Something about this sparked this:
Did John-John ever really exist?
From the little boy saluting his father’s coffin to the dashing young man on the cover of George, I never saw him outside the image.
Is it possible that we created this young man out of our hopes and fears, our dreams, our longing for the promises unkept by his martyred father?
But there is hope for the future.
There is a new vision with a grin.
While I wish death to no one, if Elizabeth Edwards is killed by that postmodern monster consuming her breasts, then this latest incarnation of Saviour John will have a new personal tragedy to propel him back into the spotlight, to seize the bloody mantle left by all those liberal dreams dashed at the end of the 1960’s.