Last night I dreamed I was required to play the cello. I never played the cello. I tried in vain. During my attempt the cello melted, shapeshifted, and time traveled. It turned from maple to oak to redwood. It disintegrated and rotted and splintered and reformed all the while. The bow I had no talent with. The hairs or strings snapped and curled and the handle broke in half. My arms and hands cramped and were sprain. After enough frustration I threw the bow across my dwelling- a supernatural state of suspension with auras of romantic and earthy tones. I pulled the neck of the cello back, lowering the action and breaking off part of the headstock. Suddenly I had a lute. I dissappeared from the view of third person and music played as I faded. Nothing sounded right so I byoke the lute in half and then I woke up.
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I spit bullets in my feet
Every time I speak
So I write instead
And still people want me dead
~msc
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