Talk to me Barack!               Yes, me too.          Change the sheets. 

   Do you all swing?   

  HOPE 2009       

 

           flashback: The Private Song Of Barack Obama

 

 

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An Anti-Jihad Fairy Tale  

A young Muslim came to study with me.  He trekked up the mountain to my well fortified blue chateau.   There I live with my three girlfriends, Boopsie, Schtoopsie and Big Hilda, and my two dogs Dead Mookie and Washboard. 

The young man was uncomfortable when Boopsie opened the door. A big smile soon appeared on his face as he discovered the teaming garden of life which existed in my blue chateau.  His faith was of no concern to us. My mind was open for I was a Jewish/ Christian/ Muslim/ Atheist who dabbles in Buddhism and my own personal faith, Zappism.

He showed me his composition and I sat contemplating it, while he went to the kitchen for a bite to eat. Not impressed with his music, I put the score down and listened to the conversation coming from the kitchen. 

The young man was happier than a bum on Bum Night at the ball game. 

He composed very dry, unemotional music.  Now his laughter spread through the east wing. I rushed in and said: "Come now to the piano." "Set the last 3 minutes of conversation to music."  "How would that sound?"

"I'll improvise something, but I can't write it down." he said.

He played a set of variations with a flowing rhythm reminiscent of fields and water. It danced and never stopped except to breath. It had life, where as his score was dead.

"Why can't you write that down, or something like it? I asked.

"Only the study of music is acceptable. To make music people can hear is forbidden." he said.

"Sounds like my early career." I said and continued,

...not my choice. Music is communication. If a tree falls in the forest...don't ya know."

"OK", I said. "Let's forget these notes and unholy rhythms. I think you would enjoy more hanging out in the kitchen."

Later that night, after he left the blue chateau, Big Hilda told me his story. My six foot two spy had a way of getting the goods.  The inside dope.

His brother had already become a Shahid. His father had found a way around U.S. Customs and Homeland Security. A way for a young Arab man to get a visa is to be a music student. Five years ago his father told him to take piano lessons and prepare to enter a music conservatory. For he could not just pay his way into a music school in America.  He must be good enough to get in.  He got into Yale University on the second try.  He wasn't that good, but it pleased some Middle Eastern and Liberal donors.

My Jewish side kicked in. In five seconds I was on the phone to The FBI.  He played well, but not that well. His talent, whether the art of war, or music, won't be missed.

 

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