Here's something you might be interested in.
"That thousand year old dead man would have a stiffy right now if his bone were actually a bone."
I laughed this instrumentally into the improvised soul songs we played on the ocean's veranda.
He played guitar, I played violin, and a man so brave had his entire drum kit to beat masterfully on the grass.
I think I have a fantasy of resurrecting old, dead musicians through a re-introduction of their works in my personal, quite sexual, interpretation.
Like that one time I posed naked with Bukowski.
One of his books, anyways.
Some of us stood, some sat, but everyone was dancing freely to our sounds and spirits combining into a free-love circle of shared musical talent.
I gave them some Mozart, they shared with me some Dylan and Hendrix.
We set aside the structure of existence and created our own new sounds.
Our own clefs.
For many moments, my body swayed vivaciously, or tapped and shook to the beats, arpeggios, and strums.
"This is so. freaking. awesome!!!"
My happiness couldn't be shunned or hidden by any physic-bending cloak of invisibility.
Nope. Not me.
I'm just
too damn happy.
Words may do this weekends musical flavorings 1 pint of justice.
Never enough.
I guess thats the thing about music and sharing,
it leaves you thoroughly full, yet so unsatisfied.
I may sell everything to live the life of a musical gypsy vagabond queen.
Me and my truck, my violin, ukulele, and guitar.
With nothing,
I'll get far.
"That thousand year old dead man would have a stiffy right now if his bone were actually a bone."
I laughed this instrumentally into the improvised soul songs we played on the ocean's veranda.
He played guitar, I played violin, and a man so brave had his entire drum kit to beat masterfully on the grass.
I think I have a fantasy of resurrecting old, dead musicians through a re-introduction of their works in my personal, quite sexual, interpretation.
Like that one time I posed naked with Bukowski.
One of his books, anyways.
Some of us stood, some sat, but everyone was dancing freely to our sounds and spirits combining into a free-love circle of shared musical talent.
I gave them some Mozart, they shared with me some Dylan and Hendrix.
We set aside the structure of existence and created our own new sounds.
Our own clefs.
For many moments, my body swayed vivaciously, or tapped and shook to the beats, arpeggios, and strums.
"This is so. freaking. awesome!!!"
My happiness couldn't be shunned or hidden by any physic-bending cloak of invisibility.
Nope. Not me.
I'm just
too damn happy.
Words may do this weekends musical flavorings 1 pint of justice.
Never enough.
I guess thats the thing about music and sharing,
it leaves you thoroughly full, yet so unsatisfied.
I may sell everything to live the life of a musical gypsy vagabond queen.
Me and my truck, my violin, ukulele, and guitar.
With nothing,
I'll get far.