… …. .. ..-. –

– …. .. … .. … -. — – .- … -.- . – -.-. …. .-.-.-
.. – .. … .— ..- … – .- … -.- . – -.-. ….

What started as a sketchy squabble turned out a serendipitous session, from the lick of a lip to the noodling, fiddling, uprooting of the treacherous third, to sliding shifts in major and minor monotones, crossing every bridge in compliance, only to return on sweeping feet. The inane little play of my exile fretboard came together as a mellow mouthful.

As it is, before the juicy apple lets go of the tree, all is just sun and reckless wondrous activity, all play and abundant inspiration, before the end of the road catches you between beats and on a down strum (it’s done?!) It’s done. Leaves you sitting there agape, wondering, overwhelmed by fleeting bliss and you scramble, miss a step, rush to revisit and sponge up a little gratuitous heart-throb, a little now and then, here and there, losing time only to reminisce a few, before you part ways again, leave the room, enter the hallway, exit the stairwell and slip into the vacuum of the streets, the valley of awkward disconnect becomes the function, and just like love, unites mouth with teeth in a smile and a bite.

Please observe: as no words found matter, the offer is for you to croon, purr, growl, hum, bend a note, pitch a key, find a pulse under the rustbelt sun. These men from 1951 battled dirt, heat and dust for us to bate our breath and put our naked eye to their tracks of rock and metal. Do not strain to imagine what this might add to a scant song, or rather, if the music applies any sense to the sights, but let it propose a mere question like: what did these men dance, hum along, sing to in their cars, homes, bars and beds? Will their night be welcome and their radios silent at last? Will they bend their backs to father songs between shifting sheets? Will they shuffle their feet in jazzy circles of eight and come next summer, will they pound out a beat, a beat, a beat, a beat, a beat, a beat for dear life, stroke their favorite sweat-sticky chords, deliver harmony from strings, lay down firmly another shiny leg of warm winding road to somewhere sweet?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: