Friday, November 18, 2011

What are you doing? You lay on that couch all day.
Those pajamas are like your uniform.
You run up a four-hundred dollar phone bill.
You watch TV. You chain-smoke.
You don't go outside. You don't do anything.
Man, you are in the bell jar.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

"It is mostly with your blood, Gala, that I paint my pictures.
He kissed her without enjoying it. He knew that there was passion there, but there was no shadow of it in her eyes or on her mouth; there was a faint spray of champagne on her breath. She clung nearer desperately and once more he kissed her and was chilled by the innocence of her kiss, by the glance that at the moment of contact looked beyond him out into the darkness of the night, the darkness of the world.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

One night, he was sobbing. “Don’t leave me alone. Don’t die on me.” “But, John, I’m older than you, so it’s natural that I go first.” “No, you can’t. You just can’t.” But another day, he said very calmly, “If you died, I’m going to make a soup out of you, and drink it. We will finally be one body then.” He seemed to be inspired by that idea and said it to people who were working for us. “You know, if Yoko died, I’m going to make a soup out of her, and drink it…” They all looked stone-faced, as if he didn’t say anything unusual. John sounded like a little boy when he was saying that. A little boy who thought of a great idea.

-An excerpt from John’s Last Days: A Remembrance by Yoko Ono


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