My Life. ......sort of.
A Girl's story of Musical Corruption
contains mild nudity. enter at your own risk.

by Harmonia
(Not responsible for bizarre content.)

When I was little I was diligently exposed to
the beautiful classical strains of Vivaldi and Bach
by my loving parents.
My father played the flute, my mother the harpsichord....

I was an innocent.

I grew up holding fiddlers in low esteem.
I made cruel sport of them....

I played the cello in the school orchestra....

I tried my best to be good

When I grew up, I accidently became exposed to cruder forms of music.
Music played on banjos, mandolins, fiddles even.
I found myself drawn to it. I wrestled with my conscience.
I wrestled snapping turtles

I decided to take up the mandolin.
I would play lovely rennaissance music and perhaps
some English dances and Celtic aires.
I played alone in my kitchen.

For all my efforts, that rude mountain music continued to haunt me.
My fugues lay strewn like scattered leaves upon the kitchen floor
while I discovered I could strum to Carter Family songs
and sing along with Roscoe Holcomb recordings.

I sang to my mother over the long distance telephone,

and she was aghast.

I surrendered myself to OldTime music.

My best friend Lauren Aeolia Mae and I formed a little musical group.
We called ourselves the Smoked Oyster Posse.
We played and sang badly, but with great zest and verve.
Some folks liked us.

Lauren purchased a BANJO and started to play. I coveted it.

I got a banjo.

Lauren and I became obsessed with banjos.
I attended workshops, festivals.

I moved to the pleasant town of Chatham
where I had fond dreams of
founding a
Ladies Banjo Academy

Not many ladies applied.

These days, we practice banjo secretly in my apartment

And, now that I have been observed in public places
in the company of those who play the Devil's Box,

my reputation is shot.

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