conspiracies–I never thought about them on the grey November—in the backyard with a football—“the president’s been shot”—it never occurred until Rolling Stone started blowing on their trumpet—or maybe news of Garrison—as time passed I began to feel the enormity of the wounds of those killings—then, late nights alone, reading the lore—a quickening of all the senses—life—ah yes—and it made as much sense as the tale of a lone gunman—sympathy & identification with Oswald—not as a killer but as a young lost soul—then feeling the truth was being revealed—as waves of contradiction pursued across the airwaves—lines of print arranged to re-confuse? And explanations for the explanations: the theories soothe, help us deal with the mysterious uncontrollable forces—but the truth mattered & I know a little about that—the sense of truth seems to get stronger as I get older tho’ that may be an illusion—see? you will always struggle with these tales—making sense of evil is a tricky business—and now absurd theories of Clinton sex cults & murders—explain what?—Obama birth in Kenya explains…the theorist’s anxieties—away—a glimpse behind the veil—the curtain that dropped a long time ago—Jon said “watch who keeps winning no matter what.”
When I was a kid John Lennon was one of my biggest heros. At 16 years old I read the Rolling Stone interview, and JL said something like ‘I’m the kind of person, when I have a hero, if I find out they wear green socks, I’ll run out and buy green socks’ and I immediately started to wear green socks myself. Wore ’em for years. I know that’s fucked up.
