That Voice

This is a day that has resonated with me and millions of other people for a very long time. John's birthday. I memorized all the Beatle birthdays: John, October 9, Paul, June 18, George, February 25, and Ringo, July 7. A way of holding them, caring for them. Love.

I never screamed over The Beatles. Sally Draper and I finally parted ways two weeks ago when Don told her he was taking her to see them and she screamed. Oh, she's not really serious about them, I thought. She doesn't really see.

All the boys I knew loved John. For me he was a late love, but present and permanent. It is hard to listen to his voice without feeling soul-flensed; he isn't a daily diet, and never background music. His voice, keen and rough both, became more and more unnerving as he aged and went deeper. He graduated from sly clever brilliance and a solid bullshit detector to true tenderness and wisdom. Who holds a feeling better in a note than John Lennon?

He named so many feelings, for so many people.

Still no screams, but he sure makes me cry. A lot more often than October 9.

Here he is, naming pain and doing a bit of screaming himself.