The Machine and The Rock

THE MACHINE :

You don't own me!

You don't own me!

Nobody does! 

I want my respect. 

THE ROCK :

Well, come and get it. 

Come on, Tommy. 

I loved you, man! 

You know that? 

You and me, we were supposed to be like •this•, Tommy. 

You BLEW it! You...

Q : 

Do you still hang out with your former protégé Mark Millar at all? 

A : 

No.

Q : 

Is that an estranged situation?

A : 

It’s a can of worms. I met Mark when he was 18, and I really got on with him, because he laughed at all my jokes. He has the same sense of humor as me, he’s very dark, and has that sense of humor, so we bonded. 

I used to phone him every day, and we ended up doing some work together on 2000 AD, which went well. 

It was funny stuff, we’d meet in the pub and get drunk and do this Big Dave strip, which was a comedy strip, and obviously, he was trying to get into American comics, so I got him on in Swamp Thing, and they asked me to write the book but I said, “Let’s get Mark in, let’s give him a job,” so I consulted with him on the stories, and so on through the Nineties.

When he got The Authority book, his star started to rise, and at that point, he felt he was in my shadow and he had to get out, and the way to get out was to do this fairly uncool split. 

It was quite hard, I felt, but he had to make his own way, and he was in denial that I’d been there, because I saw a lot of his work had been plotted or devised, even dialogue suggestions were done by me right up until the point of The Ultimates. 

It was seen by him as a dimunition of his position, even though it wasn’t, I was quite proud of him as a mentor.

He’s done well without me, he has his own style, he does his own stuff. It was kind of that archetype, you get caught up in that story.

 

Q : 

You came out and acknowledged this, but that was after the estrangement?

A : 

Yeah. Before that, everyone in the business knew that I was working with him, it was obvious, I was 10 years older, I was already successful. His star rose, and that history became sidelined.

Q : 

He still lives in Glasgow, is there a chance of bumping into him?

A : 

There’s a very good chance of running into him, and I hope I’m going 100 miles an hour when it happens.

KHAN

Dear Mr. President.

First, I would like to introduce myself. I am Elvis Presley and admire you and have great respect for your office. 

I talked to Vice President Agnew in Palm Springs three weeks ago and expressed my concern for our country. The drug culture, the hippie elements, the SDS, Black Panthers, etc. do not consider me as their enemy or as they call it the establishment. 

I call it America and I love it. 

Sir, I can and will be of any service that I can to help the country out. I have no concern or motives other than helping the country out.

So I wish not to be given a title or an appointed position. I can and will do more good if I were made a Federal Agent at Large and I will help out by doing it my way through my communications with people of all ages. First and foremost, I am an entertainer, but all I need is the Federal credentials. I am on this plane with Senator George Murphy and we have been discussing the problems that our country is faced with.

Sir, I am staying at the Washington Hotel, Room 505-506-507. I have two men who work with me by the name of Jerry Schilling and Sonny West. I am registered under the name of Jon Burrows. I will be here for as long as long as it takes to get the credentials of a Federal Agent. I have done an in-depth study of drug abuse and Communist brainwashing techniques and I am right in the middle of the whole thing where I can and will do the most good.

I am Glad to help just so long as it is kept very private. You can have your staff or whomever call me anytime today, tonight, or tomorrow. I was nominated this coming year one of America's Ten Most Outstanding Young Men. That will be in January 18 in my home town of Memphis, Tennessee. I am sending you the short autobiography about myself so you can better understand this approach. I would love to meet you just to say hello if you're not too busy.

Respectfully,

Elvis Presley

P. S. I believe that you, Sir, were one of the Top Ten Outstanding Men of America also.

I have a personal gift for you which I would like to present to you and you can accept it or I will keep it for you until you can take it.

Mr. President

These are all my PVT numbers

Beverly Hills 278-3496

278-9535

Palm Spring’s

Pvt # 325-3241

Memphis

Pvt. # 397-4427

398-4882

398-9722

Col P.S. # 325-4781

Col B.H. # 274-8498

Col. Off M.E.M. 870-0370

WASHINGTON HOTEL PHONE ME  85900

                                                

Room 505-506

                                                

Under the name of Jon Burrows

WIMMIN

WIMMIN :

You're an instrument of a morally-bankrupt state and I deny your Authority.

HUNT :

I'll show you an instrument of The State if you don't answer!

WIMMIN :

Threats. First resort of The Fascist.

HUNT :

I'm finding out who murdered this man.

If that makes me a fascist then heil bloody Hitler.

Her Magical Kingdom Called Spain

Your Honors, I derive much consolation from the fact that my colleague, Mr. Baldwin, here, has argued the case in so able and so complete a manner as to leave me scarcely anything to say.

 

However, why are we here? How is it that a simple, plain property issue should now find itself so ennobled as to be argued before the Supreme Court of the United States of America? I mean, do we fear the lower courts, which found for us easily, somehow missed the truth? Is that it? Or is it, rather, our great and consuming fear of civil war that has allowed us to heap symbolism upon a simple case that never asked for it? And now would have us disregard truth, even as it stands before us, tall and proud as a mountain? The truth, in truth, has been driven from this case like a slave, flogged from court to court, wretched and destitute. And not by any great legal acumen on the part of the opposition, I might add, but through the long, powerful arm of the Executive Office.

Yea, this is no mere property case, gentlemen. I put it to you thus: This is the most important case ever to come before this court. Because what it, in fact, concerns is the very nature of man.

   Now, these are -- these are transcriptions of letters written between our Secretary of State, John Forsyth, and the Queen of Spain, Isabella the Second. Now, I ask that you accept their perusal as part of your deliberations.

Thank you, sir. [handing the transcriptions to the Clerk of the Supreme Court]

I would not touch on them now except to notice a curious phrase which is much repeated. The queen again and again refers to our incompetent courts. Now what, I wonder, would be more to her liking? Huh? A court that finds against the Africans? Well, I think not. And here is the fine point of it: What her majesty wants is a court that behaves just like her courts; the courts this 11-year-old child plays with in her magical kingdom called Spain; a court that will do what it is told, a court that can be toyed with like a doll; a court -- as it happens -- of which our own President, Martin Van Buren, would be most proud.

Thank you. [retrieving a document from Mr. Baldwin]

 

Now, this is a publication of the Office of the President. It's called the Executive Review, and I'm sure you all read it. At least I'm sure the President hopes you all read it. This is a recent issue, and there's an article in here written by a "keen mind of the South," who -- it's my former Vice President, John Calhoun, perhaps. Could it be? -- who asserts that:

There has never existed a civilized society in which one segment did not thrive upon the labor of another. As far back as one chooses to look -- to ancient times, to biblical times -- history bears this out. In Eden, where only two were created, even there one was pronounced subordinate to the other. Slavery has always been with us and is neither sinful nor immoral. Rather, as war and antagonism are the natural states of man, so, too, slavery, as natural as it is inevitable.

Now, gentlemen, I must say I differ with the keen minds of the South, and with our President, who apparently shares their views, offering that the natural state of mankind is instead -- and I know this is a controversial idea -- is freedom.

Is freedom.

And the proof is the length to which a man, woman, or child will go to regain it, once taken.

He will break loose his chains.

He will decimate his enemies.

He will try and try and try against all odds, against all prejudices, to get home.

Cinque, would you stand up, if you would, so everyone can see you.

 

This man is black. We can all see that. But can we also see as easily that which is equally true? That he is the only true hero in this room.

Now, if he were white, he wouldn't be standing before this court fighting for his life. If he were white and his enslavers were British, he wouldn't be able to stand, so heavy the weight of the medals and honors we would bestow upon him. Songs would be written about him. The great authors of our times would fill books about him. His story would be told and retold in our classrooms. Our children, because we would make sure of it, would know his name as well as they know Patrick Henry's.

   Yet, if the South is right, what are we to do with that embarrassing, annoying document, "The Declaration of Independence?" What of its conceits? "All men...created equal," "inalienable rights," "life," "liberty," and so on and so forth? What on earth are we to do with this?

 I have a modest suggestion....

     

The other night I was talking with my friend, Cinque. He was over at my place, and we were out in the greenhouse together. And he was explaining to me how when a member of the Mende -- that's his people -- how when a member of the Mende encounters a situation where there appears no hope at all, he invokes his ancestors. It's a tradition. See, the Mende believe that if one can summon the spirits of one's ancestors, then they have never left, and the wisdom and strength they fathered and inspired will come to his aid.

 

James Madison; Alexander Hamilton; Benjamin Franklin; Thomas Jefferson; George Washington; John Adams: We've long resisted asking you for guidance. Perhaps we have feared in doing so we might acknowledge that our individuality which we so, so revere is not entirely our own. Perhaps we've feared an -- an appeal to you might be taken for weakness. But we've come to understand, finally, that this is not so.

We understand now. We've been made to understand, and to embrace the understanding, that who we are -- is who we were.

 

We desperately need your strength and wisdom to triumph over our fears, our prejudices, our-selves. Give us the courage to do what is right. And if it means civil war, then let it come. And when it does, may it be, finally, the last battle of the American Revolution.

That's all I have to say.

PASSPORTS

They have every man in a straitjacket and without a passport he can’t move a toe.

But if you will allow me to finish…

If a free world they violate the natural rights of every citizen.

But you don’t let me fully…

They have become the weapons of political despots.

Yes but may I…

And if you don’t think as they think, you deprived of your passport.

But, will you allow me…

To leave a country is like breaking out of jail, and to enter a country is like going through an eye of a needle.

But…

Am I free to travel?

Of course, you are free to travel!

Only with a passport!

Will you allow me to say some…

Only with a passport!

Ba…

Do animals need passport?

Ae...ae. Are you finished?

It’s incorrigible that in this atomic age of speed we are shut in and shut out by passport.

Gandhi: 

I want to welcome you all.

 Every one of you.  

We have no secrets.

Let us begin by being clear about General Smuts' new law : 

All Indians must now be fingerprinted, like criminals, 

men and women.

No marriage, other than a Christian marriage, is considered valid. 

Under this Act, our wives and mothers are whores, 

and every man here is a bastard.

Kahn: 

He has become quite good at this.

 

Gandhi: 

And our Policemen, passing an Indian dwelling -- I will not call them homes -- may enter and demand the card of any Indian woman whose dwelling it is.

Understand, he does not have to stand at The Door.

He may enter.

Audience Member #1: 

I will not allow it.

Audience Member #2: 

I swear to Allah: I'll kill the man who offers that insult to my Home and my Wife. And, let them hang me.

 

Audience Member #3:

I say, talk means nothing! Kill a few officials before they disgrace one Indian woman! 

Then, they might think twice about such laws!

Audience Member #4: 

In that cause, I would be willing to die!!

Gandhi: 

I praise such courage. 

I need such courage because in this cause I, too, am prepared to die. 

But, my friend, there is no cause for which I am prepared to kill. 

Whatever they do to us, we will attack no one, kill no one, 

but we will not give our fingerprints -- not one of us.  

They will imprison us, and they will fine us. 

They will seize our possessions, but they cannot take away our self-respect if we do not give it to them.

Audience Member #5: 

Have you been to prison?! They beat us and torture us! I say that we should --

Gandhi: 

I am asking you to fight! 

To fight against their anger, not to provoke it.

We will not strike a blow, but we will receive them. 

And through our pain we will make them see their injustice, and it will hurt -- as all fighting hurts. 

But we cannot lose. We cannot. 

They may torture my body, break my bones, even kill me. 

Then, they will have my dead body -- not my obedience.

We are Hindu and Muslim, children of God, each one of us.

Let us take a solemn oath, in His name, that come what may we will not submit to this law.

WE ARE ALL PROSTITUTES

I was constantly beside the princess — morning, noon, and night. 

"Come on, we're going for a drive," said The Princess, one evening after dinner. We jumped into her She headed out down the backstreets of Bayswater and Queensway, and toward Paddington Green, near the railway station — Right. Left. Right. Left. Side street after side street. She knew The Shortcuts. 

“You don't need to do The Knowledge!" I joked, “You could take on any London cabbie." 

She smiled, the peak of her baseball cap shadowing her face. We arrived at a street corner. The Princess pulled over but kept the engine running. Then she dropped the electric window on my side. 

Two heavily made-up girls in short skirts had been talking to each other on the corner. When our car pulled over, they stopped, looked, caught my eye, and tottered over in their high heels. 

The Ladies of The Night were Working Their Corner. The larger maintained eye contact with me as I shuffled in my seat. She placed both hands on the roof of the car, bent down, and leaned in. 

“Hi, Princess Di. How are you?” she said, speaking across me. My head swiveled right and The Princess was leaning in toward me. 

She called The Girl by name and said, "I'm fine. Have you been busy?" 

The second, slimmer girl bent down to join in the conversation. "Nah, it's been quiet, but we'll stick around. Gotta work, Princess," she added.

Good God, I thought. The Princess knows them. 

“Who’s this, then?" said one, looking at the rather nervous character who was saying nothing. 

“This is Paul.”, she introduced me. We shook hands. It was all very formal.

The Boss reached into her pocket and got out two crisp £50 notes. 

“Girls, have The Night off. Go Home to your children," she said, "IJOOk, into two eager hands. The Princess asked about their stuffing the notes One had been coughing. Was he better? children. After a brief conversation, the larger woman patted the roof of the car, and the two were off lured away by a pair of braking headlights a hundred yards down the road. A load of good that £100 handout just did. What a waste, I thought. "This is absolutely You cannot afford to be here, Your Royal Highness," I said. "DI AND BUTLER CAUGHT KERR- CRAWLING" was the imaginary headline that had raised my voice by e-sMcken octave or two. "Oh, Paul," said the princess, as she pulled away, "lighten Those girls need help, and that's all I'm doinghelping them." The naiveté of her mission was astonishing, but her heart, as always, was in the right place. the princess had been faced with an avalanche, I think she would have tried to stop it. She wanted to help everyone. The sick. The poor. The homeless. The starving. AIDS sufferers. The infirm. Prostitutes. Drug addicts. Drunks. If it was up to her, and increasingly it seemed that it was, her mercy missions would have been endless. How he?§' dl333 of' duty didhear those earnest words: "I feel I can n o o w We returned to the PA ddingtcein 3218 $332 ? es in the summer and To st€frooIt*lltu996. IthNovember, we pulled over at the same street corner. vide thetrieand oldchildren at home was working Me streets to pro- The princessco even afford in coat on. such a cold night. this woman £100 other roadsidecounseling" sessions, had given coat the next 0\*% yourself a coat, and I want to see you in that I'm here," she said, almost motherly. Within a weeks, we saw the woman again looking a lot warmer--wearing dick waist-length black coat. In there was a floor-length fur coat that she had once One after e had accepted it graciously as a but she never wore fur. noon, I saw her leave KP with it tucked under her She returned home without it. She told me how she had been driving through Victoria when she spotted a Dumpster on the side of the mad.

The Success of Joy

" I guess probably, The ODDEST Thing  you would find is that, when I got involved in Film, I didn't know anything about Film, I just got involved in it, and I fell love with it -- I loved it, and I wanted to create Stories, and Do Things, and....

I never really had any INTENTION, really,  of becoming Successful, or Making Money, or doing anything other than Making Movies --

And so, ALL my decisions were about : Making My Movies -- Not becoming Successful.

I became Successful, primarily because I wanted to CONTROL The CONTENT of My Movies, and I DIDN'T want Other People to tell me How to Make My Movies or, sort of work very hard on Somebody Else's Message.

So, everything I DID, really, I DID in order to Gain Control Over My Work.

....but as a result of that, My Ideas about What Constituted a Good Movie, and The Messages that I wanted to send Out There became very popular, and so as a result, I became Very Successful.

But if I had gone down Another Road, and just done a Work for Hire, for another Studio.... I probably never would have been Successful -- if I had just Sold-Out, and.....

And there was points in My Life where, I was absolute broke, in debt -- offered HUNDREDS of Thousands of Dollars to work, for Hollywood --

I just -- refused to do it."

-- George Lucas.

The Spoon-Headed Man’s Burden

In Moulmein, in lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people--the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me. I was sub-divisional police officer of the town, and in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans. 

 All this was perplexing and upsetting. For at that time I had already made up my mind that Imperialism was an evil thing and the sooner I chucked up my job and got out of it the better. Theoretically--and secretly, of course--I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British. As for the job I was doing, I hated it more bitterly than I can perhaps make clear. In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters. The wretched prisoners huddling in the stinking cages of the lock-ups, the grey, cowed faces of the long-term convicts, the scarred buttocks of the men who had been Bogged with bamboos--all these oppressed me with an intolerable sense of guilt. But I could get nothing into perspective. I was young and ill-educated and I had had to think out my problems in the utter silence that is imposed on every Englishman in the East. I did not even know that the British Empire is dying, still less did I know that it is a great deal better than the younger empires that are going to supplant it. All I knew was that I was stuck between my hatred of the empire I served and my rage against the evil-spirited little beasts who tried to make my job impossible. With one part of my mind I thought of the British Raj as an unbreakable tyranny, as something clamped down, in saecula saeculorum, upon the will of prostrate peoples; with another part I thought that the greatest joy in the world would be to drive a bayonet into a Buddhist priest's guts. Feelings like these are the normal by-products of imperialism; ask any Anglo-Indian official, if you can catch him off duty. 

One day something happened which in a roundabout way was enlightening. It was a tiny incident in itself, but it gave me a better glimpse than I had had before of the real nature of imperialism--the real motives for which despotic governments act. Early one morning the sub-inspector at a police station the other end of the town rang me up on the phone and said that an elephant was ravaging the bazaar. Would I please come and do something about it? I did not know what I could do, but I wanted to see what was happening and I got on to a pony and started out. I took my rifle, an old .44 Winchester and much too small to kill an elephant, but I thought the noise might be useful in terrorem. Various Burmans stopped me on the way and told me about the elephant's doings. It was not, of course, a wild elephant, but a tame one which had gone "must." It had been chained up, as tame elephants always are when their attack of "must" is due, but on the previous night it had broken its chain and escaped. 

Its mahout, the only person who could manage it when it was in that state, had set out in pursuit, but had taken the wrong direction and was now twelve hours' journey away, and in the morning the elephant had suddenly reappeared in the town. The Burmese population had no weapons and were quite helpless against it. It had already destroyed somebody's bamboo hut, killed a cow and raided some fruit-stalls and devoured the stock; also it had met the municipal rubbish van and, when the driver jumped out and took to his heels, had turned the van over and inflicted violences upon it. 

The Burmese sub-inspector and some Indian constables were waiting for me in the quarter where the elephant had been seen. It was a very poor quarter, a labyrinth of squalid bamboo huts, thatched with palmleaf, winding all over a steep hillside. I remember that it was a cloudy, stuffy morning at the beginning of the rains. We began questioning the people as to where the elephant had gone and, as usual, failed to get any definite information. That is invariably the case in the East; a story always sounds clear enough at a distance, but the nearer you get to the scene of events the vaguer it becomes. Some of the people said that the elephant had gone in one direction, some said that he had gone in another, some professed not even to have heard of any elephant. I had almost made up my mind that the whole story was a pack of lies, when we heard yells a little distance away. There was a loud, scandalized cry of "Go away, child! Go away this instant!" and an old woman with a switch in her hand came round the corner of a hut, violently shooing away a crowd of naked children. Some more women followed, clicking their tongues and exclaiming; evidently there was something that the children ought not to have seen. I rounded the hut and saw a man's dead body sprawling in the mud. He was an Indian, a black Dravidian coolie, almost naked, and he could not have been dead many minutes. The people said that the elephant had come suddenly upon him round the corner of the hut, caught him with its trunk, put its foot on his back and ground him into the earth. This was the rainy season and the ground was soft, and his face had scored a trench a foot deep and a couple of yards long. He was lying on his belly with arms crucified and head sharply twisted to one side. His face was coated with mud, the eyes wide open, the teeth bared and grinning with an expression of unendurable agony. (Never tell me, by the way, that the dead look peaceful. Most of the corpses I have seen looked devilish.) The friction of the great beast's foot had stripped the skin from his back as neatly as one skins a rabbit. As soon as I saw the dead man I sent an orderly to a friend's house nearby to borrow an elephant rifle. I had already sent back the pony, not wanting it to go mad with fright and throw me if it smelt the elephant. 

The orderly came back in a few minutes with a rifle and five cartridges, and meanwhile some Burmans had arrived and told us that the elephant was in the paddy fields below, only a few hundred yards away. As I started forward practically the whole population of the quarter flocked out of the houses and followed me. 

They had seen the rifle and were all shouting excitedly that I was going to shoot the elephant. They had not shown much interest in the elephant when he was merely ravaging their homes, but it was different now that he was going to be shot. It was a bit of fun to them, as it would be to an English crowd; besides they wanted the meat. 

 It made me vaguely uneasy. I had no intention of shooting the elephant--I had merely sent for the rifle to defend myself if necessary--and it is always unnerving to have a crowd following you. I marched down the hill, looking and feeling a fool, with the rifle over my shoulder and an ever-growing army of people jostling at my heels. At the bottom, when you got away from the huts, there was a metalled road and beyond that a miry waste of paddy fields a thousand yards across, not yet ploughed but soggy from the first rains and dotted with coarse grass. 

 

The elephant was standing eight yards from the road, his left side towards us. He took not the slightest notice of the crowd's approach. He was tearing up bunches of grass, beating them against his knees to clean them and stuffing them into his mouth. I had halted on the road. As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him. It is a serious matter to shoot a working elephant--it is comparable to destroying a huge and costly piece of machinery--and obviously one ought not to do it if it can possibly be avoided. And at that distance, peacefully eating, the elephant looked no more dangerous than a cow. I thought then and I think now that his attack of "must" was already passing off; in which case he would merely wander harmlessly about until the mahout came back and caught him. Moreover, I did not in the least want to shoot him. I decided that I would watch him for a little while to make sure that he did not turn savage again, and then go home. 

 But at that moment I glanced round at the crowd that had followed me. It was an immense crowd, two thousand at the least and growing every minute. It blocked the road for a long distance on either side. I looked at the sea of yellow faces above the garish clothes-faces all happy and excited over this bit of fun, all certain that the elephant was going to be shot. 

 They were watching me as they would watch a conjurer about to perform a trick. They did not like me, but with the magical rifle in my hands I was momentarily worth watching. And suddenly I realized that I should have to shoot the elephant after all. The people expected it of me and I had got to do it; I could feel their two thousand wills pressing me forward, irresistibly. And it was at this moment, as I stood there with the rifle in my hands, that I first grasped the hollowness, the futility of the white man's dominion in the East. Here was I, the white man with his gun, standing in front of the unarmed native crowd--seemingly the leading actor of the piece; but in reality I was only an absurd puppet pushed to and fro by the will of those yellow faces behind. I perceived in this moment that when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys. He becomes a sort of hollow, posing dummy, the conventionalized figure of a sahib. For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the "natives," and so in every crisis he has got to do what the "natives" expect of him. He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. I had got to shoot the elephant. I had committed myself to doing it when I sent for the rifle. A sahib has got to act like a sahib; he has got to appear resolute, to know his own mind and do definite things. To come all that way, rifle in hand, with two thousand people marching at my heels, and then to trail feebly away, having done nothing--no, that was impossible. The crowd would laugh at me. And my whole life, every white man's life in the East, was one long struggle not to be laughed at. 

But I did not want to shoot the elephant. I watched him beating his bunch of grass against his knees, with that preoccupied grandmotherly air that elephants have. It seemed to me that it would be murder to shoot him. At that age I was not squeamish about killing animals, but I had never shot an elephant and never wanted to. (Somehow it always seems worse to kill a large animal.) 

Besides, there was the beast's owner to be considered. 

Alive, the elephant was worth at least a hundred pounds; dead, he would only be worth the value of his tusks, five pounds, possibly. But I had got to act quickly. I turned to some experienced-looking Burmans who had been there when we arrived, and asked them how the elephant had been behaving. They all said the same thing: he took no notice of you if you left him alone, but he might charge if you went too close to him. 

 It was perfectly clear to me what I ought to do. I ought to walk up to within, say, twenty-five yards of the elephant and test his behavior. If he charged, I could shoot; if he took no notice of me, it would be safe to leave him until the mahout came back. But also I knew that I was going to do no such thing. I was a poor shot with a rifle and the ground was soft mud into which one would sink at every step. If the elephant charged and I missed him, I should have about as much chance as a toad under a steam-roller. But even then I was not thinking particularly of my own skin, only of the watchful yellow faces behind. 

For at that moment, with the crowd watching me, I was not afraid in the ordinary sense, as I would have been if I had been alone. A white man mustn't be frightened in front of "natives"; and so, in general, he isn't frightened. The sole thought in my mind was that if anything went wrong those two thousand Burmans would see me pursued, caught, trampled on and reduced to a grinning corpse like that Indian up the hill. And if that happened it was quite probable that some of them would laugh. That would never do. 

There was only one alternative. I shoved the cartridges into the magazine and lay down on the road to get a better aim. The crowd grew very still, and a deep, low, happy sigh, as of people who see the theatre curtain go up at last, breathed from innumerable throats. They were going to have their bit of fun after all. The rifle was a beautiful German thing with cross-hair sights. I did not then know that in shooting an elephant one would shoot to cut an imaginary bar running from ear-hole to ear-hole. I ought, therefore, as the elephant was sideways on, to have aimed straight at his ear-hole, actually I aimed several inches in front of this, thinking the brain would be further forward. 

When I pulled the trigger I did not hear the bang or feel the kick--one never does when a shot goes home--but I heard the devilish roar of glee that went up from the crowd. In that instant, in too short a time, one would have thought, even for the bullet to get there, a mysterious, terrible change had come over the elephant. He neither stirred nor fell, but every line of his body had altered. He looked suddenly stricken, shrunken, immensely old, as though the frighfful impact of the bullet had paralysed him without knocking him down. At last, after what seemed a long time--it might have been five seconds, I dare say--he sagged flabbily to his knees. His mouth slobbered. An enormous senility seemed to have settled upon him. One could have imagined him thousands of years old. I fired again into the same spot. At the second shot he did not collapse but climbed with desperate slowness to his feet and stood weakly upright, with legs sagging and head drooping. I fired a third time. That was the shot that did for him. You could see the agony of it jolt his whole body and knock the last remnant of strength from his legs. But in falling he seemed for a moment to rise, for as his hind legs collapsed beneath him he seemed to tower upward like a huge rock toppling, his trunk reaching skyward like a tree. He trumpeted, for the first and only time. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay. 

 I got up. The Burmans were already racing past me across the mud. It was obvious that the elephant would never rise again, but he was not dead. He was breathing very rhythmically with long rattling gasps, his great mound of a side painfully rising and falling. His mouth was wide open--I could see far down into caverns of pale pink throat. I waited a long time for him to die, but his breathing did not weaken. Finally I fired my two remaining shots into the spot where I thought his heart must be. The thick blood welled out of him like red velvet, but still he did not die. 

 His body did not even jerk when the shots hit him, the tortured breathing continued without a pause. He was dying, very slowly and in great agony, but in some world remote from me where not even a bullet could damage him further. I felt that I had got to put an end to that dreadful noise. It seemed dreadful to see the great beast Lying there, powerless to move and yet powerless to die, and not even to be able to finish him. I sent back for my small rifle and poured shot after shot into his heart and down his throat. They seemed to make no impression. The tortured gasps continued as steadily as the ticking of a clock. 

In the end I could not stand it any longer and went away. I heard later that it took him half an hour to die. Burmans were bringing dahs and baskets even before I left, and I was told they had stripped his body almost to the bones by the afternoon. 

 Afterwards, of course, there were endless discussions about the shooting of the elephant. The owner was furious, but he was only an Indian and could do nothing. Besides, legally I had done the right thing, for a mad elephant has to be killed, like a mad dog, if its owner fails to control it. Among the Europeans opinion was divided. The older men said I was right, the younger men said it was a damn shame to shoot an elephant for killing a coolie, because an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie. And afterwards I was very glad that the coolie had been killed; it put me legally in the right and it gave me a sufficient pretext for shooting the elephant. 

I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.

Shooting an Elephant 

by GEORGE ORWELL 

PrinceWorld

“Again, it’s about Good Mentoring and because I had a lot of Good People around — the other thing I have to point out though is that — how can I put this? — My Father was so hard on me. 

I was never good enough and there was something about that. 

It was almost like The Army when it came to Music. 

'That’s not even close,’ He’d say. 

‘That’s not even close to what I’m doing’ and he’d play again and I could hear it.

John Blackwell, my drummer, he’s The Same Way. His Father taught him The Same Way. 

We learned like that. 

We learned from Being Shown; it doesn’t come from Books and Just Reading. 

We Need to be Shown. 

So it’s just having really Good Teachers and A Bar That’s High. Tiger Woods. I mean, I could go on and on.”

“You talked a couple of times about Your Father, which you don’t do in public - appreciate you opening up in that way – 

Everything About You is Love…your whole life is about love of humanity. How did you get to this place of being love when you have this relationship with your father that obviously didn’t always exhibit love? You could be a very mean person right now. Why not?”

“Well I have a mean side. I can go there. I’m very competitive,” said Prince. “I think from him being hard on me, the one thing I got out of it is I understood that in his harshness he wanted me to excel.

“He used to say things like, ‘Don’t ever get a girl pregnant; don’t ever get married; don’t this; don’t that.’ 

When he’d say these things, I didn’t know what to take from it so I’d create my own universe. 

My Sister’s like that. A lot of My Friends are like that — The ones that I still have, early musicians and things like that. 

Creating Your Own Universe is The Key to it, I believe. 

And letting all The People That You Need occupy That Universe.”

Transcript: Prince w. Tavis Smiley

Tavis Smiley: Good evening from Los Angeles. I'm Tavis Smiley. Tonight, Prince on PBS.

Tavis: I have struggled for days trying to figure out how to introduce this guy, and

here's the best I've come up with. Ready? The artist formerly known and now known

once again as Prince. That's the best I can come up with.

Prince: Lord have mercy. That's it, huh?

Tavis: Ha ha ha! That's all I could come up with.

Prince: All right.

Tavis: Otherwise it would have taken me 20 minutes--it would have taken me the

whole show to introduce you because you are so phenomenal. So thanks for coming

to see me. I appreciate it.

Prince: I appreciate it, too.

Tavis: Let me start with this Grammy thing. First of all, you rocked the Grammys.

That was an amazing performance. Did you enjoy it?

Prince: Loved it. Loved it.

Tavis: I was scared when I heard that you were gonna do this thing with Beyonce, and

I was scared, as I told you, because you were such all that by yourself, I was afraid

that it wasn't gonna come off right. Even though I love Beyonce. She's very talented.

I was just afraid that Prince can't do nothin' with nobody else. He's gotta do his thing

because he's Prince, but it came off OK.

Prince: Oh, I, uh...I pride myself on working with great musicians, and I consider

her to be as such. She's an amazing talent, the real deal, so she just fell right into it.

It was no problem whatsoever.

Tavis: How did that performance come about? I mean, you decide to do whatever

you want to do on your own terms, but how did that actually come to be?

Prince: Well, the producer, Ken Ehrlich, had been hounding me every year to do

something, and this year we have a new record coming out, so...and a tour scheduled,

so I thought if this was...if this was gonna be the year, then

I wanted to do something special.

Then the notion of working with Beyonce came about, and that made it extra special 'cause

I'm such a fan, so I mean...

Tavis: That's nice for Prince to be a fan of your stuff. Speaking of being a fan, as

you well know, and I can't even hide it, I'm a fan of your stuff, and just a couple

of weeks ago, I went to Vegas to see you not in one show, but 2 shows, and you

got to stop doing these things at 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning 'cause I can't stay up

2 days in a row.

Prince: See, that's how I tell who's real and who ain't.

Tavis: Ha ha ha! Am I authentic now? Am I real now?

Prince: That's why I'm here.

Tavis: I'm glad to hear that then. All right. So if I can stay up till 2:00 and 3:00 in the

morning, not to see you go off-stage. I mean coming on at 2 A.M. Coming on at 3 A.M.

And playing to 5, 6:00 in the morning. Um, but I stood and watched that audience in Vegas,

Prince, and there are 2 or 3 things that stand out to me about your audience in particular.

One, you have the absolute most diverse audience of any artist, no pun intended, that I've

ever hung out with or experienced in a concert consistently. What is it about you or about

your music...I mean, I've seen the black thing and the white thing and the Motown thing had

the black folk and the white folk listening, but you have the most ethnically, culturally,

racially diverse audience, I think, of any artist on the scene. Why you?

Prince: Well, I think from the beginning, as I was coming into my own persona and

understanding of who I was, I never talked down to my audience. And when you don't

talk down to your audience, they can grow with you, and I give them a lot of credit to be

able to hang with me this long because I've gone through a lot of changes, but they've

allowed me to grow, and thus we can tackle some serious subjects and try to just be better

human beings, all of us, you know?

Tavis: The other thing that strikes me about your audience that's uniquely different is that

your audience is very musically sophisticated. It's one thing to love music. It's another thing

to have an audience of fans that is really very sophisticated about music.

Prince: Yeah, a lot of the people that come see us now, their parents listened to real music,

real songwriting, real musicianship, and they respect somebody who takes their craft

seriously, and I grew up that way. So I, you know, when we do our shows, I try to have

the best musicians I can find with me at that particular time, and like I said, we don't play

down to them. We don't, you know, it's just not about a party, you know. That's gonna be

anyway if it's good music. But, you know, I think that's lacking in music today.

Tavis: You have changed, as you said a moment ago, and evolved in so many ways

and have gone through so many stages in your own career development.

You said a moment ago that because of that, you like to do different things.

It's very difficult often times for a performer, for an artist to hang onto his or her

audience when they're not doin' the stuff that you know they want to hear, and you

have a certain, and I say this with all respect--there's a certain arrogance about you

that will come out on stage, and you know these folks done paid their money, and

you know they want to hear "Little Red Corvette." You know they want to hear "Delirious."

You know they want to hear "Purple Rain," "1999," everything else. But you come out and

play what you want to play at that particular stage in your life, and for your true core fans,

they don't ever leave disappointed.

Prince: Yeah, well, first of all, I don't know who was the one that came up with the

notion that you have to play the same songs every concert.

Tavis: Probably fans.

Prince: Yeah, well, most of the people that come see us now, they've been to see me

umpteen times, and the only pity is when they bring their kids and they're trying to show

their kids the experience they had. But I don't know how any of us grow if we just, you

know, tread water. The idea is that we keep growing, and like we were saying before,

the fan base I have now, they're so sophisticated, they almost expect me to do the

unexpected, and that gives me a lot of room to challenge myself as well as them.

Tavis: One of the things I've been dying to ask you about is this notion of whether or

not you think too many performers, too many artists have become too racy and become

so willing to sell a record that they would do just about anything to make that record sell,

and I want to ask you that question specifically because you are the King--OK, the

Prince of raciness. 'Cause back in the day, you were, like--I mean, I can't even call it

pushing the envelope. You were really pushing the envelope back in the day. So what's

your sense now of artists who've gotten in trouble of late pushing the envelope and being

extremely racy for much of the American audience?

Prince: Well, you know, everything's relative. First of all, racy, back when

I was quote unquote "racy," as you say--I mean, it's pretty light now. I mean,

if you take the words to "Darling Nikki," which I got into a little bit of hot water

about back in '84, if you take those lyrics and read them now, it's a little different

than say the president of the R.R.A.A.A. reading the lyrics to one of these current

hip-hop songs at a congressional hearing.

Tavis: Yeah. Ha ha ha!

Prince: It's just--it's a lot different now. Any time you have to rely on just raciness

alone, you know, you can only--put it this way. You're gonna get the audience you deserve.

All right? So when we were wearing more risque outfits, we had a bunch of...

Tavis: Risque fans.

Prince: That's right. In the audience. And, you know, when you're 21 years old, you

know, you're gonna try stuff. When you're 40, it's, you know, you don't wanna

be pulling out body parts. Those are just...it's old skin.

Tavis: It's old skin, yeah.

Prince: So it's different then, you know. You don't wanna be showing all that to--

Tavis: But we live in a world now, we live in a culture where artists and media

conglomerates sell us--I was just reading an article the other day in the

L.A. Times about this very issue that we get sold all this hype.

We get--all this hype gets pushed on us, and they're really selling events that really turn

out to be nonevents, oftentimes.

Prince: Well, once again, they will get the audience and the consumer that they deserve.

I mean, there's a glut in the industry because of this thinking.

You know, it's all bottom line. It's all real quick.

The artist turnover rate is really fast, and there's not a lot of substance.

You know, a lot of these kids don't know how to play music 'cause they didn't learn it.

They weren't taught the art and the craft of song writing, and it is an art, and if you

don't respect that then, you know, we're gonna get a lot of these nonevents goin' on.

Tavis: I'm glad, but more importantly, the people who get a chance to play and work with

you,

I'm sure, are glad that over the years--speaking of playing instruments--that you got to be a

little bit nicer and let somebody play on your record 'cause when you first broke, all songs

written, produced, performed, lead vocals, background vocals, everything on the album was

done by you.

Prince: Yeah. But there, again, it's a situation where, you know, people, if they want me to

go back and do what I used to do, they have to understand that it's my body of work, and

I'm trying to put in that body of work things that I haven't done, so that when I finish,

I look at all of it, it represents, you know, the whole complete pie as opposed to

the same thing over and over.

Tavis: Who's running the business now? There's a big debate now with what just happened to

L.A. Reid at Arista. Had more Grammy nominations on

Grammy night than any other record label, and they kicked him out of the building in

New York with the quickness.

Prince: Can I at least go to the Grammys and just...can I just--

Tavis: It was nice that Outkast brought him up on stage. That was nice.

They gave him some love, but the question is who's running the business now?

Are the creatives running it? Are the suits running it? What's the state of the business these

days?

Prince: Well, that changed a long time ago when it became merely bottom line.

You'll see, if you go back and you look at music, you'll see a big change when

MTV came into the business. Now, that's not to say that they're running it, but that

sort of mentality is what is king now. It's not about content and substance. You know,

hip-hop is very diverse, but if you only focus on one aspect of it, then what you get is

this image of black America that is completely contrary to what actually goes on. You know,

I've never seen you in a jogging suit. You know, fit and trim, but look at how you're dressed.

The gatekeepers, they know who they are. We don't need to name names, but rest assured,

they aren't musicians. They don't have anything to do with music.

If you sat one of 'em in a room and you asked him, "What is it that you do?

How did you get this job?" A lot of 'em came from law, a lot of 'em came from accounting

and things like that. They're merchants, basically. And it's not to disrespect 'em or demean

their role in any way, but at the same time, you can't expect them to know who

they're signing and sort of gatekeep the music.

Tavis: Let me change gears on you dramatically 'cause I've been dying to show this to you.

I don't know if you've seen this or not. Maybe you have, but if you haven't,

I want to show this to you. I went to see a movie the other day, and there was a

clip in the movie that was absolutely hilarious, and I want you to see this, and

I want to ask you something about it. Uh, roll this clip for me.

Barber: With all the problems we got, black folks used to just say, "At least we ain't crazy."

Our crimes made sense. Ain't got no money, rob somebody with some money. Simple as that.

Man: Hey, y'all don't want to admit it, but black folks just as crazy as white folks.

All: Ooh...now, whoa, whoa.

Man: Mike Tyson, he's like 3 crazy people, man. Prince?

Second man: Hold on. Hold on, now. He half Cherokee or something.

Don't put him in there with us.

Tavis: Ha ha ha! "Prince is half Cherokee.

Don't put him in there with us." Did you see this?

Prince: Yeah.

Tavis: Did you laugh at this?

Prince: Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Yeah. There's a dispute over who my grandfather was

on my mother's side.

Tavis: Right. Ha ha ha. How do you--I don't know if this even matters to you,

but let me ask you anyway. What's your sense of how the public has viewed you

as a personality over the years, and how that has changed? I mean, do you concern

yourself with that? Are you conscious of how you have been viewed over the course

of your career? Does it matter to you? What do you think about--what do you think

about what people think of you, if you think about that at all?

Prince: Mm...that's kind of a deep question. I...

Tavis: I get one every now and then.

Prince: Yeah. I'm sort of like a, um...because of some of the stances I take, people are

gonna have different viewpoints of me depending upon which side of the fence they're

sitting on. You know...like, we were talking about the music industry. A merchant would

have trouble being called a bean counter when, in fact, they know that's true.

They'd be hard pressed, though, to try to sing a song with me.

So, I don't really care so much what people say about me because it usually is a

reflection of who they are. For example, if people wish I would sound like I used to

sound, then it says more about them than it does me. If I change the lyrics to a song,

then it begs the question "Why do you want me to curse? Why do you want me to talk

like other people?" See, cursing was cool when nobody was doing it. Or just a couple

people. Like, if everybody wears the same clothes, then it's, you know-- it ain't cool no

more. You're trying to be different. One can't be different by being racy today.

It's not interesting anymore. See, sexiness was in the mind. It was in your imagination.

When you lose that, then,

you know, like I said, it's just old skin.

Tavis: We've had any number of conversations over the years, off-camera,

obviously, and

you are a very, very politically astute--very much politically

aware--a news junkie. And I've often wondered

why it is that as interested as you are in the world that we live...and with

all this happening in the world, um,

what your thoughts are specifically in this election year--economically, politically,

socially. I'm asking a broad question to give you room to play with here,

but tell me something about your political views...in this particular and

all-important election year.

Prince: First of all, I think just the word "political" and "politics"

and all that is just semantics.

You know, an equal share of economic wherewithal is desirable by all.

We all just want to take care of our families, and do it to the best of our abilities,

and see the world. People want to travel and things like that. A lot of people that I know

haven't even been out of the United States. So I consider myself more of a spiritual person

than I do political. I'm more concerned with the truth. More concerned with why people

won't adhere to it, and why they see themselves as us against them. I used to think that

we were the ones that came up with that, but see, we didn't start a lot of these wars, and

we certainly don't want to go to them, but...

Tavis: A lot has been written, uh, and I shouldn't even say written, but there's been a lot

of conjecture, a lot of conversation in the country about your spiritual evolution of late.

Care to say anything about that?

Prince: Uh, well...

Tavis: Your spiritual journey.

Prince: Yeah. I'd say a big change happened for me in the year 2000, because I, uh,

I went back to using my name again. Uh, I--

Tavis: And thank you for that. It was hard trying to say what that symbol was.

Prince: Yeah. Well, there was a purpose for that, and, uh, recently, Anita Baker called me,

and we spoke about, uh, her view of me writing "slave" on my face at the time.

She said she didn't understand it at the time, but right after that, she had a lot of wars with

her particular record company, and she's free now, and she owns her masters now. So, uh...

she says to me, "You know, I didn't understand it then, but I do now. I get it."

Like I said, in the year 2000, once I changed my name back, and the war was finished

with my... so-called enemies, I, uh, I started reading the Bible intensely, and

I come to find out that this is--this is the truth.

Tavis: Well, by any name, you a bad man.

Prince: All right.

Tavis: Thank you for coming to see me, and you got to come back and do this again.

Prince: Yes, sir.

Tavis: You got a lot to say, and you got to come and say it more regularly.

Prince: Definitely.

Tavis: I'll hold you to that.

Prince: All right.

Tavis: Nice to see you. Up next, a very special acoustic performance.

We talked in this conversation about how he can play just about every instrument.

He plays all kinds of music, and his audience and fans appreciate the variety of music,

but

I've asked him to come on tonight and to do something a little different from what

he normally does. I loved that Grammy thing, but what you are about to hear now will

blow you away. So stay tuned for a very special acoustic performance by Prince.

Tavis: To close out the show tonight, here's Prince and the very talented

Wendy Melvoin performing "Reflection."

Prince: 2 sevens together,

like time, indefinite,

try to catch the glass

before it falls,

without a frown,

can you turn up the stereo?

I wanna play you this old song,

it's about love,

can I do that?

Did we remember

to water the plants today?

I forgot to look up at the moon

because I was too busy,

yes, I was too busy,

too busy

looking at you,

oh, baby,

still, it's nice to know

that, uh, when bodies wear out,

we can get another,

what does that one thing

have to do

with the other one?

I don't know,

i was just thinking about

my mother,

you know what?

Turn the stereo back down,

ain't nothing worse than

an old, worn-out love song,

do you like my hair this way?

Remember all the way back

in the day

when we would compare

whose afro was the roundest?

Mirrored tiles

above the bed,

fishnets and posters

all over the walls,

oh, yeah,

sometimes I just wanna go out,

you know what I mean,

playing my guitar,

just watch all the cars go by...

[song ends]

Prince: thank you.

Tavis: As with any Prince appearance,

there's always a little something unexpected at the end,

so here's a sneak preview at a world premiere of Prince's latest music video.

The song is "Musicology." Enjoy. Good night and keep the faith.

Ooh...uh Ooh...uh

Heard about the party now just

east of Harlem, Dougie gonna

be there but you got to call him

even the soldiers need a friend

some time, listen to the

groove, y'all, let it unwind

your mind, no intoxication

lets you see what I see

dancin' hot and sweaty right in

front of me, ohh, call it what

you like, I'm a cold and hot

beat, this is just another one

of God's gifts: musicology

you got to keep the party movin'

like I told you, keep the old

school going for the true funk

soldiers, musicology, uh

Wait a minute, band,

wish I had a dollar for every

time you say don't you miss

the feelin' music gave ya back

in the day? Let's groove,

September, Earth, Wind & Fire,

Hot pants by James

slides will make you higher...