Eleanor Rigby One of The Lonely People

I’ll be honest I never understood the appeal of The Beatles and most likely never will. More than likely its just a Generational Difference I would imagine.

Now DO NOT GET ME WRONG though I do not understand nor like The Beatles DOES NOT NIGATE the fact that to Their credit The Beatles were Extremely Talented Musicians who’s Music made them Rich and Internationally Famous. Not only that but Their Music and Musical Accomplishments still hold significant relevance to this very Day.

There is in fact ONLY ONE SINGULAR Beatles song that I do like (well sort of, I’ll explain that later in the post) and that would be Their song “Eleanor Rigby”, and as for the rest of Their Catalog I couldn’t possibly care less.

   

The funny thing is way, way back in the Day I took an intensive 8 week English Literature Class when I was Temporarily a Collage Student. On the first day of the Class the Professor handed out the Lyrics for The Beatles’s song “Eleanor Rigby”, asked Us to simply Read it, and then write Our Thoughts/Impressions Down.

I found it a rather interesting Exorcise. YES this an exact Recreation of that exact Exorcise. And NO it’s not Identical since I lost the Original Paper long, long ago.

Several Months after the Class ended I was fucking around checking out Bands I’d never heard of in an attempt to find the last real Musicians (that is if They even still exist).

   

I noticed one of the New Bands on My Musical Radar had Recorded a Cover of “Eleanor Rigby” so I figured I’d listen to it since I had never ACTUALLY heard the Song. I hit play, listened to the entire song, and rather liked it.

Weeks or possibly Months after listening to the Cover thought it would make sense to listen to The ORIGINAL Beatles Version of “Eleanor Rigby” which I promptly did. After I listen to the entire song thought it was quite amusing that while I disliked the Original I enjoyed the Cover of It.

   

I have found out through the Years that there a PLENTY of additional songs that I despise , BUT for some unknown reason (at least to Me) I really get a kick out of Certain COVERS of said song. It’s sort of a Thing I’ve come to understand since meeting and talking to People who have the same similar affinity for the Covers over the Original songs.  Anyways I digress.

“Eleanor Rigby”  By The Beatles

Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely peopleEleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
     
Eleanor picking up the Rice after a Wedding is symbolic of Her chronic Loneliness. Weddings are one of if Not the most Happiest Events of a Person’s Life (Possibly only second to the Birth of a Child. At least that’s what the fuck People with Kids Claim as Those without Kids may feel completely different about it.), Yet Eleanor isn’t a Wedding Guest or Member of The Wedding Party. Eleanor seems to pick up the Rice while Day Dreaming about what it must be like to be that Loved.
The Listener then learns that Eleanor is so lonely that she literally waits chronically looking out the Window for any Visitor at all as Eleanor doesn’t have Friends, Family or even Acquaintances who would stop by say Hello and see how She is.
The “Face in a Jar” is a rather dated social reference as its a play on the saying “I have to put My face on…” which is a rather Old School phrase that Women used to express/indicate She isn’t wearing Makeup thus She is Unprepared for Company.
Lastly Eleanor’s loneliness is confirmed with the question “Who is it For?” as though Eleanor remains poised and ready for Company there isn’t Anyone coming to pay Her a visit.
All the lonely people

Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Here the Song Writer is making an inquiry through question. Either They are curious as too Who are all these so called “Lonely People” They have/are Observing. It also could be more of a depressing lament questioning more over as to Why are there “Lonely People” period.

Father McKenzie writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care?

Father McKenzi apparently a lone Priest in a Parish without Petitioners, and what is a Church without a congregation? And if the Church remains vacant why would Father McKenzi bother putting in the Time and Effort  writing an entire presumably Sunday Sermon if there’s No One to Hear it as apparently “No One Comes Near”?

It’s the same reason Father McKenzi would take the time to sew the holes in his socks when he is the only Person in the Church. He’s lonely and needs to fill his day with things outside of  the Human Contact he is lacking to keep sane, and to keep from falling into a crippling depression. The Sermon(s) and Socks are both ways Father McKenzi combats the overwhelming Alienation he faces on a Daily basis.

   

This is the significant difference between Father McKenzi and Eleanor Rigby. Father McKenzi finds some solace in his daily activities be it in writing Sermons or performing routine mundane tasks at least he is being some what pro active to dealing with His loneliness. Meanwhile Eleanor opts to sit solely focusing on if Someone will or won’t being stopping by to see Her.

(I have removed The Chorus Here as I have NOTHING Else to Say that I haven’t already pertaining to “All the lonely people…”)

Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

     

Eleanor dies with nothing to show for her life, but her name. And just as in Life No One Comes to visit Eleanor in Death as not a single Person attended her funeral. Eleanor literally died alone.

Father McKenzi not only presided over Eleanor’s funeral, but the fact he is wiping dirt from his hands as he’s walking away from Eleanor’s grave implies Father McKenzi also Dug the Grave himself. So in the End Eleanor didn’t even have a Grave Digger to give a shit about Her or Her passing.

The irony is that Eleanor Rigby and Father McKezi lived in the same area and yet never met. That to Me is the most  tragic of all. If the Two Sad Souls had had the chance to meet they would have been the Cure for each Others Loneliness, and Improved the Quality of both Their Lives.

   

I believe that is what the song Writer is ultimately trying to convey in Eleanor who spent her Life craving Human Contact dies alone, and in the end is buried by the equally Lonely Father McKenzi.

(I cut the song Off before the Last Chorus as I stated earlier  I  NOTHING NEW to Write about it.)

Thanks for Reading,

  By Les Sober

The F List Continues Baffling Its Creator

As I am sure even if they haven’t read it Readers are aware of two recent Posts Titled F to the U to the C to the K Parts 1 and 2. For those who may not be aware the original Post was a beyond basic “List” if you will of Fucks as in molded in the Fuck “That” format.

The 1st “List” as it were was only meant to be one singular post. Later after it was posted I slowly realized that I had forgotten a few things, and before I knew it I had another whole “Lists” worth of material.

At this point even My Dear Friend SpaceDog whom I have know more years than I can recall right now thought that had to be it.

And so did I.

We were Both Wrong.

The Cycle just reset itself and began once again spawning a 3rd and possibly final Fucks “List” (which is fucking Mind Boggling even for Me)

To say that these posts are not for f-yourblog curious Noobs. This only appeals to the small section of society that truly understand the “Lists”

No One  including Myself wouldn’t blame Anyone for skipping over this or the two prior “Lists” Not by a Long Shot. The One and Only SpaceDog Himself said reading the “Lists” made him feel and I quote “Dirty”

So for those Hardcore enough to withstand the Gruesome Grind I give you List Number 3 in the ongoing F to the U to the C to the K to the series.

The Fucks List Continues:

Fuck Tiny Houses. Fuck Waffle House. Fuck Tail Gating. Fuck the Illogical.

Fuck Colombo. Fuck Nursing Homes. Fuck Coal. Fuck Armed Conflicts.

Fuck Leaky Roofs. Fuck Head Colds. Fuck The Flu. Fuck Foot Notes.

Fuck Traffic Lights. Fuck Neighbors. Fuck Kenny G. Fuck Muzak.

Fuck Flutes. Fuck Ice Machines. Fuck Regulations. Fuck Teletubbies.

Fuck NPR. Fuck AM Radio. Fuck FM Radio. Fuck Satellite Radio.

Fuck Internet Radio. Fuck Chat Rooms. Fuck Shitty Tattoos.

Fuck Manic Panic. Fuck Body Piercing. Fuck Phil. Fuck Jail. Fuck Uniforms.

Fuck Fango. Fuck Fanta. Fuck Soy Milk. Fuck Coconut Water.

Fuck I Can’t Believe Its Not Butter. Fuck Substitutes. Fuck Tori Amos.

Fuck Mr. Brainwash. Fuck Cheap Toilet Paper. Fuck Hand Dryers.

Fuck Port-O-Pottys. Fuck Credit. Fuck Loans. Fuck PayDay Loans.

Fuck The Movie Ratings Board. Fuck Harmonicas. Fuck Loans.

Fuck Finances. Fuck Mortgages. Fuck Predatory Bank Loans. Fuck Loofas.

Fuck Body Spray. Fuck Spas. Fuck Unsolicited Advice. Fuck The Odds.

Fuck Playing It Safe. Fuck Droll Waiters/Waitresses. Fuck Last Call.

Fuck Spray Tans. Fuck Extensions. Fuck Push Up Bras.

Fuck Victoria’s Secret. Fuck Staring. Fuck Foreclosures.

Fuck Insider Trading. Fuck Slow Fast Food Service. Fuck Identity Theft.

Fuck Religious Conflicts. Fuck Home Schooling. Fuck Reunion Tours.

Fuck Being On The Spectrum. Fuck Quiet Riot. Fuck The Beetles. Fuck Yoko Ono.

Fuck Bob Dylan. Fuck The 70’s. Fuck The 90’s. Fuck Dull Knives.

Fuck Dog Racing. Fuck Horse Fighting. Fuck Coming Back Into Fashion.

Fuck Hair Salons. Fuck Sore Losers. Fuck Asshole Winners.

Fuck Dog Fighting. Fuck Gloating. Fuck Howie Mandel.

Fuck Condo Associations. Fuck Middle Men. Fuck People’s Core.

Fuck Hot Yoga. Fuck Carbs. Fuck So Called Upscale Shit. Fuck Cell Towers.

Fuck Dust Bunnies. Fuck Shedding. Fuck Speed Limits. Fuck Spite.

Fuck Malice. Fuck Re Runs. Fuck Whitening Strips. Fuck Date Rape.

Fuck Someone Loves Someone Reality Shows. Fuck The Bachelor.

Fuck The Pick Up Artist Mystery. Fuck Jeff Foxworthy.

Fuck Larry The Cable Guy. Fuck Kevin Hart. Fuck Cialis. Fuck Zoos.

Fuck The Weinstein Brothers. Fuck Beard Art. Fuck Dog Shows.

Fuck Chris Jericho. Fuck Zack Saber JR. Fuck Deep Fried Butter.

Fuck Vince Vaughn. Fuck Decaf. Fuck Papa Johns. Fuck Bell Bottoms.

Fuck Kiss. Fuck Lowe’s. Fuck Property tax. Fuck Non Caffeinated Soda.

Fuck Tim Allin. Fuck Ray Romano. Fuck Jazz. Fuck Noise Bands.

Fuck Synthesizers. Fuck Drum Machines. Fuck Unauthorized Bios.

Fuck Korn. Fuck Morrissey. Fuck Slutever. Fuck Humiliation. Fuck BP.

Fuck Second Rate Sushi. Fuck Tex Mex. Fuck Fusion Restaurants.

Fuck The Cost Of Living. Fuck Maritime Law. Fuck Rush Hour (Traffic).

Fuck Rush Hour Movies. Fuck Steven Seagal. Fuck Dolf Lungrin.

Fuck Jean-Claude Van Damme. Fuck Phish. Fuck The Grateful Dead.

Fuck Petrulli. Fuck Toe Rings. Fuck McRibs. Fuck Ambrosia Salads.

Fuck Jello Molds. Fuck Fruit In Jello. Fuck Fig Newtons. Fuck Flair.

Fuck Glitter. Fuck ARL. Fuck Contradictions. Fuck Cane Toads.

Fuck Fanny Packs. Fuck Snap Bracelets. Fuck Jelly Bracelets. Fuck Mullets.

Fuck Vanilla Ice. Fuck Las Vegas Residencies. Fuck Snake Oil Salesmen.

Fuck Chain Wallets. Fuck Hacks (as in People). Fuck Pokemon Go.

Fuck Cheap Liquor. Fuck Labels. Fuck Swamp Ass. Fuck Anal Leakage.

Fuck Gas Station Bathrooms. Fuck Skiing. Fuck Paddle Boarding.

Fuck Sorry Not Sorry. Fuck Granola. Fuck LOL. Fuck Fisting. Fuck Thrillers.

Fuck Food Porn. Fuck The Unknown. Fuck Love Seat. Fuck Snuggies.

Fuck Voter Tampering. Fuck Dental Vaneers. Fuck Golden Showers.

Fuck Foot Oder. Fuck Bad Breath. Fuck Hashtags. Fuck Lice. Fuck Herpes.

Fuck Bed Bugs. Fuck Bug Bombs. Fuck Trophy Fishing. Fuck Commands.

Fuck Slot Machines. Fuck Full Voice Mail Mailboxes. Fuck Mimosas.

Fuck Homelessness. Fuck Carbon Dioxide. Fuck Braces. Fuck Smoothies.

Fuck Human Resources. Fuck Spanish Fly. Fuck Roofies. Fuck Spyware.

Fuck The Cold. Fuck Vape Shops. Fuck Toe Sucking. Fuck Rhubarb Pie.

Fuck Smoothies. Fuck Fire Ants. Fuck Preconception. Fuck Cosmetics.

Fuck Assumptions. Fuck Evaluations. Fuck Opossums. Fuck Termites.

Fuck Elective Surgery. Fuck Pool Noodles. Fuck North Korea. Fuck 777.

Fuck Web Cams. Fuck Skype. Fuck Microsoft. Fuck Slavery. Fuck Karaoke.

Fuck Vacation Resorts. Fuck Itineraries. Fuck On Schedule. Fuck Profiling.

Fuck Drug Free Work Places. Fuck Netty Pots. Fuck Canned Raccoon Meat.

Fuck Pickled Eggs. Fuck Jerky. Fuck Grits. Fuck Dullards. Fuck Snap Chat.

Fuck The Close Minded. Fuck Vine. Fuck Crabs (Pubic Lice).

Fuck Speed Walking. Fuck Pegging. Fuck Cream Pies. Fuck 7-11.

Fuck Titty Fucking. Fuck Lutefisk. Fuck Canned Meats. Fuck Waste.

Fuck Tea Bagging. Fuck Gristle. Fuck Waste. Fuck Female Circumcision.

Fuck Vice Principlas. Fuck Rats. Fuck Boiled Chicken, Fuck Bottled Water.

Fuck Cheque. Fuck Pasties. Fuck Granny Panties. Fuck The Over Rated.

Fuck False Promises. Fuck Bait and Switches. Fuck Newark. Fuck Trenton.

Fuck South Orange Blossom Trail. Fuck Disney. Fuck Phone Solicitations.

Fuck The Police Athletic League.Fuck The Black Eyed Pea (Restaurant).

Fuck The War On Drugs. Fuck Addiction. Fuck Vices. Fuck CBD. Fuck SWAG.

Fuck Name Tags. Fuck Hospital Gowns. Fuck Social Functions.

Fuck Polities. Fuck Malt Liquor. Fuck The Cost Of Living. Fuck Love Bugs.

Fuck Medical Debt. Fuck Gnats. Fuck Pat Robinson. Fuck Christian TV.

Fuck Gentrification. Fuck Animal Testing. Fuck Mowing The Lawn.

Fuck Jessica Vaughan. Fuck Thomas Homan. Fuck Kirstjen Neilsen.

Fuck Pubic Hair. Fuck Clubs. Fuck Toupees. Fuck Gangs. Fuck The Alt-Right.

Fuck The Proud Boys. Fuck The “I’m Above That” Mentality. Fuck OMG.

Fuck Medical Capitalism. Fuck Pay Per View. Fuck The UFC.

Fuck Sea Monkeys. Fuck Angora. Fuck Corduroy. Fuck Ski Masks.

Fuck Inflatable Lawn Ornaments. Fuck Fake Xmas Trees. Fuck Candy Corn.

Fuck Chemical Warfare. Fuck Water Boarding. Fuck Glory Holes.

Fuck Cheerios. Fuck Table Side Guacamole. Fuck Lectures.

Fuck Thighty Whiteys. Fuck Frozen Rats. Fuck Kazoos. Fuck Mimes.

Fuck Circus Clowns. Fuck Broadway. Fuck Nay Sayers. Fuck Lasik.

Fuck Custom Contact Lenses. Fuck Artificial Vampire Teeth. Fuck Halo.

Fuck Body Modification. Fuck Call Of Duty. Fuck Gamer Chairs.

Fuck Gamers. Fuck Angry Birds. Fuck Words With Friends. Fuck Risotto.

Fuck Candy Crush. Fuck Zucchini. Fuck Invasive Species. Fuck DayQuil.

Fuck Sleep Paralysis. Fuck Red Tape. Fuck Paperwork. Fuck Trivia Crack.

Fuck Sleep Apnea. Fuck Escalades. Fuck Munich International Airport.

Fuck Preferred Customers. Fuck Yard Sales. Fuck Garnish. Fuck Liver Spots.

Fuck Varicose Veins. Fuck IVs. Fuck EKGs. Fuck Nose Hair. Fuck Dipping.

Fuck Cigar Lounges. Fuck Daring Not To Dream. Fuck IQ Tests. Fuck PTSD.

Fuck Bastardizing Dive Bars. Fuck Artificial Intelligence. Fuck  Hair Metal.

Fuck Political Science. Fuck Glam Metal. Fuck Poking (FB). Fuck Toe Rings.

Fuck Revenge Porn. Fuck Trickle Down Economics. Fuck The Boarder Wall.

Fuck Musicals. Fuck Natty Ice. Fuck Day Drinking. Fuck Paddle Boarding.

Fuck Grown Men Who Call Their Fathers “Daddy”. Fuck Mood Rings.

Fuck Promise Rings. Fuck Las Vegas. Fuck Atlantic Shitty. Fuck Dan Hanson.

Fuck Brittany. Fuck Gargling. Fuck Orgies. Fuck Swingers. Fuck Bukacki.

Fuck Nude Beaches. Fuck Patrolman Miller. Fuck Police Corruption.

Fuck White Collar Crime. Fuck Winding Brook. Fuck Designer Drugs.

Fuck Smoking Pot Using An Apple. Fuck Convince Store Coffee.

Fuck Panera Bread. Fuck Above Ground Pools. Fuck Cauliflower.

Fuck Florists. Fuck Customer Service Reps. Fuck Private Schools.

Fuck Ciracha. Fuck Putting Salt In Beer. Fuck Scrapbooking. Fuck Drones.

Fuck Puppy Mills. Fuck Backyard Wrestling. Fuck Matt Whitaker.

Fuck Blue Jays. Fuck Backyard Breeders. Fuck Kellyanne Conway.

Fuck Vatican LAw. Fuck Kids In Cages. Fuck Russian Oligarchs. Fuck Fur.

Fuck Hello Kitty. Fuck Sports Bars. Fuck Shitty Pizza. Fuck Garbage Island.

Fuck Cable Sports Packages. Fuck Phone Promotions. Fuck The Red Tide.

Fuck Revelations (Bible). Fuck Palm Readers. Fuck Ouji Boards. Fuck Q Tips.

Fuck The Evil Eye. Fuck Pier One. Fuck Pottery Barn. Fuck Sharper Image.

Fuck Segway. Fuck Baby Bumps. Fuck Metal Wind Chimes. Fuck Fruit Wine.

Fuck Dean Heller. Fuck Scott Walker. Fuck Oliver North. Fuck Kris Kobach.

Fuck Bruce Rauner. Fuck Pete Sessions. Fuck Dave Brat. Fuck Kim Davis.

Fuck Claudia Tenney. Fuck Rohrabacher. Fuck Percentages. Fuck Huffing.

Fuck Metal Straws. Fuck Cheesy Welcome Mats. Fuck Police Check Points.

Fuck Valets. Fuck Permits. Fuck 3rd Party Billing Agencies. Fuck Sneaks.

Fuck Military Coups. Fuck Double Speak. Fuck Backstabbers.

Fuck People Who Talk Both Sides Of Their Mouths. Fuck Dementia.

Fuck Alternative Motives. Fuck Privilege. Fuck Servitude. Fuck Mentors.

Fuck Back Handed Compliments. Fuck Cheap Shots. Fuck Sucker Punches.

Fuck Walking Poles. Fuck Land Mines. Fuck Hummers (Vehicles).

Fuck Butt Chugging. Fuck Vodka Tampons. Fuck Smoking Tide Pods.

Fuck Sniffing Glue. Fuck Mass Production. Fuck Comfort Zones.

Fuck Haters. Fuck Alienation. Fuck Life Coach’s. Fuck Advisors.

Fuck Piss Jugs. Fuck Men’s Thongs. Fuck Product (Hair). Fuck Tinsel.

Fuck Cosmetics. Fuck Dereliction. Fuck Disadvantage. Fuck Ye Olde.

Fuck Foreskins. Fuck Conditioning. Fuck Gold Diggers. Fuck Trophy Wives.

Fuck Status Symbols. Fuck Recorders (The Instrument) Fuck a Quick Fix.

Fuck Being “Too Good For” Anything.

AND

Fuck f-yourblog.com.

Well if you have made it through the entire list without skipping an entry congratulations thats really some Hardcore Shit right there.

This is The End of the F List……OR IS IT?!

Thanks for Reading  By Les Sober