The News from Traumaville

Lately I’ve been watching a lot of John Cassavetes movies and staying up late with gypsy minstrels composing musical space opera set on the Jovian moons of Io and Europa. Fire and ice are prominent themes.

When the musicians get hungry we make soup from empty cans and then mourn the death of irony. A drummer named Ivan dances on the table while a fiddle player who name consists entirely of consonants plays a ragged tune. We all clap our hands and shout in various languages.

Three flutes are soon piping along with the fiddle and the hunchback washing dishes begins clanging pans in syncopated rhythm to the melody. When the women begin singing it’s almost too much. I can hear the neighbors getting restless.

Outside dogs bark as if to accompany or silence us. We sing louder and soon the police have arrived. They gather us in a circle and make us wear clown makeup. For some reason they always make me the sad clown.

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