My Whoo Ain't What it Was

[Bill Floyd]

Wild applause.  The bedlam wonderswarm of so many collected together and giving throat at once.  Simultaneous assertion and surrender, my individual voice added to the multitude, a brief singular living event, swelling and then fading, a congress where sum > parts, an exaltation freely rendered because a performance has moved us to cry out aloud.

Is this what the good ones hear at the end, as they're being ushered off the stage?  What about those of us who get booed or heckled?  It may be that there are no encores; only that one brief chance to send the audience home exhausted and fulfilled, ears ringing, at ease with the silence.  

[Teresa]

What G said and why does anyone need Facebook when there's 6S - the warmest, most entertaining group in the universe?  Facebook pretty much died for me when I discovered 6S.  It ain't what it was either...  Good one, Sir Floyd.

[Gita]

And yes, it's a good country song title. But I'm still waiting for you to write "Daddy ain't on Facebook cuz Momma's all the friends he needs."

 

[Gita]

Wonderswarm is so Lewis Carroll-ish, like "brillig" or "slithy toves. Your wordplay on this chill winter night warms me. The existential questions in sentences 4 and 5 make the  sum of this far > than its parts.

[Angela]

Superior tags.  Been a long while since I was in a wildly enthused crowd.  I appreciate the phrase about the encores, and what this post has to say to me, as one who floats in the swim of things, hoping to make and hear the right sounds.

Your writing has a lovely pace.

[Cita]

Ah.  We all must become so at ease with the silence that we run quickly back to our quiet holes when the adulation reverberates painfully in our ears.  That way, we keep on keeping on. Beautifully rendered.