The Cellar - Snapshots.

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Snapshot I; August 24th, 2009. 8:35-8:37 PM.

Quote:

August 24th, 2009. 8:35-8:37 PM.
Sandgate, VT.

The night in Vermont is black and silent, cut only by the sound of a stream gurgling in the distance. The only light glows faintly from the house behind me, shrinking back behind me as I walk into the night. The gravel of the road beneath my feet, I can feel through my shoes.

Bugs chirp. The water gurgles further. I see a shadow on the road ahead of me, unsure if it is my own, or a trick of my eyes, or just the trees in the moonlight. I walk quietly, mumbling only to myself. A lone power line stretches overhead.

There is a small clearing ahead, almost invisible in the dark. I look into it briefly, wondering what wildlife, seeing far better than I in the dark, stares back. There is a rustle in the bushes nearby. I ignore it. Something glints on the side of the road. I bend down to see what it may be. It is nothing.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Pie (Post 590000)

go north

You are in a maze of twisty passages all alike.

Ahead is a light, to the west is a path, to the east is a door.

Quote:

Originally Posted by classicman (Post 590189)

RUN, RUN like hell!

Invalid command.

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Originally Posted by dar512 (Post 590246)

Invalid command.

You silly goose: invalids can't run, not when they can't even leave the house! :p

Quote:

Originally Posted by Shawnee123 (Post 590288)

You silly goose: invalids can't run, not when they can't even leave the house! :p

Smiled out loud. :D

No sleep for me. You people are fucking nutz. ;)

What I do with my nut is none of your business.

Just don't bust it. Not near me anyway.

Whattza matter? Don't want our man-musk all over you?

Quote:

Originally Posted by Crimson Ghost (Post 597259)

Whattza matter? Don't want our man-musk all over you?

Thsi si just wrong on so many levels.....

Quote:

Originally Posted by monster (Post 597425)

Thsi si just wrong on so many levels.....

Thank you.

Quote:

Sharing only glances, not words, the drummer and the guitarist hammered out a crunchy rock-and-roll jam. Their chemistry ebbed and flowed. Sometimes the drum fills and guitar riffs clashed – a look would always be exchanged, an unspoken territorial glance. The guitarist would sometimes take the lead, changing his style or chordage or taking a solo without warning, leaving the drummer playing catch-up to fit the new beat. This clearly seemed unfair to the drummer, who would get his share of the leadership much the same way – occasional unpredictable changes in rhythm kept the guitarist on his toes. The two vied for control of the improvisation, and their interesting twists of style, all around a common theme or riff, made for a very dynamic piece, the personalities of the musicians shining through as clear as day. Bluesy pentatonics gave way to grinding power chords, moving the drums from up a notch in intensity to match; power chords melted into dreamy arpeggios, slowing the drummer down again. A classic blues closing starts to develop; the drummer hears it and gives a rising patter on his cymbals, crashing to a finale with the guitar. The two talk it out for a moment, kicking around ideas for another song to base the jam around, settling on a nod to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly as fingerpicked western chords burned their way through the muddy distortion and the drummer built up a country rattle in his rhythm. Their glances and facial cues built up layers of complexity as they worked their way through various changes in rhythm. The drummer, keeping one eye on the clock, built up to a crescendo finale, but the guitar howled straight on through, leaving the drummer with no choice but to continue with a second crescendo, and again a third before the guitarist took the hint, building up to a rising coda before they ended their jam with a crash.