That was quite an exorcism. But I'll never let John
Lennon's sole leave me. That was just an exorcism of the hate and anger and
hurt and frustration and sadness that have been building up all week."
Don't let his death affect you so harshly," said Yoko." He never
wanted any violence." A beautiful thing to say, Yoko. But when a figure
who means so much to someone is suddenly gone, taken away, one does not--indeed,
maybe should not--act in a rational manner. So many people, myself very much
included, loved John Lennon the man and the ideals he believed in. There is no
longer a man to love, but his memory takes his place. And we still have his
ideas, his optimism, for the 80s. My own optimism about the 80s is gone; it's
getting worse, not better, especially with the USSR following the footsteps of
Nazi Germany, apparently. We may not even survived the 80s. If this is true,
then the events of the past week and its aftermath mean nothing. But,
regardless of what follows, and when I take everything into consideration, I
feel that mankind has progressed past stupidity of having to kill itself to
prove itself; regardless of what follows, there is no John Lennon anymore to
show the way, to show why it is that we live. Of course, John Lennon gave up
contributing to the world for the last five years. Bitterness was his reason, I
thought. But no. John Lennon was beyond the bitterness. He simply chose not to
speak. He had nothing to say. He wanted to stay at home to love and raise his
son. Then one day he had something to say. So he said it. And the world
rejoiced. John Lennon was coming back! Forget McCartney and his silly love
songs. Forget Harrison and his Crackerbox Palace. Forget Starr and his Barbara.
John Lennon was coming back. We had him, he was hours again. The void was
filled. So what if his album, Double Fantasy, didn't measure up to Plastic
Ono Band or Imagine. He was ours again. And now he's gone forever.
So, so senselessly. Even during his five years of silence, we were comforted
Justin knowing he was there, living. But he is there no more. John Lennon is
gone. If I write this sentence 1000 times, it will be no easier to believe or
to accept it. So I will say it once again. John Lennon is gone.
Bizarre coincidence. Two months ago, I sent away to the
National Lampoon for back issues, including the Beatles parody issue that I
discovered at Curtis's place at Humboldt in the spring of 1978. Two months I
waited. The check was cashed and returned, but no magazine. Well, it finally
came. When? Tuesday, December 9. I picked it up from the dormitory mailbox
with a black armband on my sleeve, tears in my eyes, and innocence gone from my
soul. Very funny. What a Fetridge. Fuck you, Fetridge. The parity wasn't as
funny as I remembered. I'm somewhat older now. But I laughed. I couldn't laugh
before. I sang. On my way home for mom’s Monday night, Monday, December 8,
1980, when every station on the car radio was playing Beatles songs and Lennon
songs, I sang. I sang loud, in a choked voice. I remember singing "Ticket
to Ride." But I cried. I could not laugh. I couldn't play Beatles songs on
the stereo. But I got over it. I couldn't play Lennon songs. I got over that
too. Soon I might be able to have fun with the Beatles again. Maybe even the
pure, joyous fun of old. But I won't forget the pain. Never.
My last three entries have been devoted to John Lennon
the slain former Beatle. But I don't believe that I completely expressed my
feelings at all. I feel they are just subjective, obscure, horribly sad
ramblings such as writers write and non-writers think and feel. I can't help it
if it fails. It's me. It's how I feel, what comes to me as I write. It's not
always honest unto itself; sometimes my mind diverts from itself. But it is my
content of thought, my stream of consciousness. It's too bad if it fails--it
will mean that I'm no writer. Or that I have a long way to go to become a
writer.
I better get to bed now. Today, or yesterday, was Friday,
the final day of regular classes for the semester. I have nothing academic to
do until Tuesday at 8 AM, and I've averaged five hours of sleep all week I will
sleep in tomorrow morning.
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