Killing the dead (zombies aka walkers) with my guitar playing...
A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Souls (click here )
Excerpt:
2015:
"Come on dude. Why you gonna give me your monkey business?"
"There's too many real, uh I mean..." I gave him the evil eye.
"I'll let you up there soon." He knew I'd wait. Picked up my acoustic guitar, that I got on the side of the street of a destroyed house-courtesy of Hurricane Katrina, I went outside to practice. I use my Kramer electric guitar to play on stage.
"With darkness descending the freaks came out. They come out at night," I mumbled. I was amused how the street lights shined on the people causing them to look like they had pale skin; like zombies. I think I've had too much coffee and am having an acid flashback.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________###
After many minutes of practicing, I go back inside and see more of them. I notice their clothes are very ragged. I ignored them. All sorts of music memorabilia is on the walls. Including guitars hung on the walls. The The stage is huge. Takes up a quarter of the floor space. In front of the stage is a big dance floor. To its sides are chairs and tables. The host spotted me.
"You ready?"
"Give me about five minutes."
"Okay."
I went outside to smoke and noticed more pale figures in raggedy clothes.
“I hear something.”
Went inside the club. From my peripheral vision I saw more pasted white skin, rags for clothes wearing figures. I ignored them. No one was playing on the stage; it was between sets. The host spotted me and rolled his eyes, “You ready?”
“Yea man.”
Took me two minutes to set up. “Okay let’s go.”
Took that railroad spike to my strings strummed as I slid to the 12th to 13th to 15th fret. Bent the six string.” I looked at the crowd. They started getting up and walking toward the door. Before the first one could walk out the door
Saw one of the ragged wearing pale beings charge through the door. It bites the doorman on the cheek. Blood rushes down. His jaw bones exposed. Damn, I gotta’ be hallucinating off of the coffee. I close my eyes and turn up the volume on my guitar. I hear screams from the audience. They’re digging me? I open my eyes and
Excerpt:
2015:
"Come on dude. Why you gonna give me your monkey business?"
"There's too many real, uh I mean..." I gave him the evil eye.
"I'll let you up there soon." He knew I'd wait. Picked up my acoustic guitar, that I got on the side of the street of a destroyed house-courtesy of Hurricane Katrina, I went outside to practice. I use my Kramer electric guitar to play on stage.
"With darkness descending the freaks came out. They come out at night," I mumbled. I was amused how the street lights shined on the people causing them to look like they had pale skin; like zombies. I think I've had too much coffee and am having an acid flashback.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________###
After many minutes of practicing, I go back inside and see more of them. I notice their clothes are very ragged. I ignored them. All sorts of music memorabilia is on the walls. Including guitars hung on the walls. The The stage is huge. Takes up a quarter of the floor space. In front of the stage is a big dance floor. To its sides are chairs and tables. The host spotted me.
"You ready?"
"Give me about five minutes."
"Okay."
I went outside to smoke and noticed more pale figures in raggedy clothes.
“I hear something.”
Went inside the club. From my peripheral vision I saw more pasted white skin, rags for clothes wearing figures. I ignored them. No one was playing on the stage; it was between sets. The host spotted me and rolled his eyes, “You ready?”
“Yea man.”
Took me two minutes to set up. “Okay let’s go.”
Took that railroad spike to my strings strummed as I slid to the 12th to 13th to 15th fret. Bent the six string.” I looked at the crowd. They started getting up and walking toward the door. Before the first one could walk out the door
Saw one of the ragged wearing pale beings charge through the door. It bites the doorman on the cheek. Blood rushes down. His jaw bones exposed. Damn, I gotta’ be hallucinating off of the coffee. I close my eyes and turn up the volume on my guitar. I hear screams from the audience. They’re digging me? I open my eyes and
one of the zombies head explodes. More come through the door. I keep playing. Their heads explode. Someone turned off the PA. I ain’t got no sound. The zombies start going on a feeding frenzy of the crowd. “Keep playing! TURN HIM BACK ON!”
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