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A collection of five fictional stories inspired by the very non-fictional John Lennon
Not unlike the fictional novella released last year, Until It’s Time; John’s Imaginary Friends and Lovers is another variation on wishful thinking. The five stories contained in this volume range from sorrowful and humorous to passionate and somewhat dark. Read at your own peril if you’re not prepared for the eventuality of some “Mary Sue”-ness. Visit www.wikipedia.org, if you’re curious to know what that means. Yet, at least one tale in here guarantees you’ll find nothing like that. So dive in and escape to the memories of these fictional characters and their encounters with a notable musician from the last century.
Excerpt
John's Imaginary Friends and Lovers
(excerpt) from the short story
Crack! Crash! Blaaang!
The crowd was wild screaming and insistent, demanding: "Mach Shau! Mach Shau!"
Patrons stamped their feet and clapped madly in unison. Could they be any better? Being last I presumed they were. Different, yes, that would say it but not adequately. They messed about, plugging in and tuning quickly. I was intrigued by what, or rather who I saw...
He appeared to be the leader of this five-piece group and a vile character by looks and actions indeed.
"Zieg Heil, Zieg Heil ya frik’n Nazis!"
He spat back at the audience using the old Nazi salute in addition to other more off color phrases and gestures. He leapt around the stage like a gymnast, although I'm fairly certain he had no formal training. To me, he seemed barley twenty and stirred up the crowd more so with his foot stomping and hyper high-jinx than the music being played. The music was quite raw in tone nowhere near the polished Buddy Holly or Bill Hailey tunes. The two lead guitarists were into it too, leaping, howling and occasionally screaming. The drummer and bassist more James Dean like but the one stage right seemed especially frenzied or maybe it was angry. He appeared intent on offending anyone in the audience who challenged him verbally. I couldn't help but look at him. My seat put me about stage edge only the table provided a barrier. I thought it all part of showmanship at the time but he glanced down to me at points. As they performed, if that’s what was considered performing here, I thought this is –he is-quite revolting and obnoxious.
Yet…
…they were loud to be sure, just like the other bands. I determined I needed this something to drown out my block to work on my thesis. I had to admit deep inside I still loved the music I had only heard until tonight on 45 records and off the radio. Somewhere along the way, in my classes about Art History and Humanities centuries ago, I had forgotten what the music stirred in me. The other patrons were stirred too. Actually they were rather violent. Nearly the end of the set, an outright brawl broke out. Flying chairs and shrill screams, I stood up and moved away from the conflict and ducked accordingly. Bodies and fists flew by me and I was effortless in my motions, gliding past danger. I took a stance near stage right, beer in hand, and observed the activity. I suppose I looked rather cool and detached as I watched this facet of human behavior called crowd mentality: a time when people whipped up on some pretense, sometimes music, act as one being without reason. Above the rabble rousing I leaned with my drink on the stage near the foot stomping leader. I noticed him trying to catch my eye, quite intentionally this time during the last few bars of their finale'. Most likely the effect of the beers, I could only stare back cocking my brow with much intellectual curiosity. Or was it another kind of curiosity…
The show was over.
Patrons, violent or face down, were encouraged to leave. Those who didn’t leave went by way of bouncer escort. The band had sprinted off stage during the applause and fist throwing to avoid any face or finger damaging encounters. I replaced myself at my front row table. As I flopped back in the chair, which I had turned right way from its tossed aside position, I realized I was really tired. I did not look forward to the dreary cab ride home. But to walk for how long alone in the dark, even I admit was a really stupid idea. And only to return to that student hostel prison!
No, NO!
I refuse to be locked up with that stuffy Master’s thesis interminably! Oh how drink can bring the honest thought! I was decidedly miffed at my loves, art and classical music, rejecting me with their lack of ability to inspire me further…
While in engaged in my self-pitying thoughts, the barmaid reappeared and sensed my desire to leave but did not want her tip machine to do so. She urged me to stay. I did and I really didn’t need much encouragement. I hadn't seen the first part with Rory someone or Gene whoever and other acts I can't remember, because all I do remember were those mesmerizing ruffians in leather. The show that just started was equally energetic on the part of the bands but the patrons were beginning to lack. Some were into the show's music, others passed out hopelessly in their beers. Still others were leaving with whores or concubines from their night on the hunt. The prize won! Damn the women who fed that male conqueror and his conquest scenario! Makes it so hard for women like me to get our point across of fully equal and independent.
Oh, yes, that is a good idea!
Copyright 2009, Sharon L. Richards
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