Letters from the Johnny’s pub – Sgt. Pepper



The first chapters of Stars of dust: A gift for you


The things I possess are all imaginary, but today I cannot even grasp one. It's just like when you break the clutch of your bike and you cannot change the gears. A day of boredom, I'm sitting in front of the television and I keep changing channels. I turn off the TV and turn on the radio. I tune in to a network that plays music for meditation. I remain in an absurd position with my legs pointed to the right and the rest of my body facing the opposite side. The effect music can have on the psyche and on the body is truly incredible. When the radio passes a piece of Tibetan bells followed by a shower of gongs, I feel vibrations that reverberate from the abdomen to the legs and all this makes me think of the electric shock.


– What music are you listening to?


Now, you will not believe me, but I have never seen the guy in front of me before, at least not in a concrete form, and yet, as soon as I feel his presence, I recognize him.


– Uh, you’re Heaven sent...

– Leave Heaven alone, I just went to have a beer...

– Sergeant, I see you’re a little tired...

– I am, indeed. Ah, may I have dull days...

– Why: how is your typical day?

– Well... I'm well aware of wearing a crown that's not mine. I'm a wooden head... yes, I'm just a picture without a face, or better: I have so many faces to carry around. Sometimes I feel like a monster with many heads, other times I realize I'm just a pseudonym...

– It's like this for all the fictional characters, after all it's your job. You have widened the horizons of millions of people and everyone has understood that, in life, going a little beyond their limits is not a problem, especially if then things like this are born.

– You're very kind, Johnny...

– You are the musical transposition of Heaven on Earth...

– They told me you were too complisant...

– No, I mean, yes... maybe I am, but certainly not in this case...

– What can I say? Thank you!

– You're a fabulous creation...

– Oh, I'm just a lonely heart...

– We are all solitary hearts...

– I just went over to have a beer, Johnny...

– Uh... of course... Johnny? – I say to Johnny B. Strong – Two red ales at the table.

– They’re on their way, Johnny... – he answers.


He drinks. He sips. He wipes his lips: – It's very good, Johnny.


– Thank you.

– What music were you listening to?

– Oh, nothing, just tunes for meditation...

– I liked them.

– Do you like that stuff?

– I know why you're doing that face...

– They're just rough sounds, bells, sound waves... there's no melody, no plot...

– Everything that makes your body vibrate and captures your mind makes sense. Even a dissonant sound can make you fly away.

– I do not want to fly away...

– And why?

– I'm scared.

– To move away, it leads to understand what is good for you and what is not. Once you've done these things, you need to get moving and it's this thing that scares you. Do you know what I mean?

– ...we were talking about music, what do all these theories have to do with it now? And then…

– We are actually still talking about music, but you are so lacking of reception that you do not perceive it. Do you like living easy, Johnny?

– I…

– You don’t understand my message: the limits of objective reality opposed to the knowledge of the world through the extension of the senses. In those times this was due to the use of drugs, but also to important alternative disciplines such as meditation. If you want it, it's still a thing, in the end...

– I do not feel well, I have to get some air, maybe I drank too much...

– It's the discomfort, Johnny, that's what I was talking about.

– So even this place is a mistake?

– This place is your temple, Johnny, the safe harbour where you take refuge, but it must not stop you from moving and going. You can come back whenever you want.

– Do you mean, are you moving away from me?

– No Johnny, I'm approaching you.

– To what?

– To the real Johnny.


I really cannot understand, at least not now, but knowing that there is a "real Johnny" around, it makes me feel better and helps me to understand how much time I have lost. Because the point is just this: the poorly spent time does not come back.

The real Johnny is waiting for me somewhere in life, and even if I have never seen his face, I already know that when I meet him, I will recognize him, with no doubt about his identity.




  1. Introduction
  2. Pete Townshend
  3. Keith Richards
  4. John Lee Hooker
  5. Janis Joplin
  6. Chuck Berry
  7. Patti Smith
  8. Syd Barret
  9. Debbie Harry
  10. Cheeta
  11. Mick Jagger
  12. Keith Richards, James Brown, John Belushi
  13. Stuart Sutcliffe
  14. Keith Richards 2
  15. Sgt. Pepper
  16. The diabetic guitarist
  17. Bob Marley
  18. Queen
  19. The quick tempered guitarist


Are we really free or are we prisoners of ourselves? Reading the reflections of Omar Mumba, the protagonist of this story, we live recluse in our mental restrictions and we stay this way for much of our existence, learning to move in the narrow spaces of those same bars.
In every type of system, there proliferate contradictions that become traditions to be respected. The society in which we live has applied the norm that says we can be happy, even if the others are not: all you have to do is not to be among those others.
It is a simple equation, basically, yet Omar does not seem to learn. It keeps a singular pastime, if we can call it so: keeping inside a big envelope, all the letters coming from those structures and associations present in forgotten places, where every need is absolute. He reads them continuously, even when he is in the hotel where he works and for this reason, he is mocked by colleagues and superiors. The attitude towards the neighbour in difficulty makes him intransigent, but above all leaves him alone. His days pass between listening to U2 music and household chores, work and a recurrent accusation: who gets his boss’ flat tyre?