Skywriting -- Mar 03, 1998
Continued from Mar 02, 1998
Streetcars. He was surrounded by several streetcars.
From each one of them arrived one person from Bagism. John smiled. "Well, at least I am between people I know. Where are you going?" "Strawberry fields. There's a party going on there...A Wedding Party." John smiled. 'Who's the poor lout tieing the knot?' "We don't know...we were just invited. Wanna come along? The Organized Chaos is playing." John thopught it over. Better than face the Austin something. "I am going!"
And so John was several pages older, several pages more confused and none the wiser. Strawberry Fields..it had been raining and our faithful heroes tromped through the mire. John looked down at his once white sneakers. "Well, that certainly went to hell."
BUT THEN SOMEONE CAME OVER AND YELLED "hey! i liked that Marianne Faithfull-everyone-going-to-beat-up-Paul storyline thing. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE KEEP WRECKING THE STORY?" the person yelled in a very irritated voice. what the hell is this about John and his computer? there ARE no computers in heaven. So anyway, on with the story, they're all backing Macca into the corner...
"Ahhhh, Christ!" thought John, "I keep coming back to this same blasted old storyline. It's like some one is controlling what I write or something! Why can't I just write something that is not filled with bloody drag queens and affairs and Macca, for Christ sake." Just then, God walked in and sentenced John to a stay on the demented earth that he had just gotten away from. God was pissed that John took his name in vain. He felt himself floating, and then beneath him, he could suddenly see the town off London....
"Heeey! I wanna come back! Take me back, I said!", John yelled, but for no-one. Suddenly, the effect of the flying was over, and he knocked the ground, right inside some pub in some unknown land. "Well well well, it's raining Englishmen tonight! Look at that, sister!", some voice said, in a sympathetic smile. John looked to the two girls.
The he got hit by a streetcar.
Streetcars? HERE? :) John looked around the pub. He got up from the ground and brushed himself off. "Whew." He walked over to the jukebox:surprisingly, there was still some change in his pocket. "What do we got here?" he asked himself. "Hmm..." He scanned the titles. "Hey Jude"- The Beatles. "All My Loving"-The Beatles. "Yesterday", "Love Me Do", and "And I Love Her"-all of them The Beatles. "What about me?" John asked. "It's all Paul! Every song!" He frowned. "Come on, what about 'Revolution'? That was a classic!"
He scanned the titles again. Not a single Elvis or Otis Redding or Aretha Franklin! Not even a Lennon or Harrison composition! If it wasn't all or mostly Paul, it could never be on that jukebox. John sighed. This better not be an omen- he'd already had to figure out too many meanings and he hated it.
"Ouch. That hurt like Hell." He got up and looked at his surroundings. "This place is as dismal as ever." He got up, brushed himself off, and went to get a paper. He wondered what he looked like, what age he was. He was 26, and looked like he had in early '67. He didn't care... There was no point in it anyways. He went to a bar to get a DRINK.
"This is what happens when several people contribute to a story at once." John grumbled as he went through two different things in five minutes
So John was sitting in the bar, staring out the window, as the rain beat down upon it, thinking of the good times. The good old days. Before the drag queens and before all the girls ran after Paul. when Paul was just a chubby 14 year old. Before the incident in the bar with Marianne and Bob and John and Keith and Mick where they had ended up beating McCartney to a pulp and ended in lawsuits up to their eyeballs. Paul and his damn lawyers. now there was no more Beatles, no more stones, no more Marianne... no more. they all went bankrupt and now Paul was a rich man in a wheelchair... Then he got hit by a streetcar.
He swirled his drink. He could see the bottom of the glass. That was a bad sign. John sighed. No one in the pub recognized him, and for that, he was thankful. He was tired. Not tired enough to sleep, but weary enough to lack the strength to walk away.
And all those streetcars couldn't have helped either. All of a sudden, men in uniform come in and box up the jukebox. "Allright!" thought John. "Now they'll get some real music in here! John walked up to the new jukebox and examined the tracks....
"You by Organized Chaos, Buy Me a Beer by Organized Chaos, Natalie by Organized Chaos, Janie's Lovers by Organized Chaos, Pretty Little Song by Organized Chaos, McCaffery Hill by Organized Chaos, Learn and Let Die by Organized Chaos, Expecting Rain by Organized Chaos, Miss Perfect by Organized Chaos..... I LIKE this box!" exclaimed John.
"Ride by Organized Chaos, Take Me Home by Organized Chaos, Tired by Organized Chaos, The Emperor's Theme by Organized Chaos, Run Away by Organized Chaos, Seventeen Roses by Organized Chaos, High on Hoagies by Organized Chaos, Til the End by Organized Chaos, The Wind Calls Her Anne by Organized Chaos, Petrified by Organized Chaos......what?.....JET BY PAUL MCCARTNEY AND WINGS?????????? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" screamed John, long into the night.
Then he got hit by a streetcar.
The streetcar hit John, turned around, and disappeared into the night, where it was hit by a bigger streetcar. That streetcar was then hit by an even bigger streetcar, and so on. Meanwhile, John got up again. He fished 2 quarters out of his pocket and approached the jukebox. He wanted to hear "Expecting Rain" but Organized Chaos was gone and in its place sat songs only by Captain & Tenille. Then Paul, and then Organized Chaos. What was this? Was it supposed to mean something? John hoped not. He hated figuring out what these things were supposed to mean, especially when he'd been drinking.
The pub's door swung open and through it walked a young man. No one took notince at first- they were too busy drowning their sorrows. He smiled at everyone. "'Ello," he said. He sat next to John. "John? Is that you?" It was Paul!
He screamed into the night sky the one question that had tormented him from the beginning. "WHO the fook is Organized Chaos, and why won't they leave me the Hell alone???" A grandmother covered a child's ears and shushed him. "Paul?" Paul ordered a lager & lime and smiled at John. "Yeah. It's me." "Thought you were a family man, Paul!" "Yeah, well, Linda practically made me get out of the house, on account of..."
"...the doctor said I have a gas problem." "Ugh, Paul!" John scooted away. Paul then got this funny look on his face. "Ooh, I think I'm gonna..." John ran out the door just as Paul let one fly. A moment later the pub's entire contents came flying out the door in horror. Oh, the spumanity!
Continued on Mar 04, 1998
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