Thursday - Harmonica

[ninanevermore]

Today on the drive into work, I was stopped at the red light next to the Ferris Wheel. The Carney was playing his harmonica while his cigarette sat on a post next to the gate, slowly burning itself down as the smoke spiraled up from it like an albino snake rising to strike.

I rolled down my window to listen. He was playing "Bad to the Bone," by George Thorogood. It sounded okay on harmonica, but I thought some guitar would have made it better. He was very into his playing and he allowed the Ferris Wheel to spin around without his hand on the lever.

I guess this means no one in the world died this morning, for a the brief period of time that it took the Angel of Death to play his song. Car crashes turned into near misses, bullets changed course, heart blockages broke up and cleared and despondent jumpers stepped back from the ledge to think about it for four minutes or so. I wonder if anyone else noticed?

Comments

[ignusfaatus.livejournal.com]

I guess I took him for more of an accordian lover...or a bassonist

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I think he like the harmonica because it fits in his pocket. He is fond of the blues, and that's what I usually hear him playing. I get the impression that he can play just about any instrument; being immortal, he has had time to learn...

[welfy.livejournal.com]

As a newcomer to your journal...how is it that you pass a Ferris Wheel and a Carney on the way to work every day? I'm intrigued.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

((grins)) You kind of have to refer to my profile (http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=neanahe) to understand the gist of this journal.

A lot of the reality here is actually surreality. The Carney is the Grim Reaper (aka, the Angel of Death). The Ferris Wheel he operates is the ride of life. When he stops the Wheel to let people off, it means that their ride is over. Only I can see him, as far as I know. At the very least, no one else on the road acts as if they can see him. Maybe they just choose not too.

Not everything in the journal is surreal. My posts about my mother and my memories of her, for example, are very much real, (as my cousin noblwish can attest to) even when they seem surreal (like when I mentioned her having prophetic dreams; she actually did).

The real and the surreal collide in this journal. It's all part of the fun. :)

[ktpinto.livejournal.com]

Doesn't the Carney know that smoking is bad for his health? *G*

Good song choice, though...

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Since he's immortal, I don't think he cares. Not only does he smoke, he chain smokes. The only time I see him without a cigarette in his mouth is when he plays the harmonica.