Old man Johnson never stopped drumming, all about Massachusetts. Every adult or child knew he played the drums in the whole state. He taught countless drummers, mentioning his teachings from Buenos Aires to Cairo to Delhi to Saikyo. But Old Man Johnson was a man, and like all men, his time is finite. Many drums were heard at his funeral, like belophonies of rain on a meditative day. But the funeral ended and everyone lamented Old Man Johnson's drums will be heard no more.
But , ever since his passing, many say when the most violent acts are committed between peoples in the usa, from the pole the flag hangs from being used as a spear, to forty one shots aimed at the groom to be in his bachelor's party, to the murder of nonviolent people wanting to maintain arms for self-defense at Wounded Knee, the drum of Old Man Johnson can be heard. With drumsticks made of love to peace even in spite of harm or trust to strangers even if proven themselves antagonist, the drum fights to sound over the spirit of war vendetta or revenge at the root of the land from sea to shining sea. And of course, the drums of New Bedford have always failed to bring Statians together, but they never give up hope. Drumming in the face of undeniable terrifying reality, while drumming in front of ever-distant fantasy. Try to hear; the drums warn of the fire that may be.
