A vinyl plays, the soundwaves vibrate, and emotion penetrates your being. Music fuels you – it makes you happy, it makes you sad, it makes you sing, it makes you dance. It's the one thing in this world that has such a profound effect on you.
December 8, 1980
When I was around six, my mother used to play The Beatles' White Album, singing to 'Piggies' while cooking lunch, the vinyl worn out and overused due to repeated play. I'd also join in the fun, dancing and jumping around in our living room while the record played.
It was great to be home back then, but not until the afternoon sunset, which was usually the time when my dad came back from work. You see, the problem with my dad is that he breathes. And I don't like it when my dad breathes, because when he does, the oxygen he takes in generates adenosine triposphate. Usually, he gets too much adenosine and ends up punching my mom. Kicking her, and all. Goddamn, I just wish I could stop him, but I was six.
But, hey! I managed to have some imaginary friends back then. So really, my childhood wasn't all that bad.
So anyway, you may be wondering where I'm getting all these adenosine crap. I mean, I'm zero percent smart, right? Well, I've taken up a little college, and that's what I've learned. I dropped out after though, it just didn't suit my interest. I guess I was just way too sensitive for college and all the goddamn people and phonies and problems it brought. Empty, that's what it felt. And really, who'd waste their time having headaches because of college? The choice's obvious here.
So nowadays, I usually spend my time reading The Catcher in the Rye because Holden Caulfield is my goddamn cosmic brother, y'know? I can feel it. I can feel his lonely presence in my veins. We understand each other.
Holden and I don't share one fragment of existence, though – he never found his way out. But me? I'm going to. For him.
Right now, he's telling me something, he's telling me that I have to change the world.
It was cold that night as I was standing beside The Dakota building and the pond beside it. In my hand was one of my copies of Catcher, and on the other was my heavy, metallic gun - a gun filled with five hollow point bullets.
I was looking around for signs of Lennon with a strong and lasting desire. I felt like a child. Suddenly, I something pecked on my right toe. I looked down. It was a tiny, yellow duckling. The poor thing probably came from the pond. I bent down and picked it up, determined to put it back where it belongs.
I was walking towards the pond with the duck on my hand when I heard a man and a woman silently chatting. It was John and Yoko! Unreluctantly, I put down the duck, promising myself I'd return to it later, and rushed to aim my gun at John.
I counted backwards.
I've always hated where I came from. I had absolutely no control over what ever happened to me, and I was always pushed around. At least, my imaginary friends never did any harm to me.
The world sucks ass.
Dear John, you suck. Look what you did to everyone… you have everything I don't.
No time was spared. From the police car, I could see the little duckling near the spot where I last placed him. The little animal still couldn't find his way back.
I may have not returned the duckling, but it just felt soooo good, shooting John Lennon and all. I felt complete. I felt like I finally got to where I wanted to go all my life. Heck, I was more powerful than the most powerful man!
I don't know why I did that, but deep inside, I'm free.
Don't reduce your identity to a mere word. Magnify it to be the spectrum of colors it was meant to be: unnameable and everlasting.