If there was a government agency that hunted down those who forgoed creative enterprises to instead lazily read wikipedia entries on Xmen characters, I’d have my face posted in every post office coast to coast. The Thought Police would find me huddled in a dark alley playing the theme form Ocarina of Time on my Cat Piano iPhone application as they dragged me back to the real world to do something productive. “No no,” I’d scream. “Just let me figure out the Song of Storms.” This isn’t real, of course, just my shifty way of apologizing for neglecting you as of late. I’ve barely managed to pound out some old AC/DC songs, which I find painfully easy to do.
Don’t feel too hurt, you’re a beautiful instrument. Dark crimson paint with a bit of sparkles in it and cymbals, bronze and goldish, pounded with careless dents. The snap of your snare is a little flat and your cymbal crash sounds a bit like banging pots and pans, but you’re a charming noise make none-the-less.
I’ve let my attention to you slack as of late, as I’ve reached a plates of rattling out simple rock beats and hitting all the cymbals after a roll. And now I can’t take you with me on the move, so I have to leave your only partially worn drum heads behind. This is sad news. And I’ll consistently drum on the table when sitting at a bar and practice my cadence.
Sincerly,
Ben
An Open Letter to Ben:
I have no idea who you are but you should write more.
Sincerely,
Meg