i am the walrus

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“I Am The Walrus”

As anyone who engages in anything creative knows: some days you’re on and others you’re not. Anytime I am about to illustrate one of the Beatles more popular songs I feel immense pressure to get it right. Luckily, the art gods were with me during the days of working on this piece and I felt most definitely “on”. Not only do I love Salvador Dalí, the song fit perfectly with his style. I could both pay tribute to him and (hopefully) do the song justice. I included a bit of process here as well. Up top is the initial sketch, followed by a snapshot in the middle of the painting, with the finished piece at the bottom.

magical mystery tour explained
  • magical mystery tour: roll up (a joint this is an experience)
  • fool on the hill: the harmonies have moved from voices to recorders? i guess that's where the beatles are going now
  • flying: :/
  • blue jay way:
  • your mother should know: paul writes another song about moms
  • i am the walrus: incoherent lyrics sung beautifully to amazing orchestration. thank you john and george martin
  • hello goodbye: paul says goodbye, faul says hello
  • strawberry fields: incoherent lyrics sung beautifully to amazing orchestration. thank you john and george martin
  • penny lane: a four of bach trumpet and vaginas
  • baby you're a rich man: someone pressed record when john was looking in a mirror
  • all you need is love: the beatles sing a song and then they get bored at the end so they sing other songs
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The true story of why John Lennon nicknamed Eric Burdon ‘The Eggman’

It may have been one of my more dubious distinctions, but I was the Eggman - or, as some of my pals called me, ‘Eggs’.The nickname stuck after a wild experience I’d had at the time with a Jamaican girlfriend called Sylvia. I was up early one morning cooking breakfast, naked except for my socks, and she slid up beside me and slipped an amyl nitrate capsule under my nose. As the fumes set my brain alight and I slid to the kitchen floor, she reached to the counter and grabbed an egg, which she cracked into the pit of my belly. The white and yellow of the egg ran down my naked front and Sylvia slipped my egg-bathed cock into her mouth and began to show me one Jamaican trick after another. I shared the story with John at a party at a Mayfair flat one night with a handful of blondes and a little Asian girl.“Go on, go get it, Eggman,” Lennon laughed over the little round glasses perched on the end of his hook-like nose as we tried the all-too-willing girls on for size.” -Eric Burdon 2002

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