policeman and manage to get away with it.

JARED HARRIS

Policemen suck. All of them, all the time, everywhere.

AIDAN QUINN

Oh, you’re just using them as scapegoats for your repressed and pent up anger at losing your mother at such a young age.

JARED HARRIS

Wow, you caught up with this physiatrist stuff fast.

AIDAN QUINN

I guess one of the side effects of heavy marijuana use is being able to psychoanalyze your friends.

JARED takes AIDAN to a restaurant and stupidly decides to TAKE OFF HIS DISGUISE so we can see him be Lennon-ish to fans, I guess.

DORKY FAN

I’m not an embodiment of the screenwriter. Really.

Re; Apartment Roof

AIDAN QUINN

You know Jared, you shouldn’t be so pissy all the time. You don’t have to be so defensive; the world isn’t out to get you. Like right now, I’m not going to hurt you or leave you, you’re allowed to feel safe sometimes.

JARED HARRIS

When you look at me, what do you see? What could make you look at me and want to spend 89 minutes trying to get through to me?

AIDAN QUINN

I see a beautiful boy who’s mother says goodbye, who blames himself for his father’s mistakes and tries to believe ordinary little things don’t scare him to death, when they do. I see a man who still doesn’t realize how beautiful he is.

(pause)

Why the hell am I playing therapist so much? I’m Paul fucking McCartney, not Dr. Janov.

SCREENWRITER

I thought it’d be interesting if we spent half the time going into how John’s mind works and why he acts the way he does. John’s much more interesting then you in that respect, you see.

AIDAN QUINN

You mean it’s more interesting to psychoanalyze a man who just throws a fit whenever he feels like it then a man who hides everything from the world and his family behind a smile and then goes on to drown himself in drugs and alcohol?

SCREENWRITER

Yeah, well, at least John didn’t write Silly Love Songs you hack.

Re; Jared’s apartment, in front of the T.V.

JARED falls asleep on AIDAN’S shoulder.

AIDAN QUINN

First we act all jealous over each other’s wives, then Jared molests me on the elevator, then I go on a big monologue about how beautiful he is, now he falls asleep on my shoulder

(to Jared)

Does it disturb you that this movie seems to have all the makings of a soft porno?

JARED HARRIS

..and that it was written, directed and produced by a bunch of dudes?

AIDAN QUINN

… and directed by a guy who spent a bunch of time with the Beatles?

Before the censors think of this and give the movie an R rating, SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE comes on and offers the Beatles three thousand dollars to appear on the show.

JARED HARRIS

Let’s do it!

AIDAN QUINN

Yeah!

The Audience gets exited and moves to the edge of their seats with anticipation, mainly because it’s the first time sense the movie started that SOMETHING IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING. Aidan goes down to his car and gets his guitar. When he gets upstairs he finds Jared talking on the phone with Yoko.

AIDAN QUINN

Whatcha doin’?

JARED HARRIS

Telling Yoko how much I love her and that I wish she was here.

AIDAN QUINN

Oh.

Well, instead of waiting for you to finish your conversation like a normal person, I’ll just leave to awkwardly fulfill the writer’s need to be historically accurate.

JARED HARRIS

… ‘kay.

AIDAN leaves, therefore contributing to the BIGGEST FUCKING ANTI- CLIMAX SENSE MONY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL.

JARED HARRIS

Well, that’s it. I hope all the Beatle fans got to see this during the premiere because T.V. will probably never show it again and the D.V.D. ‘s going to be worth about 36 dollars in mint condition, which is more than Oscar winning flicks cost.

AIDAN QUINN

I wonder if the real Paul McCartney will comment that his and John’s relationship wasn’t as cuddly and vaguely homosexual as it was portrayed in this movie after he sees it?

Suspiciously, he DOESN’T.

THE END