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2002 Music Year in Review

by Michael Lawrence

The tale I'm about to tell you might scare you or haunt you. But tell it, I must, for *hic* you asked me.

The night of October 23rd I was in my laboratory all alone. Doing research, was I, on the mystic human genome. In a jar lay something in pickle; I was not alarmed at the time, for it was only a human hand sliced at the wrist, I was sure it had had died. Dead it was, that is, until a blunder was made that can not be described by any other word but shocking, for that's how the turmoil derived.

I did a task completely out of jest; I disconnected the power to perform a little test. Then the power turned on as I firmly grasped the line; it was a mishap to blame on nobody but my feline.

Loads of power went through my body at 400 miles per hour. Scuffled around the place, did I, then my equipment lay a-shuffle. Broken pipettes, jars, test tubes lay broken upon the floor, and to my left lay something shocking; it was the hand outside the jar. Upon the floor it sat, broken glass scattered about. The hand was destroyed, they were curses I shout.

Then something ‘tremendous’ occurred, or so if you will. The pinky finger trembled, it did, just over a nil. Gasped, did I, for I've never seen anything like it. Then, it was all of the sudden when the pinky moved again. Moved a bit more this time, I do believe, and I gasped again, for it was amazing to no end.

"Could it be alive?" thought I in awe. That inquiry was surely answered in its time. It jumped four feet into the air. Upon the floor, it did land; landed on all fives, it did, and stood astoundingly aloof. "Amazing, incredibly amazing," thought I, the hand is actually alive, what an incredible find! The hand walked around, each digit per step, over broken shards other such mess.

Then it did something spooky, gasped did I, for it got on its butt, raised its index, and looked in my eyes. Before I could gasp, it did something rash. It lunged toward my neck to strangle me to death.

Fought for my life, did I, and boy, I fought it well. The hand strangled me clean to death, oh what a terrible affair! Thought, did I, "Why must I die this way," for I was not playing with nature; it played with me that day. For reasons which I cannot fathom, I remember events well. The hand jumped into my corpse to find a place to dwell. Stopped at my arm, it did, then I awoke a new hand, a new man. But my brain was not the same for then I went insane.

Did the imaginable and unbearable with my hand that day, I knitted, quilted, sewed, and crocheted. Stop, yelled I, but it was of no use, the hand made me do it for days; a terrible abuse. I could still move my feet, but stopped me from leaving. It poked me with a needle, if that was my thinking. Agony, suffering, turmoil I hurt, for it claimed my body to needlework.

Suffered a while, I did then made a misconstrue. Make some dyes, it wanted to do, so it asked my brain for hostily advise. So I said my acid would make splendid dyes. Reached over for the bottles, it did, but it grabbed the electrical wire instead.

"Zap," it said as I went into electric shock; I died, thought I, but then I re-awoke. I had not died but was made alive and the hand lie on the floor. Stomped the hand, did I, ‘til it liquefied, then something occurred that I could not have imagined; my hand lift itself and it shook in amusement for I crushed the wrong hand; my original possession.

I’m here today for we’ve come with a truce, but I stayed here too long and my hand does educe. So, I flip you off now, though the fault’s not my own; my hand won’t remain here, it wants to go home. If you are still angry and not believe what I say, I’ve quilts for reparation should you visit one day.

This is copyrighted by Michael Lawrence. And his hand.