Matted Words Syndrome (MWS)

boy when I walked into the party this guy playing the banjo was like a magnet it was packed but suddenly everyone vanished and the sound of the strung drum hypnotized me so I stood there beerless entranced by the rhythm of the clawhammer man it was then that I knew I was going to spend the next ten years chasing just a little sliver of the moxy just a shard of rizz with which this guy played and even though eventually I could play the damn thing I played it with the rhythm of a low battery clock tick tiick toocking along like a train slowing down and speeding up and even though this woman there and even though that woman here barked some praise there wasn’t one party I played where the room stood still and listened like they did that first night because I played but I couldn’t make it swing and I couldn’t turn the damn thing into a beacon of sound drawing up history and unfolding it with simplicity and ease planting it in the ears of the room which who were so accustomed to passively hearing hip hop and techno but who got caught up that night in the trap of the banjo man Sam