The story teller addresses the crowd. We are all One -- part of each other, something just happened to one of us, gonna kick us all in the butt.’ Notice the story teller identifies as I, me, and we – so could be anybody or many buddies. And this line – will be back.

The portico of the Dakota is a brick tunnel 20 feet high, more than 30 feet long. 5 gunshots in that enclosed space? Shattering glass echoing off of everywhere! Scares the shit out of everybody!

They run like hell – squealing in fear -- scatter through the dark, through parked cars; into traffic: to get away, just get away! Like pigs from a gun. From Lennon’s view, in shock, lying upside-down – their coats flapping around ‘em as they jump over anything and everything to get the hell out of there – well – see how they fly!

Yeah. Lennon is bleeding out. Thru the haze he sees those groupies’ terrorized escape. He tries to get up, but he can’t move – At. All.

This guy was crazy, right? – flaky. He shoots Lennon, puts down his gun, pulls a paperback out of his pocket and starts reading, waiting for the cops to come get him! When they arrived, they arrested him, called the paddy wagon. So Chapman waited twice.

In New York City police had two types of paddy wagons. Big one, manufactured by International, looks like a school bus, except for the stuff written on the side, cages in the windows.

The smaller one that came for Chapman was literally a van, a Ford 8-passenger van -- sky blue body, white roof with a rack of revolving lights. So Shotton’s change, man to van, didn’t just make it clear – it’s an exact description of what happened! Chapman waited for the van to come! Book was Catcher in the Rye, and it matters, but more later.

People ask me all the time, what got me looking? A picture in the paper.

Every time I’d sit down to play I Am the Walrus, this picture popped into my head. See the logos? Chest and shoulder? This guy is wearing a corporation t-shirt.

This is how the world got to know Mark David Chapman, from the New York Times, first edition after the guy in the corporate t-shirt shot John Lennon. I got this copy right next to the Dakota, that morning. Because I’d heard. And me and a whole lot of other people went down there – were drawn down there.

I’ve heard estimates of more than 10,000 – before daylight. I just found out James Patterson, the writer, was drawn down there, too – And I promise you, line 2 ½ of verse two was standing there with the rest of us, we even know his name:

Which was initially a problem, cause Lennon was shot late Monday night. Other people have noted that Greenwich time, where Lennon wrote Walrus, 13 years later when he was shot, it was already Tuesday when that gunfire echoed through the portico.

Taken all together, the eyes of humanity—100% of us except for less than say 50 people in mid-town Manhattan--heard of John Lennon’s death on a stupid bloody Tuesday; and like the Kennedy assassination or 9/11, or Sandy Hook -- a lot of us remember where we were and what we were doing when we heard. This was heard around the world.

Again, from public record: In Hawai’i, before he came to New York, Chapman was diagnosed as manic depressive. He let his face grow long.

He’d lost his job and was living off his girl friend – I don’t think he was happy about that.

That thought came to me after I recovered from what was, for me, one of the biggest, almost debilitating shocks I’ve experienced from these Walrus revelations -- so far:

The logos that make it a corporation t-shirt belong to the Atlanta YMCA. I have a history with the Atlanta YMCA. Obviously, Chapman, does too.

I didn’t know he grew up a few miles from where I grew up, just outside Atlanta. In interviews he has talks about his time as a counselor. I was a counselor, too. When school was in, on weekends, I was a riflery instructor for the Y, a class for 7 to 9 year-old boys.

Chapman would have been 7 years old – while I was there. But that was more than 60 years ago. The records are long gone. I kinda remember a couple of the kids, but no names. I don’t know if Chapman was one of them, but it can still stop me dead in my tracks when it flashes through my head I might have taught John Lennon’s murderer how to shoot.

Anyway, around there, back then, you didn’t grow up to live off your girlfriend.

There’s more -- at his trial Chapman admitted he was guilty, but he said – and this is a quote,“a ‘… voice told me to.’ … Do it, do it, do it,’ over and over again, ‘Do it, do it, do it,’ like that.” He called it the voice of the Higher Power – the court doctor called it paranoid schizophrenia.

Now please, pardon my opinion here – regard it as nothing more. To me that’s not a good enough reason to shoot anybody.

Humpty Dumpty. Lennon said so. Multiple interviews. I agree. At least for now.

Far as I know nobody has recorded Lennon’s idea of who this ‘they’ are. I have an answer: smile -- here we are – you and me -- some part of humanity. Fans. The watchers. We are all together – watching this walrus character.

Not me you understand. It’s the headliner from Lewis Carroll’s poem The Walrus & the Carpenter.

Baby talk – to calm the kiddies.

In 1967, Lennon lived in London. He hadn’t moved in with Yoko yet. Nobody was talking about living in New York, or leaving England, or anything like that. But here we have Mr. City Policemen. In London, back then, nobody called the cops policemen – they were ‘bobbies’. I hear that’s changed, but this story is about city cops.

New York city cops.

From the backseat, Lennon would only have seen Gamble and Moran in the front seat, sitting in a row! With the back of the seat in between, he could only see a little of them -- this much -- from the ears up, (gesture) Little policeman – sitting in a row.

Lennon might have thought they were pretty because they were doing everything they could to save his life.

Pretty. Little. NYCity policemen. Sitting in a row. Exactly what they were! Exactly like it happened.

Okay. "See how they fly"? They’re screaming up 9th Avenue at – who knows – 70 miles per hour – Police cruisers in New York City have four different colors of revolving lights: red, blue, yellow and white, if white’s a ‘color.’

Lying in the backseat, out the window Lennon could only see half the buildings – the middle half – doing the wa-wa-tusi – jukin’ back and forth -- morphing, multi-colored – dancing in the revolving lights of the squad car flying past fast.

is Lucy In the Sky with Diamonds – Beatles song about acid trips on the Sgt Pepper album out earlier that same year.

When Lennon talked about Walrus being nonsensical, he said parts of it were written during two different acid trips so he wasn’t even using the same delusions. Did this delusion -- buildings dancing in the night – remind Lennon of tripping? Yuh think?

60, 70 miles per hour in mid-town Manhattan – those cops were on the run to save John Lennon’s life! (a finger for each time)

Lying in the backseat, Lennon realizes uh oh! Something is terribly wrong. The distractions fade.

Uh oh, it’s me. I’m hurt.

Uh oh, I’m really hurt.

Oh no – I’m hurt to death.

In interviews, Lennon said that first image comes from a nursery rhyme he learned as a kid that doesn’t make sense and that’s why he picked it. I don’t agree – but I need to share a couple of things before I say why.

Some time ago, I had a pretty spectacular motorcycle accident. The particulars don’t matter, but at one point -- there was this instant I realized I was dead -- nothing I could do -- before I could blink or take a breath – smashed to pieces!

In that 100th of a second -- two things happened:

One -- deep in my gut -- I mean my very center -- a huge like electrical shock exploded in me and shot through every molecule in my body and my body JERKED. I had nothing to do with it.

It jerked so hard it pulled me sideways to the right. I can still see that lady’s face – freaked out, frozen – as her car blew right over where I was. I coulda touched her cheek -- it woulda ripped my arm off.

My bike crashed up under the stopped car that started all the trouble; I bounced off the hood and landed right in front of the bumper, staring at the headlight. At that point, I was glad it stopped.

The other thing: my life flashed before my eyes. That’s when I learned it wasn’t like a movie. For me anyway, it was still shots. From my childhood mostly, frozen in time. I saw somewhere between 50 and 100 stills of me all at once -- and I was confused or scared or ashamed and I didn’t know why, but it was MY FAULT And to save myself, my unconscious froze everything – as it was happening -- and buried it -- half seen, half felt – deep in some corner of my gut where I never go. But it can’t be left there unresolved – that instant I knew I was dead, it flooded over me. All of it.

I had a near death experience.

Lennon was like a lot of us crazy humans. He talked about his struggles a lot. Sometimes he thought he was more famous than Jesus, but mostly he thought he was a pretty shitty person.

He didn’t like the way he looked, acted – he grew up without a father figure. He had a large, ingrown feminine side he felt icky about – but occasionally it was in control.

For a while at the Dakota he referred to himself maybe tongue-in-cheek as a stay-at-home mom.

So now, in the back of that New York City squad car, Lennon has a Near Death Exp that doesn’t stop.

Lennon, just a kid, finding his dog he let out by mistake, in a ditch, run over, head smashed to pieces like a broken egg – dead.

Lennon made up the word crabalocker. He said it was part of the nonsense and on-line babble agrees. I don’t think it’s nonsense. I think it’s really visual. He sees a moment where he’s hurting someone he really loves, it’s his fault because he behaved wrong and couldn’t help it.

This festering memory pops out of the trove of hidden moments, and his mind’s eye – that dead dog’s eye -- stares at himself, a crabalocker fishwife – a shrewish, scary hag screaming at somebody he really loves. Hurting them. Making them cry. John! Stop! It’s in the Past – nothing you can do – let it go!

So what does an incredibly rich celebrity, an icon universally adored by everyone in the world, an idolized rock ‘n’ roll superstar anybody and everybody would do anything for—instantly without thinking – including probably me – what did he do – to who? -- that made him see himself as a pornographic priestess?

There are Scrubby Wallows on the internet that rate each Beatle’s behavior on tours – hanky panky – things like that. I was surprised I was surprised.

I don’t want to know what he did with who – so it’s your turn, if you wanna -- feel free. Fill in the blank. But please, for now – maybe for John’s sake -- not out loud.

Lennon sadly stares at himself – sitting – somewhere -- disheveled, listless, broken-hearted -- the Queen of Utter Regret -- and in spite of his manufactured coyness and lurid displays, no one wants to be his friend.

I have heard one of the joys of celebrity is standing there with your pants down – exposed -- overwhelmed by the size of a gathering crowd fascinated by your humiliation and despair.

As you may have noticed -- the last line here is very similar to verse two, The Perp. Comparing the two elevates and clarifies both – besides adding to the evidence against Nonsensical:

Chapman is the naughty boy who let his face grow long. Lennon, in his vulnerability and inadequacy is a naughty little girl without a daddy, caught misbehaving. He never grew out of it. That’s verse four.

Yeah, but wait. Humpty looks different. It’s Lennon up there on that wall looking like that Thinking Man sculpture.

Well! Us again. I forgot my suitcase, but I’m not gonna stay very long – Maybe we’re supposed to share his baggage -- heave our share of the load – something! -- so John can dodge some of the consequences, then he remembers—

Lennon is King Walrus of the Egg-men! Leading us youngsters down the beach. “There ain’t no mantra, no religion, nobody’s god is real. Come to me and my carpenter Yoko! We’ll build you a party you’ll never forget – and when it’s over, it’s over – no regret!

And then in the original mix, -- BLAMO! The party’s over. The whole dam song gets interrupted! Weird stuff. Sounds like a blitzkrieg. A electrical storm or sumthin’!

In music terminology, it’s called a musical interlude. Technically, it is a unique orchestral arrangement that rises in a constant and consistent wave, without melody or harmony, could even be improvisational, that climaxes in a terminal crescendo. Sounds kinda like the string section, tuning. I admit I am not the London Metropolitan Orchestra, but (does the LMO) Rummph!

It's an Intrusion--a change in the rhythm, sound, style, instruments – everything. Aha, critics said –more Nonsense. It was edited out in some remixed versions after that first release. But it was NOT nonsense! It’s a clear, precise musical statement that separated I Am the Walrus into two distinct parts that are still clear. We just finished part 1. Part two is different. It’s a morality play, a lesson to be learned. A Parable with Spiritual Implications. Part 1 is here to make sure we listen to Part 2.

The mood music suggests that son will bring light – a caressing warmth to the wayfaring Lennon. And Lennon is waiting for the sun -- for some reason.

Huh? Uh-oh. Things turn cloudy. The son doesn’t come. The weather turns miserable. It starts to rain, but the rain doesn’t cool you off. In fact, its so damn hot that you start baking like a brisket. Baking like a … Oh, stop! That doesn’t make sense!

Doesn’t seem to. Then again, the song’s not over yet. Lennon finds himself in an unfamiliar place -- really unpleasant. It’s raining – and the rain is so hot it burns your skin. Suddenly Lennon realizes he’s smack dab in front of the Gates of Hell, looking in. Hot, wet, miserable and scared to death. He was waiting for the Son, but the Son didn’t come for him. I think you know what that might mean, but first we’re supposed to lighten up – take a breath -- because the chorus, #3, intervenes.

Humpty again? Waiting for the sun? No, Alice would be a daughter. It’s still John – sometimes he’s only about himself

Yeah great. Here we are again. I mean, why? We don’t know – the Eggmen are always there, but we never do anything. Just watch and listen.

Lennon is Humpty Dumpty, the Eggman, again the walrus -- maybe he’s the carpenter, too. Putting up facades while he lures his little fansters. Just like in the poem. Don’t let him fool you. He’s not headed down the Primrose path.

Starring the denizens of hell, reliving their mortal sins over and over. "Expert, texpert"– it is a mortal sin to leverage your wisdom, experience, powerful position or knowledge – to glorify yourself at the cost of others, to lord it over innocents & especially children. "Choking smokers" – it is a mortal sin to corrupt, poison, pollute or destroy the temple you have been given to live in.

Need any more to know where we’re at? There’s Laughin’ Boy over there – the one all in red. That ain’t Santa Claus, suckuh! The nasty sneer,the pencil thin mustache, waving the pitchfork around like it’s a scepter. Laughing his ass off how stupid and self-destructive humans are – just to keep him in business. Yup, the Bossman from down south, and you don’t want him for a landlord.

Jeez, these people don’t look much different from the guys back at the Dakota.

Oh! – they’re all trapped. They can’t get out or run away.

Webster’s def. of ‘snide’: ‘mean low = as in a trick. Slyly disparaging.’

They’re mean … hateful. They’re not happy, but its almost like they like what they’re doing. Oh yeah. They’re stuck here. With each other. Ouch

Those two words again. No pretense here. Lennon is about broken: Help me, How’d I get here? Oh, God -- I can’t get away. I’m stuck here too.

This is another place smart guys say is more proof it’s all stupid – What is Semolina pilchard? The Eiffel Tower? Nothing is related – it can’t mean anything!

Well, here’s what I didn’t know: Pilchard is an occasional English surname -- but Semolina is a type of wheat that makes white bread, pasta -- the most common wheat and bread in the world. And pilchard has another meaning: It’s a tiny little fish -- schools in the hundreds – darting back and forth whoosh, woosh, like they only got one brain, one conscious-ness. They all turn at once! How do they do that?

I went to The United Kingdom's Sea Fish Industry Authority. Well, their website. Pilchards are senior sardines. Really. Sardines who found a way to grow old. And that might look like the Eiffel Tower, but it’s not.

Semolina Pilchard is Ms. Whitebread Everywoman -- one of a vast number -- who without pride, noise or notice, outgrown ego or position of power, lived a regular life, asked forgiveness and got a ticket on the Stairway to Heaven. I understand it looks a lot like the Eiffel Tower – until it disappears into the clouds. There she goes. So long, Ms. Pilchard. And all you affluent, influential and damned attractive people trapped below get to watch her rise. How does that feel, guys? Don’t you just love your pride and prejudice?

huh? No! That’s Sister Lizzie – the second grade schoolmarm at Trickem Elementary! Why is she singing Hare Krishna?

Because if you use a false façade of religion to control or frighten others, particularly children, for Heaven’s sake! And you don’t care about or even understand different religions – including the one you’re hiding in -- that’s another mortal sin – several actually -- and shame on you. Maybe you can get Lennon’s autograph – if he’s not too freaked to hold something to write with.

Edgar Allan – why him? What’d he do? I’ve read his horror stories – some poems.

So I looked into his personal life – holy cow! For instance: Lennon was born in England and lived for a significant part of his life in the US. Poe was the opposite – born here, stayed there.

-Neither knew his father.

-Both their mothers died while they were children.

-Both grew up in foster homes.

-Neither was ever adopted.

-Both were disproportionally influenced by the female adult, and knew it. And talked about it.

-Both were writers of fiction, poems and short stories in common

-Both were tremendously successful.

-Both were known around the world - Poe and Lennon were international superstars of their time.

-Poe popularized a new form of literature – this was before TV -- the horror story,

-Lennon popularized a new sound in music – Brit Pop Rock.

-Both abused drugs.

-There’s more, but this – absolute fact – both of their lives were brutally cut short -- both when they were 40 years old.

That’s a matter of public record.

(Announce!) “Mr. Lennon – The Joker gives you -- your soul mate!” Look what all that fame and money and smarts and scary stuff got him! Other than that, Mr. Lennon, are you enjoying the performance?

prideful, defiant – a greased slide downhill to the Joker’s party – and:

The ultimate fairness, all the Eggpersons, even though they are All One, One get’s to make their own choice. Don’t be scared, but consider with care – because it’s forever.

And falls over...

Mister, you did bad things because your girlfriend wanted you to! And you did ‘em real good. Sounds like John and Yoko to me. ‘Least what most of the Beatles thought.

...