Burn up the pain, my thoughts are strange.
I hate.
I try to ignore, but it's in me, twisting through my gut like a small rusty fishing hook. I want to scream, to claw my eyes out, to do anything that'll take it from my mind -- even if for a fraction of a second. I want something that'll shut these voices up.
I wish I had a gun, something that could deliver me from myself. Deliver me to a place where there are no worries, no need to wonder if anyone cares.
No more of this false existence. Like Lady Macbeth before me, I cast you out, damned spot.
I want to bleed
Show the world all I have inside
I want to scream
Let the blood flow that keeps me alive
la vie en rose
5:26 PM
5:26 PM
"You don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. You are what you are!"
From the late amazing John Lennon.
So the news spreading across the internets is that John
Bullshit? Really? Why?
Why is it so difficult to accept -- or at the very least, to muse about -- the very real possibility of John (and perhaps Paul, too, even if he's in denial) being bisexual (if not a "closet fag" as Yoko so lovingly put it long ago)? Honestly, I'm not sure why it hasn't been acknowledged before now (with the exception of the every now and then "John was NOT gay" quote from Paul). It's really quite obvious if you're willing to take the time to do a little digging; you don't even need to go that far to find something.
Yes, it was quite obvious how John felt about his "Princess Paulie" (thank you, Yoko and Apple entourage). However, you have to wonder what Paul's true feelings were. Did John proposition him? Did he refuse (and did he only refuse because "we'll be labeled queer, and there goes the band")? Did he accept (and perhaps regret it later...and regret that much later)? Did John keep it to himself, but Paul always suspected as much? Did Paul feel the same but wasn't allowed to show it? So much can only be left up to speculation because Paul's a private man (rightly so).
My open letter to Paul:
May I call you, Paul? I felt I've known you my whole life -- which I have, in a way, through your Beatles, Wings, and solo work because my family of musicians are fans (except my mother, the '60s Motown fan; please excuse her). My brothers and I spent the weekends and summers wearing out every Beatles album my father owns (which would be every one ever printed, if I recall correctly). My two older brothers idolized the whole lot of you; the oldest took after John (minus the heroin) and the other older one took after you and George (he started out learning guitar but took up bass because there were no others to fill the spot). Hell, even down to the same haircuts -- that's how we grew up.
When I was younger, I fancied myself some sort of wannabe therapist. I thought I could read people, and well, perhaps I can...or perhaps I'm just delusional, but do you know what I came up with about John? He's bipolar. The man just had to be. I would know; I'm a first-rate lunatic, m'self. He also exhibits a LOT of gayish behavior (so do you, Mr. Yellow Sock Wearer). Yes, he could just be so comfortable with his heterosexuality that "acting gay" isn't strange to him, and he doesn't care what kind of mixed signals he's sending. Maybe the both of you aren't concerned about sending said signals. Perhaps it can be chalked up to a "British thing." However, what I do officially know is that it's all very confusing to those of us in (or just supporting) the GLBT community.
It's the 21st century, Paul! Sure, anything other than "100% straight" is still frowned upon in many parts of the world, but it isn't as if anyone needs to hide anymore. So what if a few thousand fans decide to take part in, once again, burning your records (or CDs as the case may be, these days) because they are outraged by your blasphemy? Who cares about what could potentially be a backlash of epic proportions should the truth come out? You don't have to hide your love away anymore. You just have to be willing to deal with the agonizing amount of headaches once religious fanatics start preaching about hellfire and damnation, and how The Beatles were really out to change the world into one big heaping pile of Satan-worshiping sinners instead of spreading the message of love; while the megaqueens will be busy bitching about how they always knew you were a flaming poof because your and John's tastes in women have been rather manly.
...
Perhaps it's better if you just let people think what they want (they will anyway, as you already know), hide your head in the sand, and pray for the end
Really, Paul, I love you, and I think it's great if you and John
la vie en rose
2:09 PM
2:09 PM
Memories, light the corners of my mind.
I realize I've been somewhat of a less-than-stellar blogger, but I lost this piece of history way back when Blogger was bought out by Google, and I only just found it a week ago. My old template was corrupt (Google seems to have a problem with buggy software these days), so I spent a while trying out a new one and adjusting code. I still haven't worked the kinks out of the Blogger Comment code (one minute it's there, and the next one it isn't), but I'll eventually beat that one until it submits, too.
Why are our minds filled with so much useless junk? Honestly, do I need to be reminded of exactly how terrible my brother's snot feels when rubbed into my skin? Or how much pressure he uses when trying to hold me in a scissors move on the couch so I can't run away his horrendous flatulence? Should I really remember quirky translations from a high school German II class? Or that Frau showed me samples of her poetry back when she was trying to show me that someone understands such inane ramblings? With the amount of worthless memories I have stored within this ill noggin, you'd think there would be room for the important matters, but that's where I have trouble.
In dreams, I recognize faces I can't pair with a name, and I hear names which are meaningless without a body. I find myself back in high school with some sort of unfulfilled purpose...but what, exactly? I dream more about school now than I ever did while I was still unfortunate enough to be learning there. Well, damn...I haven't been there in twelve years.
I can remember every teacher I've ever had and with what subject they are connected. I can name you many of the people who also attended with me -- some who left for places unknown all the way back in elementary school. Give me an artist, and I can tell you names of albums, recording dates, lists of songs, who played what on each song, how long each song runs, and what studio was used.
However, I haven't the slightest idea what I was doing fifteen minutes before now.
la vie en rose
4:59 PM
4:59 PM
