Old friends John and Cynthia, and Paul and Jane, ran into each other at a Liverpool art exhibit.
” ‘Ey Paulie”, John intoned, “Remember that band of ours? What were we, bloody Bea’les with an ‘A’?”
“Yeah”, Paul admitted. “Stu’s murder in ’60 scared us into quittin’.”
“Teachin’ at Dovedale Primary’s nice,” he went on, “But we might ‘ave done something with that.”
“Anyway”, John said, “George and Ringo are electricians and we’re all ‘appy. We should get in touch with them, Patti, and Mo later on.”
The foursome, none under seventy, hung around in an atmosphere of deafening silence.
Each week Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us in Friday Fictioneers, an attempt to write a hundred~word story based upon a photograph. This week’s Photograph was provided by Claire Fuller.
“Mr. Faffner,” Satan explained to Harvey, “On this day in 1812, Beethoven began writing a famous love letter to his Immortal Beloved.”
“Did you also know,” he continued, ‘that on July 7, 1940, Ringo Starr was born?”
Harvey cringed, begging helplessly for an explanation.
“As Lucifer, my good man,” The Father of Lies continued, “I was in charge of music.”
“Little do you know how easily I deceive and destroy people with it.”
“People warned you not to join that band. Don’t you remember what I did to John Lennon?”
This week’s photo prompt is from Jan Morrill. Rochell Wisoff~Fields is our weekly Friday Fictioneers moderator.
Of course I most certainly don’t give any credibility whatsoever to the dualistic claims of eastern religions and modes of thought which claim that each individual must go through a series of different lifetimes in order to be purged enough so that he may be happy in the next life. Beatle George Harrison may have been quite an absolute expert at music but he got it all wrong when it came to that topic. God puts each of us here for only one opportunity to do the right thing. In that sense my view of life is more linear than cyclical. Whenever a new baby is conceived, God does not insert a new soul into a material container. Each individual is conceived with his body and soul inextricably linked permanently to each other. The Catholic Church has consistently taught that for over two thousand years.
“It is appointed unto men to die once but after this comes the judgment.” (Heb. 9:27). That’s where the Four Last Things-Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell-must be dealt with. Once someone has faced up to his Particular Judgment immediately upon his decease, he goes either to Purgatory temporarily, straight to Heaven, or straight to Hell.
It was the second week of our junior year at St. John the Baptist.
Mike, Bill and I were listening to “Fame” in our music lab.
“Lennon co-wrote it,” I boasted,”So it must be good.”
Mike reminded us of “Jet” from McCartney’s “Band On the Run” album.
“I thought the major was a lady, suffragette,” he intoned.
When we weren’t too busy ogling all the lovely girls in school, we were always talking about music.
Eventually, to avoid trouble with Sister Christophine, we sat down and behaved. In our heads, though, we were grooving to Bowie.
Each week we, along with the help of Rochelle Wisoff~Fields, attempt to write a hundred~word story, Friday Fictioneers, inspired by a photograph. This week’s photo prompt was provided by her husband, Jan W. Fields.
Ringo and Paul were at their favorite pub one night.
“Do you think we should ever tell folks?” The aged bassist pondered aloud.
“It might bloody flip ’em out,” his drummer companion replied.
They reminisced about their band’s plans to reunite in 1983, upon the twentieth anniversary of the “Please Please Me” album.
“Remember John’s nasty Rolling Stone interview,” Paul mused. “When he lashed out at us, throwing ’em off the track?”
“Oh did George ever do a number on us!” Ringo chimed in.
“Oh well,” said Paul. “It wasn’t meant to be, I reckon.”
“Yesterday” came on the radio.
This week’s photo prompt is by Rochelle Wisoff~Fields who leads us weekly in our Friday Fictioneers, an attempt to make a hundred~word work of fiction out of a photograph.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Roy G. Biv.”
I’ve been trying to listen to a lot of jazz lately. Although I have quiet a few jazz CD’s in my collection, I’ve been listening to songs mostly on Youtube. It’s quite enjoyable but I’m not very familiar with it, except the cliches. As everyone knows I’ve always been quite smitten with the 1960’s, both musically and otherwise. Many jazz musicians,including Miles Davis, Ramsey Lewis, John Coltrane and Charles Mingus, were quite prominent during that era. Music of this kind can be quite intense, invoking a feeling of red hot emotional fury. It’s nothing like my favorite style. I’ve always especially been partial to the kind of song that can be found on the Beatles’ 1962-1966 greatest hits album, the one with the orange cover. Often a jazz song can be quite inordinately long by my standards. Patience has never been my specialty. It’s a lot easier for me to listen to something that’s only about as long as “Yellow Submarine”. Of course there are some short jazz songs. Thelonius Monk’s “Blue Monk” is only three minutes and seventeen seconds long. “Green Onions” by Booker T. and the M.G.’s is three mnutes and thirty nine seconds long. Maybe I could listen to Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo”. Up until now jazz has been as frequently a part of my life as appearances by Charlie Brown’s friend Violet in the “Peanuts” comic strip.