computer mouse over a trapeze

somehow the goiter sac still lived and had produced someting like a face the face of an avant-garde artist like artaud but with a little extra seaweed around the sideburns and the sideburns were forking, each fork aiming for the brain and in the brain were all sorts of bizarre fun none of which he had asked for but here he was, performing here he was, living for the faceless mob who had once praised him for his skin and lips and earring. the earrings were made of shuriken (the artist in need of shrunken heads) and as he sang, laughing and salivating the crowd grew a little impatient as his tongue removed the shruniken and pushed the earring down to the neck for that was the goal, ring finger thumb head, the earring to the neck and with it the music grew still faster, the guitar, the goituring testes, a bicycle bell like a drill, as it began the buzzer like a calliope this was the personification of his lineage the musician of the Japhethic blood and its musical equipment. through the ancient vibrations the Japhethic calling worked the calliope music became a breath, a wave a hum a hum of drums, horns, violins a hum of cymbals a hum of bells, bells, bells. the Japhethic rhythm shook him to the core. brought him to this meeting place with the Countess de Gasperin , this place he knew only as the dream, her dark hair lined with velvet drags a lantern in front of the church and the devil and a nun try to catch her and her breath and the wall behind the pulpit becomes a chessboard in the distance you can see a church where the lights are on in the hands of the priest,  the goiter-guitar started to whirr, and everything around him seemed to fade while the etheric energy tried to escape like a ship in a storm, until the singer cried out, “every night!” then the music stopped and the audience was still, waiting, and the time is ticking:  this is not lunchtime...  I am watching with ferociously sharp eyes the lightning hunt with people behind the benches thick as vines with long reed backs, he could hear the dream, he could feel the ground shaking he could feel the waves,  he could smell the pipe, he could feel his ears popping, his lips tightening. the music began again he was rock solid, he was on fire, he was floating. the whole world was a glowing cloud. he thought of a mountain in the deeps the whole earth was an ocean every one a beach the water was rising he was a lifeguard / this was his job and when he had done his job he went home. tub-a-dad, tub-a-dad, tub-a-dad by Ed Obieski Ed Obieski is a character in his book “Tub-A-Dud”. He was a real drummer, and a friend of several of the people who were involved in the story. Views Site last updated: here be 'scallops and swords and these too are on the menu and rats in the barns