I was reading Bob Dylan’s autobiography “Chronicles Vol. 1” & a part sparked me to think of how the world normalises falseness. He roughly said that the world often asks us to live out what is essentially ‘a lie’. Here are my thoughts that sprouted from that literary spark. They flowed very quickly, I might add – so I assume they must have been percolating quietly for a while prior to writing (or should I say ‘keyboard placking’?).
I felt very old at the beginning of my life & this didn’t faze itself out until age 27. When I was young, I felt like an old man amongst babies. I just never felt “in the right place” through childhood. From about 30 I almost suddenly felt more and more child-like. Attempts to negate this failed miserably – If I tried to be “mature” I found life wouldn’t allow it. I could do well at work & be ignored for promotion. If I sounded rational in conversation, I was hated for it. If I acted “mature” to women they became uninterested romantically.
Then as I became over 37 no matter what I did, I could not curry favour with any “normal” person. I had grown tired of the “lose-lose” realities of being or trying to be just like everyone else. By age 40 I had realized the ‘not fitting in’ problem was in fact most likely to just be life itself as a human being in modern times.
I realized at this point in Homo Sapien’s low level of spiritual awareness, the point is to systemically not allow for any individual to feel comfortable. Under our terrible system of existing – you are supposed to feel uncomfortable. The world has an invisible arm guiding you to live life as some kind of ‘living lie’. You pretend that you are on top of your life – both its emotional & practical hemispheres – and you trot this line out in social gatherings.
The truth that this whole thing (from my Westerner viewpoint at least) is a system to create a total farce is a sacrilegious thing you can’t say 99% of the population. The ‘World’ has its Game, it forces you to be born into it, it hides the rules from you – & your happiness means it loses the ‘Game’.
I found the key to survival is to be happy to be an outsider. You have to see the people who are propping up this wilful insane asylum as some kind of spectres to be avoided in confidant yet non-violent fashion. This for me has thus allowed a mostly solitary a world of personal interests, books music art and when I’m really lucky – honest insightful interesting conversations with those who are my spiritual kin.
The ‘World’ doesn’t like such behaviour & cannot handle itself being rejected. The ‘World’ will send its evil angels to hold you to task & to renounce your hermit like refusal to engage & embrace its false premises. The more and more you find solace and success in rejecting the “World” the more spiteful its ‘evil angels’ are.
I guess at that point we are supposed to follow Christs maxim – ‘resist not evil’, ‘turn the other cheek’ etc, but I must admit to thinking I can cut these demons off entirely. This is probably because I still have much to learn about the World & it’s dark ways.
I have learnt at least one thing for sure from my life: Survival, Decency, Health & Sanity is the highest ‘Success’ you can have – & you have to follow the path less taken to achieve it. I am also pretty sure you wife/husband/friends won’t ever do this for you – more likely they will be the fog covering the winding ice laden road to the town your supposed to live in.
I think you have to get used to your own company & deeper thoughts to reach a breakthrough in how to deal with ‘the world’. If you can’t ever get 1 minute away from the hordes of unwitting & witting demons that constantly surround us – you’ll never find the salvation your spirit needs.
The trick is to not listen to that voice in your head that chastises you for being unsociable, an outsider, a loser, a snob, annoying or just plain ‘bad’ for disobeying the ‘Worlds’ crazy, stress filled, unfulfillable-by design diktats.
You have to keep believing your contrariness is definitely the right track – I think a sign of this is your former materialist ways & bank balance worries shrink out of the range of your mental radar.
In closing, even the best ‘world avoider’ must admit to my following lines I will describe as realpolitik poetic truism. – that is simply a paraphrase of Bob Dylan’s famous “you can please some of the people, some of the time…” lyrical quip:
You can avoid some of the people some of the time – you can avoid all of the people some of the time – but you can’t avoid all of the people all of the time.
– Essay by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com
Welcome to The Baby Wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Inc. Podcast, a creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. In this episodeI read a New Poemwhich emanated from the desire to watch Peter Jackson’s new Beatles Documentary where he released an elongated film on the making of the Beatles “Let It Be” album – called “Get Back”. It is a great doco, and I highly recommend it, especially if you create music as I am also trying to do.
In the documentary footage it often shows big Mal Evans who was a helper and friend of the Beatles. Mal was the one who belted the hammer on the anvil on “Maxwells Silver Hammer” a song they practice on the “Let It Be” sessions but was released on the Abbey Road Lp. The footage of Mal on The Anvil is there on Get Back.
He seemed interesting so I looked up his story and I transcribed the highlights and added some artistic flair and asked a few open questions. I find it interesting to look into the making of albums, as there is usually a rich tapestry of stories and occurrences to interest the mind. Mal’s story was sad and I thought that he got a rough deal on the face of it.
I think Mal Evans was simply “too nice” for such a tough environment and it in that high pressure insane world that surrounded the Beatles, I wonder if niceness helped him much. As the old Christian adage goes, being kind without also being wise is folly – but then who is wise AND young? Is it possible to be wise without life experience? . Is this simply not why the young need great leaders?
I being only 43 of course only stated listening to the Beatles around 1995 when they released the anthology album and documentaries; but I got into the Beatles mostly in my Uni years and shortly after. My interest had waned since being over 30 but the Peter Jackson documentary has piqued my interest again and thus helped create this poem. I thought it would be more interesting to write about Mal, and his Beatles time and then his tragic early death vs say John’s – which of course we already all know.
The question of what would Mal’s life have been like if he’d never met the Beatles is an interesting one – would he still be here and would he be happy? Also, how many of us are in Mal’s situation – i.e. seemingly in paradise or in the Lap of luxury and success but hurtling towards disaster? These are interesting questions that are hard if not impossible to answer and I think this is because in life we are usually wading blindfolded through in the fog of some undeclared war. Only when the war is over, the blindfold lifts and we can look back on the battle scene and our accompanying battle scars. Perhaps we are like Mal in many ways, and not less so with this bizarre socio cultural – pandemic flux we have been injected into.
But why is it we never learn from history? Is it because the ones that do know History’s pitfalls and cavernous abysses are to cowardly of ineffectual to stop it? Is it also because the intellectually blind populace simply swallow the hogwash offered up by the latest shady populist politician or technocrat? To me the answer is a resounding YES!
And so, I will now read the Poem.
“Big Mal Evans – The Beatles Runaround “
Poem by Martin . A . Smith
Big Mal Was Big 6 ft 6 And Wide As A House.
He Met The Beatles in ’62 & Bounced At the Cavern.
He Became A Roadie – Settin’ Up the Amps and Mics.
But His Real Job Was A Fab Four’s Personal Runaround.
Lennon Said: “Mal Socks”, And It Was Done.
Ringo Said: “Mal Undies”, And They Appeared.
George Said “Earl Grey Tea Mal”, And So Be It.
Paul Said: “Beetroot Sandwich Mal”, And That It Be.
The Big Lad Had a Big Smile And Thick Glasses,
Only Triumphed By His Big Heart and Rounded Edges.
A Wife And Kid At Home And Only Paid 38 Pounds A Week!
While The Beatles Had Mansions, Steak Dinners And Soiree’s to Greece
“I’m Just Too Nice To Ask for A Raise, An Extra Nickle”, He Wrote.
His Dairy Scrawling’s, Would One Day Make Someone Rich.
He Even Helped Paul Write A Line Or Two – So They Say At Least.
And Paul Promised Mal A Royalty? Or Did He? Or Did He Not?
Was Big Mal Too Nice Or Were The Fab 4 to Mean?
A Bit Of Column A, A Bit Of Column B?
In ’70, When Beatles Broke, Mal Became Broke In Another Way
Come ’75 He Was Financially and Emotionally Spent.
The Post-Beatle Industry, Was Far Too Tough For Big Kind Mal.
And While He Slumbered Around Trying To Forget,
His Sufferin’ Wife Lil Finally Left Through the Kitchen Window.
Down And Out, And Clutching The Last Straw,
He Scuppered to California And Rented A Dingey Room.
But It Was All Too Much For Big Friendly Mal,
And He Did What He Knew & He Hit The Bottle To Cope.
The Apple Corp Boss Called And Sensed He Needed Help.
But Alas No! Mal Said He ‘Wouldn’t Come Out Tonight’.
But Tomorrow 1PM For Lunch?, ” Yes I’ll Be There!” Said Mal.
And He Kept Drinkin’ & Drinkin’ & Taking What God Only Knows.
Drunk, Down And Doped He Played Inside With His BB Gun.
Cops Were Called And Thence They Did Come.
But the Airgun And Bourbon He didn’t Put Down.
“Just Let Me Be, It’s My…My…Mine!” He Did Scream.
And Together, The Cops Shot a Volley of Blamity Blam’s.
Of The 6 That Were Fired , So 4 did land.
Big Mal Now Harpooned, Did Slowly Sink Downwards.
Bottles Rattled And Floorboards Flew.
The Air Gun Clacked On The Ground Harmlessly,
Having Finally Left His Iron Clad Grip.
Medics Arrived And Then Counted Him Out Of The Game, aged Only 41.
But I Ask – Was His Death Really By His Own Misadventure?
Or Was It The Cops fault?
Or Do The Beatles Have Some Skin In The Game?
The Funeral Came And Went, But The Beatles Didn’t Go.
Just A Couple of Big Pips from The Apple Corps Did So.
He Was Cremated And Then His Ashes Posted.
Those Royal Mail Dopes Lost The Parcel, And So Beatle John Did Quip:
“Didn’t They Check The ‘Dead Letters Office’?”
But Now That The Death Was Done, What Doth The Judgement Be?
Your Honor, It’s Clearly 909th Degree Homicide & Now I Will Close My Case.
This Is The Ballad Of Big Mal Evans.
Just A Gentle Guy With a Giant Roar.
The Fluffy Monster The Beatles Needed.
A Constant Presence On Their Studio Floor.
Loved More Than They Dare Let On,
Far Far Too Big to Ignore, But Eventually He Was.
Was Big Mal Evans Maybe The “Unluckiest Lucky Man Alive”?
So “Unlucky” That He Was Actually Now Dead?
Drunk With A Pop-Gun & Shot Dead By The Cops.
And God Help Him, He Was Then Lost In The Post!
Yes, Mal Was Scrooged By The Fab Four and Apple,
But Don’t Blame His Demise On George Paul Ringo Or John,
All They Did Was Answer The Knock On “The Cavern’s” Door.
But I wonder – Would Mal Still Be Alive If They Had Doubled His Wage?
And Paid Him A Lousy 76 Pounds A Week?
Alas, As Ringo Supposedly Said: “Tomorrow Never Knows”.
And We Silly ‘Beatles Fans’ Will Never Know.
And In Closing, May I Ask a Final Question,
And Can I Pose A Final Thought?
Is Money The Root Of All Evil?
Or Is It The Lack Of It, That Is Evil?
Mal Evan’s Life, Or Should I say Life and Death,
Is Surely A Living Allegory, Of That Old Conundrum.
Thank you for listening to the Baby wants Its Bottle Philosophy & Poetry Podcast, A creative project by Martin Anton Smith, a NZ based creative. This podcast is available on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts from.
Anton Martin Smith Writer 