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Oh Soul so tender
How You flinch at my touch
A purplish glow
Replaces the light
Revealing the bruises
Inflicted by
Life
Why choose this suffering?
Divine creator
of chaos
I cry…
And I plead
Take me back to the beginning
Oh how I yearn to know!
I am willing
Heart wide open
Listening…
Waiting…
For enlightenment
to unfold
Now, I don’t know if Dead Guy’s have feelings, but being a dancing musical instrument, I find I have danced into the Dead Guy’s realm, and I forgot to title my latest ramble, which could be called words, for lack of a better term. I have time today to make up something, whether it be tangible or fanciful, so you might see me later. I want to get back to having my brain jump-started by some one else’s creative juices, and I might even play a bit of this Radioactive Blues, which would require me gaining knowledge about sending sound into the music place, although I am wondering how much energy it will take to make it perfect, which is far beyond my capabilities
Hi bouzouki;
The Dead Guy opens an eye on occasion, but I am not sure whether it is post rigor mortis or appreciation for something here.
Mind you, the radioactive blues should help him chase the maggots away
… a dancing musical instrument playing Radioactive Blues sounds like 12-bar energy with a half life…
Bouzouki walking slow so Ukulele can keep up, while Uke dances circles, singing
[:"Where we gonna go, where?" :]
over and over, and changing the melody, sometimes, and ever so often, a completely different melody escapes that bouzouki has never Herd, and he has to stop to think, which [:Where we going now, boss, where we going now?:].
Jumping to a log, like a frog, or a dog, Uke sings anything, excited,
“Where…”
“All right, all right, I’ll tell you. The Radioactive Blues are making me sad.”
“You don’t have Nuclear Depression do you?” Uke stopped playing. “WOW,…It doesn’t show.”
“No, just the Uranium Downs. Now, if I had Uranium Dawns, I think it would be different.” bouzouki sighed “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t know what to say? When could you keep your mouth shut?” Ukilele plunks out a few notes. “You know, Uranium Dawns last a long time.”
“So do Uranium Downs.” Bouzouki looked dejected.
“You don’t know what to say to who?” Uke scratched his pick up, Made in China and rusted in the Islands, now living in the high desert, and all it does is itch. “We’re out here looking for someone, aren’t we. Who?”
“I’m old, and my strings are gray.
How long do they stay that way?
The song is long and thought the words are few
There is something in them, that I must do.”
Bouzouki paused, “I’m looking for Coal.”
“Now there is a diamond in the rough. Why Coal?” Ukulele looked around. The log he sat on had sunk slowly into the damp moss. he thought that the ground had been a little springy as he danced and sang.
“Coal’s been around a long time. I just want to ask him a few things.”
“Well, he’ll be here soon.” Uke looked around at all the peat. “Wonder if he isn’t sleeping down there already. What do you want HIM for? He’s not at all like us.”
Uke began to play again.
Bouzouki looked around. “It is different here. Uke, did I ever tell you about my theory of dimensions?”
“You mean your gravity song? It’s barely mentioned other than to ask how many are there.” Uke hadn’t bothered to learn it and he felt a little self-conscious.
“Well, the Radioactive Blues leave something at least halfway to eternity. If Coal is halfway to being a diamond, then maybe he knows.” Bouzouki smiled, “and if the dimensions are right, he should be here, sometime.”