chain story

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would anyone be interested in doing a chain story on here? where one person writes a bit of something and the next poster continues as they like (providing there is continuity). i would like to write but don't have the attention span or the patience to do it on my own or for long periods of time. but i would still like to exercise my creativity in that way somewhat.

The beard! The baritone has an expressive beard! I'm fortunate to have opera glasses; this is worth the price of admission--this dancing beard! I'm a lady of refined tastes, and I'm trying to resist my temptation to swoon. The beard is dancing like the swan doing figure-eights on Swan Lake. Johan Strauss would be rolling in his grave at this sight; his beard never moved a muscle.

I was an ugly duckling once--but ever since I discovered opera, my beauty has emerged. I discovered a passion for opera which belies my own lack of passion. Grand opera inculcates me with the passion I've been missing since I was 5 years old, when I had that life-changing traumatic event.

For an adult, this would have been nothing. In truth, I merely had an electroencephalogram to measure my heart rhythms, and to rule out epilepsy. But to a five year old, this was life-changing surgery. I was told that my mommy was trying to find out the cause of my constant crying at night. That they must would do something about it. I thought the electroencephalogram was the "doing something about it." I thought I had brain surgery so that I would stop crying forever.

And so it all came down to wave patterns. Music, if you will, contains many series of wave patterns. Whether I observe sound waves in the air around me, electric waves in my brain, or even the waves in the ocean, they are all related in my thoughts. Belief sustains us, whether we admit it or not. The thought that my "surgery" would end all my problems, and now the belief that I produced and controlled waves in my music, and indeed in the very fiber of my luxurious flowing beard. I conducted beauty, and it transcended all supposed facts.

So you can imagine my despair when I was blitz-shaved in the alley outside my apartment last week. They sprang upon me with loaded cans of foam, gel, and even homeopathic concoctions of East Slovenian bee pollen and aloe vera. They shaved mercilessly close, yet without a single nick. The inexorable humming sound of their triple bladed electric razor groans still in the bare space of my dreams.