Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Another Weird Email
Posted by Batum Schragg
Sun shone warm on my scaly bare feet. Peaceful pigeons pecked popcorn there. Between my knees, the Djembe jolted all my bones as my bare hands bounced on it. Wearing my 40% Hero Shirt, with my RockWacker laid alongside, I went into the drumming.
People of various stripes sometimes stopped on their tour of the Farmer's Market. Some spoke, but of course I said nothing; replied with rhythm.
I must've started doing something right, because one female stripe lingered, caught in rhythm herself. So I reached into The Wordless bag and handed her the Gon. In no time she had it ringing righteously with All Rhythm.
When her boyfriend stripe arrived grooving, he received Chic Chac, and wove his rattly way into All Beat.
As stripes came and went, out of the miraculous Wordless Bag came Arm Drum and Mu, Cora and Turukabala. And when one particularly peaceful and grizzled old stripe stopped, he got a shruti box, to lay lingering longing beneath the frenzy and thump.
When one well-to-do stripe expressed desire for my shirt, without a word I accepted $400 and gave him the shirt off my back. Beneath it: another!?!
And when other stripes slipped bills into The Wordless Mug there, they got a smiling nod. All were welcome to take one of the Wordless Postcards arrayed alongside.
By now the neighborhood sported more stripes than a prison suit. They were rocking with racket, humming and hammering, drumming and dancing.
Needless to say, the pigeons had fled the party to perch elsewhere. Not for them, all this banging and boogying. So the police came, just as that warm sun tucked behind cold gray clouds, to discuss ordinances concerned with disturbing the pigeons. Since I declined comment, I was arrested.
Not even Clem Tillion could get me out of this one, so
Beware The Wordless life: it's not available where prohibited.
www.TheWordless.com ¶ 2/15/2005 02:21:00 PM
Sun shone warm on my scaly bare feet. Peaceful pigeons pecked popcorn there. Between my knees, the Djembe jolted all my bones as my bare hands bounced on it. Wearing my 40% Hero Shirt, with my RockWacker laid alongside, I went into the drumming.
People of various stripes sometimes stopped on their tour of the Farmer's Market. Some spoke, but of course I said nothing; replied with rhythm.
I must've started doing something right, because one female stripe lingered, caught in rhythm herself. So I reached into The Wordless bag and handed her the Gon. In no time she had it ringing righteously with All Rhythm.
When her boyfriend stripe arrived grooving, he received Chic Chac, and wove his rattly way into All Beat.
As stripes came and went, out of the miraculous Wordless Bag came Arm Drum and Mu, Cora and Turukabala. And when one particularly peaceful and grizzled old stripe stopped, he got a shruti box, to lay lingering longing beneath the frenzy and thump.
When one well-to-do stripe expressed desire for my shirt, without a word I accepted $400 and gave him the shirt off my back. Beneath it: another!?!
And when other stripes slipped bills into The Wordless Mug there, they got a smiling nod. All were welcome to take one of the Wordless Postcards arrayed alongside.
By now the neighborhood sported more stripes than a prison suit. They were rocking with racket, humming and hammering, drumming and dancing.
Needless to say, the pigeons had fled the party to perch elsewhere. Not for them, all this banging and boogying. So the police came, just as that warm sun tucked behind cold gray clouds, to discuss ordinances concerned with disturbing the pigeons. Since I declined comment, I was arrested.
Not even Clem Tillion could get me out of this one, so
Beware The Wordless life: it's not available where prohibited.
www.TheWordless.com ¶ 2/15/2005 02:21:00 PM
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