We’ve made it half way through NaPoWriMo 2014!
Those following Mapping the Edge (MTE) since December 2013 are aware of my Uncanny Valley series. Inspiration for today’s post comes from an unpublished part of that New Orleans weekend.
My story about Papa Cool didn’t make the cut. Just between us, the MTE editor is an idiot. Don’t worry. He never reads this blog.
As soon as I hit “publish,” I’m taking our clean-energy monorail to headquarters and file a formal complaint. When I reach that plexiglass-enclosed nerve center overlooking the unmapped edge (still under construction), I may enter that glowing pulsing orb buzzing with activity and a 60-hertz electrical hum without even knocking.
If I threaten to start my own blog called, Edging the Map, will any of you follow?
Will the promise of free podcasts help?
I know. Tough decision. Think about where your loyalty lies.
Now on with the show…
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He’s Papa Cool
Young band left unplugged played one night stand too long
Dividing emptiness in the money hat
Against leaving flow old man took stage to silence
Scarred electric axe carried like a guitar
Old man sang into dead microphone
Until somebody did something
Bartender tended barred sounds from a board
Levers slid twisted knobs punch sound belched from amp and lungs
Now gimme some reverb old man yelled to bartender shrugs
Reverberation is sound-persistence after the originating sound is played
So it’s echo? No it’s not it’s sound refusing to leave this bar
Find the knob that says so and crank it
Man never heard of reverb old man over-helped
Never heard of Hendrix Stevie Ray Chuck Berry either
Bartender stared at soundboard’s complexing perplexity
Like he forgot how to tie untied shoes
If no knob says reverb then just gimme a little bit
One half of the two-person audience leaned in leaving
To the other half said too bad you don’t have rotten fruit to throw
Finally reverb made abundant appearance and old man played
Man he played to an audience of me
Two songs strung people up on sidewalk glass-staring inside souls
Another one place-packed the joint
Money buckets passed tipping over
I asked waitress who was the old man she left
Walked onstage mid-song asking
Who am I the speaker next to my ears said I’m Papa Cool
Turned toward microphone and me reverbed he’s Papa Cool
I gave both thumbs up with applause
For this diamond in the rough of New Orleans
Left adding a drop in a bucket not big enough
Because he’s Papa Cool
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