Edited Words: 152,263
Articles: 180
Poems: 52
Videos: 25
Images: 10
|
January 10, 2006LiverpudliansThe following dialog is all in Liverpudlian. It's inspired by a conversation that my friend Matthew and I had in San Francisco. I don't know how funny it will be without the accents and acting. The idea is that John Lennon starts doing beatnik poetry.
John: Hello Paul. John: Yeah, a tree, in a pot, by a car, in the lot. We're stuck here, in concrete land, a concrete band. Where's the California sand? Just tall buildings and no grass; there's no class; also got to watch me ass. I want fame; that's my game; in the big city; have some pity. There's bums on streets; that's not what beats — my drum: I want bums on seats. We came too late; wrong date, wrong year. I want chicks who dig my gig, my band, they'll sit or they'll stand. It should all be planned. We all live in a yellow submarine with a fat walrus named Lucy, Lucy Love, or was it Penny, Penny Lane? What a shame, what she became: A traffic warden; but still my helpful friend. Don't know what I'm saying; must be playing in my head. Nuff said.
Paul: You alright John?
|
Font:
S
M
L
Receive by email:
|
Designed by Duncan Riach | Site Map | Copyright © 2006 Duncan Riach. All rights reserved. |
"I think you're brilliant. I loved your piece. I look forward to reading whatever you send. You probably have no idea how many people support you, love you ... and look forward to hearing from you." — Annie