John is Dead

 

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Romans 9:22–But what if God, willing to demonstrate his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience the objects of wrath prepared for destruction?

I had been dealing with this demonology for 6 years or so, it was built into what was left of my mind, I knew what I was seeing as soon as I saw it. There was demonology attached to the Beatles, not a little bit either, this was massive. I was looking at Paul is Dead sites, Beatles forums, and everything I was looking at was what I looked at in my own life every single day. There was something going on here, and I swear what I was looking at was the exact same thing I had been looking at myself, these weren’t just demons attached to the Beatles, they were the exact same fucking demons.

What in the hell?

Little Paul was fully alert now, looking at this too. It was all starting to come back. Paul being replaced, replaced by a guy named William. I went by Will now, I had replaced myself somewhere along the way, how weird is this, and then a Tuesday afternoon in Ann Arbor started to come back to us as well.

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What in the hell? There were clues everywhere, clues that Paul had died and been replaced. That had to be nonsense, that was the conclusion of most people but some of these people on the Beatles forums didn’t seem to think so. They think Paul really died. I see why, the clues are really there. Why are the clues there?

As I looked over everything Beatles related in the days and weeks ahead, it was becoming clearer and clearer, why ever the clues are there, whatever in the world that the Beatles were on about, the clues were covering something up. They were covering up the demonology. Because there was stuff that there was no way the Beatles had actually intended, that much was plain as day.

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From the Magical Mystery Tour booklet, rotated 90 degrees

This wasn’t about Paul, it was really about John. This was evil, it was absolute evil in the band that originally had been innocence to so many people. Weeks before John’s death, Yoko Ono had done a song. Kiss Kiss Kiss it was called. You turned it around backwards, right at the very beginning of the song, it said “I shot John Lennon”. And then weeks later, John Lennon was shot. John Lennon wasn’t shot by Yoko Ono, maybe John Lennon was shot by whatever was in Yoko Ono. I watched Howard Cosell announce his death.

This was a crucifixion scene, there was demonology all over this, look at that kicker nodding his head as Cosell said Dead On Arrival! Look at the Patriots with their hands raised in the huddle, like the hands over Paul’s head in Sgt. Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour! Remember how Revolution Number 9 ended, the song that said Turn Me On Dead Man in reverse? Hold that line, block that kick?

The only reason it reached ABC in the first place before anyone else got the news is because an ABC reporter happened to fall off his motorcycle that night and was in the next room in the hospital when they brought John in, without that perverse luck they’d never have gotten the word out while the game was still going on, let alone just in time for the last second field goal attempt (which by the way, was in fact blocked).

They knew. They knew what was happening to John Lennon before it did. This was staged, a screenplay. Little Paul was staring at this with me, enraptured. John Lennon was an Object of Wrath and Destruction. There was no question to either of us. This wasn’t just demons knowing about his death, this was demons causing his death. And they were doing it in full view of everyone. My God.

What was the legend surrounding Chapman and the Dakota? Not only that Chapman was hearing voices yelling “Do it, do it, do it” before he pulled the trigger, but also the fact that Lennon lived in the building where Rosemary’s Baby was filmed, with director Roman Polanski’s wife Sharon Tate having been later killed by Manson’s group (triggered by Beatle lyrics). Earlier on December 8th, just as Chapman was ruminating about this very synchronicity in front of the Dakota, Rosemary’s Baby star Mia Farrow happened to walk right past him and go into Central Park. How easy is it to manipulate a mentally ill person, when this stuff was happening for real?

The implications were incredible. The demons were on TV, they were on full display. And they knew it too. I’m surprised there isn’t a yellow smiley face ball bouncing across the screen, the kind Little Paul hated so much, “they’re taunting me”.

What did Cosell say after declaring John dead,“Which in duty bound, we had to tell you.”

This is what we were used to seeing, nothing is natural, every move is scripted. Here it all is! I watched this, or Old Paul did, I’m not sure who anymore, as a teenager. It was heartbreaking, it was heartbreaking to millions of people, the end of the sixties, the end of innocence, and it was a demonic Shakespeare play all along.

We left the video finally, supercharged, and started digging.

Scattered amongst the various clues about Paul were certain other clues, clues that were as odd as anything else but clearly didn’t apply to the Paul is dead narrative. The Magical Mystery Tour LP came out on December 8th 1967, 13 years to the day before John’s death. As unusual as that was, was a clue that seemed to foreshadow John’s death in the MMT booklet which came out that day with the album. 

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The Best Way to Go is by MDC, the initials of John Lennon’s assassin, 13 years to the day before his death. After researching the scene, I found out that it had been shot on September 22nd 1967, it was shot on 9/22. Also released in 1967 was Sgt. Pepper, with its myriad of clues including an incredibly creative one that only appeared when you bisected the words Lonely Hearts with a mirror. 

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Paul is dead advocates liked to interpret this clue as November 9th HE DIE, but if you used Come Together’s one and one and one is three as a road map, then you could interpret it as 13 he die, and then the clue could possibly apply to John instead. It seemed as if everything the Beatles did after 1966 had some clue buried somewhere. 

Hey Jude. The ultimate Object of Wrath and Destruction was Judas. The song’s protagonist Julian Lennon was just a little kid, like I had been just a little kid. Hey Jude to me had become the demon song, complete with the lyric The movement you need is on your shoulder. It was mocking, mocking the people who couldn’t do anything about the despair in their lives. People like Judas, or Julian, or me as a 3 year old, or whoever it applied to. After all, there was never a limit attached to how many Esau’s there could be in the world.

I watched the Beatles perform Hey Jude on the David Frost show on YouTube. And in the audience next to Ringo was Michelle, dressed in red. She wasn’t identical, but so close as to completely startle me. Michelle who had been killed in a car accident in front of 666 100th street. 6 months after my accident, the day after we’d moved into apt. #6. The streetlight that went on every night, but went out the night she died.

There was a picture of her on Google, they called her Linda Blair on the Beatles sites because of the way her eyes were rolled back into her head in the photo. She looked somewhat demonic. I looked up the performance of Hey Jude on David Frost and the answer came back as September 8th 1968. I sat in shock looking at the date. Michelle had been born on September 7th 1968. This was all a script. I’m not imagining the blonde thing, its staring me right in the face. 

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Each day, as I searched, more clues were being handed to me it seemed. Even clues that I don’t think anyone else knew about. On a hunch, and being all about numerology, I added 9 years to December 8th 1967 which put me at December 8th 1976.

Surprisingly I discovered that the Hotel California album by the Eagles was released on that date. As Hotel California the song had always struck me as one of the eeriest songs that I knew of, I listened to it with fresh ears. The third verse, the really spooky one that mentions stab it with their steely knives but they just can’t kill the beast, seemed to in some macabre way allude to what happened to John 4 years later. Think about the words for a minute.

Last thing I remember I was running for the door

I had to find a passage back to the place I was before

relax said the nightman

we are programmed to receive,

you can check out any time you like

but you can never leave

When John Lennon was shot, he ran from the Dakota entrance into the Dakota Nightman’s office, where the Nightman attempted to help him to no avail.

Consider the possibility that something was actually capable of informing the Eagles lyrics in 1976 for an event that would happen precisely 4 years later. To me, this was staggering. But then, using a program called Audacity, I had a thought. Turn the song around backwards. So I did. And lo and behold, the words Last thing I remember I was running for the door, reversed, become John Lennon by himself. 

Listen to it, at 2:33. How can this happen?

Then I came across the Is God Dead issue of Time, it just so happened to be on Julian’s birthday. His 3rd birthday. 3.

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I was curious, logged onto the date and time calculator online. Took Julian’s date of birth 4/8/63. Romans 9:22, hmmm; I subtracted 922 weeks on a lark. A little over 17 years. I get 8/6/45. The first atomic bomb at Hiroshima. How weird is that?

I had read a comment about John Lennon’s death which pointed out all of the odd connections to Pearl Harbor and WWII. He died on the anniversary of the date of the US entry into the war; the killer was from Hawaii, the gun was sold to Chapman by a Japanese man named Ono; Chapman, like John was married to a Japanese woman; John was taken to Roosevelt Hospital, and so on. It was amazing.

I looked, and the date and time calculator goes both ways. I add 922 weeks now instead. I sat and looked at the answer, my jaw on the floor.

The answer was December 8th 1980. Julian Lennon was 922 weeks old, to the day, when his father died. John Lennon was an Object of Wrath and Destruction, just like me.

Why?

It took another six years to figure it all out.

I took a walk along the Lake Michigan shoreline, looking out at the nighttime sky; I had been thoroughly vanquished, destroyed in a war that certain people may have watched with a bemused horror, but most had no idea what had gone on. I knew, and now I knew something else. I stalked, measuring my words; then I finally said it to God Almighty;

“I’ve got you.”

You did this to me, but you also did this to someone else, and I can prove it.

I didn’t hear anything in response, I just had a thought come into my head, one that both curbed my righteous fury and suddenly brought the entire experience into focus.

He knows you’ve got him, he just handed it to you. 

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This is an excerpt of the upcoming book 922 by Paul William Emaus. The author (me) suffered a psychotic break in 2003, subsequently being diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. 

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Us and Them

Us and Them
And after all we’re only ordinary men
Me, and you
God only knows it’s not what we would choose to do
Forward he cried from the rear
And the front rank died
And the General sat, as the lines on the map
Moved from side to side
Black and Blue
And who knows which is which and who is who
Up and Down
And in the end it’s only round and round and round
Haven’t you heard it’s a battle of words
The poster bearer cried
Listen son, said the man with the gun
There’s room for you inside
Down and Out
It can’t be helped but there’s a lot of it about
With, without
And who’ll deny that’s what the fightings all about
Get out of the way, it’s a busy day
And I’ve got things on my mind
For want of the price of tea and a slice
The old man died

A touch of Grandeur…

A piece of my never-quite-completed-but-will-be-someday book, 922.

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—————–

The book is fiction, but it happened.

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——————

I am too.

It took me 37 years to come to the conclusion that those three words were the answer, the meaning of life, but in 1967 it just means joy.

I’m alive, I exist. Sitting on the floor with my sister and her friends, listening to Sgt. Pepper.

And that’s where it all begins. You wake up a few hundred times, go through days and nights, cry quite a bit, learn some basics and then one day you remember something that doesn’t go away.

It stays, one day I became me. But I didn’t happen to wake up to just any time in history…

I woke up in the sixties.

And that’s why we’re talking I imagine. Do you want to hear the story? It’s a pretty good one but I need to go out on the front steps if I’m going to tell it. It’s just a lot easier to talk out there. Why do I already know the whole story? Well I guess we’ll get to that…

I don’t remember being born, although sometimes I think I do, but I was born on October 14th 1965. It was a Thursday night and I was in a hospital like most babies. I was named after a Beatle and a Quarterback for the New York Jets from what I’m told. In fact, the day I was born happened to be the same day as the very first time the Beatles worked past midnight on a song, they finished Drive My Car right after midnight and The Who recorded My Generation later on the day I was born. I’m not sure if there were any football games that day.

I live in a house in Grand Rapids, Michigan with my Mom and Dad. Mom is 27 and Dad is 42 and Mom is Dad’s second wife. Because of that I also have 2 brothers and a sister that are halfs. They come over on the weekends except Penny who stays here most of the time and is only gone sometimes.

Now, I like my parents and all but you have to understand that my brothers and sister are teenagers and that’s a pretty cool age to be. Teenagers seem to be very important right now.

It seems like it’s important to be a teenager mostly because of Sgt. Pepper, although I checked and I don’t think there is one single teenager on the Sgt. Pepper cover. I like the Beatles, although my favorite is Pet Songs from the Beach Boys.

So all of them are inside listening to Sgt. Pepper again, probably because everyone is listening to Sgt. Pepper all the time now. I like Sgt. Pepper too but between you and me it’s overrated. In time they are going to rate it the best album of all time in Rolling Stone magazine, even though Rolling Stone won’t even start for a couple of months yet. It’s rated just ahead of Pet Songs and Revolver because all of the best albums ever are being done right now.

Why?  Well, because it’s the sixties.

So?

You aren’t from around here are you? The sixties are the most important time ever. It’s when everything changed before most everything changed back later. Most colors were invented in the sixties too I think.

Oh yeah, most people around here know all about it. They are turned on they think.

Here, let’s ask this guy.

See? What??

I can too tell her about it!

Listen, I can hear you muttering dude. Let me guess, “man you’re only two, Paul, you weren’t even there brother!”

Well you know what, you weren’t there either. Zappa was there, no one else was. Its taken over 40 years for someone to say this to you, but no you did not have to be there.

You were here in the sixties yeah, it’s all still the summer of love to you, but we preschoolers watched what happened with you. We were there when the sixties blew up because love actually meant happy-self. We were just getting into school when Manson blew his whistle and ended the party. Manson? You’ll find out. Criminy, you probably think of Woodstock as where Dylan lives.

We were still watching you when the cash register chimed on Dark Side of the Moon and told all of you to finally get off the curb and get regular jobs because your turn was done.

We are the ones who had the perspective that Sgt. Pepper may have been a little better than Frampton or Rumours but there was still a spirit to the music that your generation had lost touch with only because you got old; we had our own mountain to climb to becoming a teenager and Rhiannon told us that on the other side of that mountain were sultry blonde witches rolling around on the ground that we were going to get to enjoy while you sold insurance.

We learned from your generation, we learned what worked and we learned what didn’t. The reason we didn’t sit around the Calder in the eighties debating the Port Huron Statement isn’t because we didn’t care, it was because it got in the way of the party. Reagan dealt with the government and we took the road trip, and that is exactly how it should be. Values and drugs don’t mix. Yeah, Reagan.

So no, you did not have to be there and the reason you think we did has nothing to do with us not understanding your generation and everything to do with you not having any perspective about ours.

OK?

But our generation does owe your generation one thing. Thanks for trying.

Later.

Don’t pay any attention to him, he doesn’t even know how it all turns out. The silly thing is that they all got what they wanted eventually but they were all too jaded and burned out to care. Don’t tell them though, it would spoil the fun.

What caused the sixties?

I’m not sure, wait a second I’ll go ask.

OK I’m back. Do you want some Kool-Aid? We have green or red.

Apparently it wasn’t Dr. Spock, although that would have been my guess…

What? Yes, I’m two.

My Mom is in Mensa and I get it from her I reckon. I can already read books you know. I hear I may be intelligent.

Anyways, the foundation of what built the sixties started with post-war expansion and the rise of the corporation and military-industrial complex.

Hold on, let me ask. Did I say that right? Are you sure about any of this?

I’m not sure they really know the answer. Most of it hasn’t even happened yet. I’ll give you mine.

After the war, chickens were very important. People wanted to have two cars in their garage and a chicken in the pot. If you had two chickens that was better. Sure, a third chicken would have been fine too. No that’s too many cooks, multiple chickens are OK.

So, Dr. Spock told parents to treat their kids nicely and build their self-esteem. This in turn built effeminate fathers who wouldn’t beat the crap out of their kids. That’s what my Dad told me. No, the crying Indian was in the seventies. There was a lot of garbage then though, he was right to be unhappy.

Anyways, the postwar expansion built an unhealthy attachment to chickens and the rise of the corporation meant that people acquired chickens mainly through allowing for their natural values to be subjugated into the corporate mindset. In other words, fathers did what their bosses told them to do even when they didn’t agree so that they would have more chickens.

When they didn’t, the bosses would send notes home to the wives saying that its really too bad that your husband doesn’t do what he’s told because all of your neighbors have a lot of chickens but you don’t have that many and you would have more chickens if your husband would just do what we tell him and maybe you should talk to him if you would like to have more chickens like your friends.

At the same time, the rise of Communism and the Cold War made speaking out against the government the equivalent of treason because instead of speaking out being part of a Democracy you were now a Communist because they spoke out against Democracy too and because no one could tell the difference between Communists and Non-Communists because they both spoke out it was decided that all people that spoke out must now be Communists because our Country is so great because we saved the world in the forties that only a Communist wouldn’t like it.

Now I’m thirsty. Just a second.

Of course I know all of this, everyone here talks about this stuff. The Port Huron Statement was written in Michigan you know. Al Jardine left the Beach Boys to go to Pharmacy School in Big Rapids. We know things here…No, I would have stayed a Beach Boy.

So the fifties culture was about security and chickens. And right in the middle of the chicken era, the Cult of Chicken, Marlon Brando banged on a jukebox and started Rock and Roll because everyone realized that he looked so incredibly stupid pretending that jazz was hep that something had to be done and then Elvis quit driving his truck so that Marlon Brando had a cool soundtrack to rebel to.

Yes it is what happened! Do you think the juves could rap their hot jive to Mr. Sandman? Jive disappeared way too quickly, especially hot jive which is better and/or warmer than regular jive. People should still be doing hot jive now I think. When the dufi in the Wild One ask for one of those Beer-o’s, that is hot jive. Just put o or e’o after every other word and laugh at people who don’t. Cool isn’t difficult.

So once Rock and Roll started, teenagers had their own space and a defined environment just for them for the first time. There was teen culture and the Cult of Chicken but because fathers were now emasculated due to accepting immoral orders at large companies instead of opening western hardware stores coupled with deferring to the wisdom of Dr. Spock and chickenless wives at home they decided not to beat the crap out of their kids for teen culture because they’d already traded their own values for chicken anyways.

The result of this is that when the teenagers of 1955 went into college in 1960 they decided that the Cult of Chicken sucked and they now stood to lose something because their future would not include rebellion or Rock and Roll or Hot Jive and College curriculum at this point only consisted of how to become a chicken-winner by subjugating their values and this now and only now was suddenly deemed insufficient by about 12 people, it was seen as Holden Caulfield’s cliff.

In other words, adulthood was boring and supposed to be and kids now expected excitement in life as a result of teen culture and self-esteem and weak chicken-needy fathers.

All of this created Bob Dylan.

Because Bob Zimmerman was going to be bored if he pursued the Cult of Chicken as a result of watching Buddy Holly 3 days before he died he instead became Bob Dylan and played to 153 people in a coffeehouse which led to 2,000 people buying his album and like Jesus and the fishes this somehow led to the Port Huron Statement happening simultaneously which was read by another 46 people which then somehow multiplied into alienating the entire eastern portion of Michigan’s youth culture and a few blocks in Grand Rapids which somehow again led to the entire West Coast being disenfranchised within roughly a week which as luck would have it led to millions of youth of all colors becoming disenchanted with racism within this same month and fighting the south mostly without fighting and a lot of people died for not being racists and then Kennedy died the day Beatlemania was shown on CBS and racism became Vietnam and Dylan met the Beatles and someone took LSD and saw God and then the south got really mad at the Beatles because more Beatle records were being bought than Bibles even though the Bible and Beatle records and LSD all say your football team shouldn’t still be all white and then Dylan crashed and the Beatles said sorry and created Sgt. Pepper to enlighten teens from hypocritical parents and football fans with way too much chicken on their hands and this is what built the sixties.

Kool-Aid?

Yeah that’s how it happened. All those things happened on top of each other, no one is quite sure how one thing led to another, but somehow it just all did.

Now everyone is growing their hair long and wearing beads and talking about going to California where it’s all happening.

No I can’t go to California because I can’t leave the block yet, I can go down to Ken-O-Shea park but I need someone with me. Personally I hope no one goes to California from here though, I’d miss the friends even though most of them are a lot older than me. I really like Melody next door, she’s a blonde like Penny and we watch movies on her basement wall a lot and I read her books.

I have a few friends my own age but not all of us were meant to watch Romper Room. Goo Goo and slapping the floor only communicates so much. Where’s the depth, you know?

The redhaired girl up the street though, you can tell she gets it. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, do you know? You do on this block. Can you hear the dog whistle? Redhaired girl does. I don’t know her name. I don’t think she knows it either. It’s 1967, so maybe we’ll just make one up for her.

That’s what my parents did. They don’t call me Paul or William, they call me Paco. They call me Paco of course because it’s Spanish for Frank.

My mom is a genius, but not in Spanish…