Behind the house blues...
Here at Donkee we are all about living the dream of your life and all that, but sometimes dreams are less than pretty. Like last night there were these huge dogs... but since we here at 1430 are archivists content to leave lead as lead, how bout we let Wanda Reynolds, 9 year-old citizen of Sandledon South Carolina, 1937 do the talking.
Well, I guess I can cross another career off of my dreamlist- musician. Yesterday I found a harmonica in my dad´s drawer and I took it out to the backyard. I started playing it and I was simply amazed at how easy it was to make a song. It was really easy to remember what part of the bar meant each note and also to do slides up and down.
In no time at all I made a little melody that I kept playing over and over, changing it a little and then maybe even a lot. But when I changed it a lot I had to fight to remember what the original melody was, but using my mind and my mouth together I would find it again.
However, then I got tired of that melody and I messed around until I changed it completely and had a new one, and I kept playing that one on and on, but then I got tired of that. Then I started sliding up and down in little bursts, but that got boring because it was already simpler than the melodies I had made before. I found them each again and played them a few times but they just threatened to kill me with boringness and I had to stop, so I did, but with the harmonica still on my lips.
My breathing slowed down and my stomach muscles burned and my arm muscles too so I stopped sliding it at all and then my breathing and my bordem and my utter exhaustion actually had a sound, one note for breathing in, one lower note for breathing out, wheeee haawww, wheee haawwww, and the whole thing was so disgusting, my whole mouth full of that metally wet wood taste, I just let the harmonica spill to the grass and then the grass started moving all around in patterns, then I barfed.
And I am only tellin you donkee, not dad or mom.
Well, I guess I can cross another career off of my dreamlist- musician. Yesterday I found a harmonica in my dad´s drawer and I took it out to the backyard. I started playing it and I was simply amazed at how easy it was to make a song. It was really easy to remember what part of the bar meant each note and also to do slides up and down.
In no time at all I made a little melody that I kept playing over and over, changing it a little and then maybe even a lot. But when I changed it a lot I had to fight to remember what the original melody was, but using my mind and my mouth together I would find it again.
However, then I got tired of that melody and I messed around until I changed it completely and had a new one, and I kept playing that one on and on, but then I got tired of that. Then I started sliding up and down in little bursts, but that got boring because it was already simpler than the melodies I had made before. I found them each again and played them a few times but they just threatened to kill me with boringness and I had to stop, so I did, but with the harmonica still on my lips.
My breathing slowed down and my stomach muscles burned and my arm muscles too so I stopped sliding it at all and then my breathing and my bordem and my utter exhaustion actually had a sound, one note for breathing in, one lower note for breathing out, wheeee haawww, wheee haawwww, and the whole thing was so disgusting, my whole mouth full of that metally wet wood taste, I just let the harmonica spill to the grass and then the grass started moving all around in patterns, then I barfed.
And I am only tellin you donkee, not dad or mom.
posted by M.N.V.L. Local 1430 at 1:39 PM
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