Dear Tink:
Lately, when we play together, you have a tendency to stop in mid-pounce and stare at the ceiling in wide-eyed terror. Either you are doing this to mess with me, or we have ghosts. Neither is acceptable, so please stop it.
You're freakin' me out.
Also, the Tinker Trot was a visionary piece of music, however distasteful to the ear. Don't worry. No one liked 12-tone music at first, either. I can promise you that your 13-tone composition will be featured in many a music history book. But not until after you are dead.
Which, if you don't stop screeching at 4 a.m., may be sooner than you think.
-Woman Who Feeds You
No comments:
Post a Comment