Member-only story
Trio for Goat, Metal Box, and Electric Rooster
I Agitato
Every afternoon before dusk, and at sundry times throughout the day, the following discussion issues from my neighbor’s yard.
A: Waah! Waaaah! WAAAAAH!
B: BAH!
A: … :-/
A: …
A: Waah? Waah. Waaah! Wa-AAH!
B: Bah. BAH. BAH!
A: … :-/
A: …
A: Waah? Waah. Waaah! Wa-AAH!
C: MEEEEEEEEEEEH.
A, B: … :-(
If you were there in person, you’d understand every word— but since the 26 letters of the Latin alphabet are ill-equipped to capture the nuances of goatish, allow me to translate.
“Waah!” begins the youth in a cracking countertenor. In human years, he appears to be about fourteen, on the brink of the tumultuous discoveries of early adulthood.
Waah we’re all gonna die. WAH there is no hope. WAAAAH we are DOOOOMED.
Wah. This single syllable contains plague, punishment, and perdition; the unjustness of wars, the suffering of the undeserving, and the inevitability of death. For the first time in his life, our poor juvenile stands face to face with the world’s depravity. The experience pierces his innocent soul to the core — and he cries out in anguish.
This inordinate display of angst goes on for a while, until it is silenced by an impatient and forceful…
