If I had the time, juice, and power
If I had the time, juice and power to get it done, I’d write a novel or maybe a screenplay about the Beatles.
They’d all be still alive now, the “Fab Four” they once were but also as the grown men they became and finally, now, as the old men they’d all be if John hadn’t been murdered and George had never smoked (he died of cancer at age 58).
They’d all be together at all these different ages, and, of course, they’d be the stars of the story.
I don’t know what the plot would be.
It wouldn’t be silly or pop or purely entertainment nor would it be documentary or a docudrama.
Like I said, I don’t know what it would be about other than the Beatles and how they changed the world individually and collectively.
But it wouldn’t be a story that is preachy and/or full of sycophantic worship shit.
It would certainly have elements of their creative genius; their inventive styles of making music/art and of course their strong personalities.
Maybe it would emphasize their honesty, their wit and courage and humor.
It would be about their humanity.
Yep, that’s it right there; it would show their humanity and be about the truth that only a time or two in my lifetime have any humans lived up to the hype of greatness that media and promo bullshit has promised about them.
Right in this spot, writing this, I got interrupted a few minutes ago for breakfast. And when Patti asked what I was working on, I was afraid to tell her another poem about the Beatles, again.
Another Beatles fan-rant/fixation, again.
In fact, I dressed up what I’d been doing with my morning a bit by admitting that while I had in fact been reading about the Beatles, I’d also spent time on Rumi, The 13th century poet,
I felt that this would give my morning’s effort a bit more intellectual heft.
After breakfast I came back to this, sitting here now, and realized, after all, it was true,
I HAD been reading Rumi and in fact I’d read his poem about Sanai,
So I went back and read it again, Rumi wrote, “Someone says Sanai is dead. No small thing to say.”
I looked up Sanai. (I’d just looked up The Beatles a short while before)
For Rumi, Sanai was his Beatles.
And for me, The Beatles were my Sanai.
And so now my novel or screenplay that will never be written has two new characters (although they have wandered in from 700 years ago).
And certainly I have a theme, even if still lacking a plot.
Don’t look for a longer prose work, after all.
This writing will have to suffice because, like Rumi said of Sanai, and I’ll say of the Beatles,
“Silk must not be compared to striped canvas.”