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It's about 9:10 here at the moment, which means in New York City, it's 10:10 p.m. On this date twenty-five years ago, at 10:50 p.m., John was shot five times in the back as he was returning home to say good-night to his son Sean. With that horrible act, the world was changed forever--and the stage was set for me fifteen years later to be drawn back into writing.
As I've said before, I barely remember John's murder; I didn't pay a lot of attention to public events like that when I was ten. As I grew up, I became a casual fan. I remember listening to Sgt. Pepper in a friend's house when I was in high school, and I had a tape of some of their hits. (Yes, a tape; for some reason, I didn't bother buying CDs until I was well out of college. Could be because my stereo didn't actually play CDs, just tapes.) So when the Beatles' Anthology aired in November 1995, I was interested enough to watch.
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Why John? Well, the first thing that drew me to him was our shared interest in writing. But the more I learned about him and his many contradictions, the more fascinating he became. And to be honest, the Beatles made for good eye candy. Don't worry; I'd been with Eugene for five years before I became a Beatlemaniac, and in my life, I love him more.
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I'm not listening to John's solo work tonight; it's too intense. I did listen to some of my favorites of his while commuting to work today. One of the songs I heard was "God," which includes the lyrics:
The dream is over; what can I say?
The dream is over, yesterday
I was the dreamweaver
but now I'm reborn
I was the Walrus
But now I'm John
And so, dear friends,
You just have to carry on
The dream is over.
John's dream and the dream of the Beatles is over, but now it's up to us to carry on, to make the most of our talents, to love each other, and to make the most of our lives before fate makes other plans. Now it's time for me to have a moment of silence for John and for all the other victims of violence, reread a chapter of Lennon's Line, then go on writing. Today of all days, it's important to keep writing. To borrow some more lyrics (this time from Peter Gaberiel's "Biko"):
You can blow out a candle
But you can't blow out a fire
Once the flames begin to catch
The wind will blow it higher
John may be dead, but we are still here, and we can combine to create our own fire. Seize the day.
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