Thursday, February 26, 2015

John Lennon: Nobody Loves You (When You're Down and Out) 1974

Home version of the song from the "Walls and Bridges" album.
 


Nobody loves you when you're down and out
Nobody sees you when you're on cloud nine
Everybody's hustlin' for a buck and a dime
I'll scratch your back and you scratch mine

I've been across to the other side
I've shown you everything, I got nothing to hide
And still you ask me, do I love you, what it is, what it is?
All I can tell you is, it's all show biz
All I can tell you is, it's all show biz

Nobody loves you when you're down and out
Nobody knows you when you're on cloud nine
Everybody's hustlin' for a buck and a dime
I'll scratch your back and you knife mine

I've been across the water now so many times
I've seen the one eyed witchdoctor leading the blind
And still you ask me, do I love you, what you say, what you say?
Every time I put my finger on it, it slips away
Every time I put my finger on it, it slips away

Well I get up in the morning
And I'm looking in the mirror to see, ooo wee
Then I'm lying in the darkness
And I know I can't get to sleep, ooo wee

Nobody loves you when you're old and gray
Nobody needs you when you're upside down
Everybody's hollerin' 'bout their own birthday
Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground

 

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Serve Yourself [June 27 1980]

 
 

Horses (Azle, Texas)


The brief horses in my field were always rushing at me, or away.
It got to where I was scared to either ride or feed. Anything could happen:
The sun off the tin dish, the actual snake in the grass.

My neighbor rode much better -- bareback, behind her, we'd leap creeks
A dare, no doom, in each stumble up banks

The girl was bold; the horse, too. He didn't stand a chance.
I was safe as I'd ever be.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Distasteful Is the Night

I don't think I've ever read F. Scott Fitzgerald's last complete novel, "Tender Is the Night," all the way through. But after reading two Zelda bios in the last two weeks and learning that this particular novel deals with the so-called "turning-point" in their marriage, I had to give it another go.

It's fine. Fitzgerald is usually psychologically relatively astute when it comes to group dynamics. (He get kudos, at least, for TRYING, in this case.) But at one point I started running into enough annoying, ridiculous stuff like this (about the main character's wife, an 18-year-old love interest, and a random hanger-on):

"Their point of resemblance to each other and their difference from so many American women, lay in the fact that they were all happy to exist in a man's world -- they preserved their individuality through men and not by opposition to them. They would all three have made alternatively good courtesans or good wives not by the accident of birth but through the greater accident of finding their man or not finding him."

This kind of thing isn't the main jist of the novel, but it crops up enough to make me start to view the whole thing with distaste. Fitzgerald's prose is often beautiful enough to make me not want to dislike him. But the above makes me tilt toward dislike, similar to whatever D. H. Lawrence book I was reading years ago when he suddenly started declaring a 6-year-old girl (a 6-year-old girl!) to be a "bitch" and a "seductress," representative of all women.

I only very vaguely care about authors' personal proclivities, but when they start presenting said proclivities in their work as TRUTHS, I do indeed have a problem with it.

Fitzgerald died in 1940, at age 44. His smug novel about the beginning of his real-life wife's psychological breakdown, published in 1934, was, appropriately, his last.

Monday, February 23, 2015

John Lennon -Watching The Wheels: For Sandra


 
People say I'm crazy, doing what I'm doing
They give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin
When I say that I'm okay, well, they look at me kinda strange
"Surely, you're not happy now, you no longer play the game"
 
People say I'm lazy, dreaming my life away
They give me all kinds of advice designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine watching shadows on the wall:
"Don't you miss the big time, boy, you're no longer on the ball"
 
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
 
People ask me questions, lost in confusion
I tell them there's no problem, only solutions
They shake their heads and they look at me as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry, I'm just sitting here doing time
 
I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go

Sunday, February 22, 2015

John Lennon/Scared

I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared
As the years roll away
And the price that I paid
And the straws slip away

You don't have to suffer
It is what it is
No bell, book or candle
Can get you out of this, oh, no

 I'm scarred, I'm scarred, I'm scarred
Every day of my life
I just manage to survive
I just wanna stay alive

You don't have to worry
In Heaven or Hell
Just dance to the music
You do it so well, well, well

Hatred and jealousy, gonna be the death of me
I guess I knew it right from the start
Sing out about love and peace
Don't wanna see the red raw meat
The green-eyed goddamn straight from your heart


I'm tired, I'm tired, I'm tired
Of being so alone
No place to call my own
Like a rollin' stone
 
 
 

Lennon mocking Dylan, 1978


I've by now been nearly (I say NEARLY, mind you) beaten down into thinking that I'm so terrible for thinking honest thoughts. Such deem me "divisive" or "negative" or "not a team player."

For instance, I got unFriended on Facebook by a few people for questioning someone's decision to (1) post photos of his wife in a coma, and (2) post requests for money after she'd died. (In the former case, I'd gently asked the guy, someone I'd known since he was 16, to think before he posted such photos; after his wife died, I was more harshly questioning why he was asking for money since he was an upper-middle-class guy with a good job that more-than-paid-for her hospital expenses.)

Non-Facebook/Real Life: When you work for anyplace, there's usually some sort of brain-washing going on: I really like my workplace and the work that I do, but, nonetheless, I often get bombarded with, "We're a Family," which I find false and creepy and juvenile--as if employees could not find their own motivation (hello--MONEY) for being there but, rather, had to be falsely enticed into believing that the corporation really "felt" something for them...

I'd much prefer to just be allowed to do my work in peace, but, alas...

Thanks, John, for this entire thing mocking bullshit (in this case, the Dylan-is-God bullshit, representative of every other kind of bullshit).
 
"Sounds like a ballad to me...This should get me in the Village Voice...I'm so cynical, I could just keep on doing this forever....they're gonna be selling my socks like Judy Garland...Sometimes I wish I was George Harrison, you know, got all the answers..."


Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The word of the day is...

...FINIAL.

The furniture men came with my bedroom set yesterday. Near the end of the process, one said, "Oh, I almost forgot your crown." He then took a decorative piece out of his coat pocket and screwed it into the top of my dresser. Very nice, thanks, I told him.

Later, when he'd gone, I noticed a hole at the top of the headboard of my new bed. Hmmm. Thinking that probably something went there, I took down the dresser ornament that the man had added and tried it out on the headboard: perfect fit.

So I was missing something. But how in the hell was I ever going to find it? Was it even there to begin with? Was it knocked off in the truck or warehouse or store or street?

I almost didn't bother calling the store today because chances seemed so rare that they'd know anything about it. I'd resigned myself to living without "the topper" to either my dresser or headboard (depending on where I decided to finally put it).

So I called the store: Hi, my name is, you guys delivered furniture to me yesterday, at the end one guy screwed something, a knob, into the top of my dresser, and I think that same thing's missing from the top of my headboard. Did anyone find a knob lying around the delivery truck?

Furniture-store man: Now, are you missing a "knob," or a "finial"?

Me: What's a "finial"?

Explanation. Then, YES! The man on the phone was the owner of the store, and someone had placed a random "finial" on his desk, with no explanation. He'd been wondering why it was there! We're both 95% sure that it belongs with my headboard. And I shall find out for sure in a couple of days, when I go to pick it up! :)

FINIAL.