Maharaja Miku Smokestacking
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☕ Maharaja Miku Time (Double Bass Dream)
One sip of Kenyan, bold and black,
Time cracked open, slipped its track.
Miku blinked, then found his place—
Two basses thumping, smoky space.
Electric lines from Miku’s paws,
Dixon’s upright answered with bluesy jaws.
Grooves entwined like myth and lore,
A dialogue carved in rhythmic roar.
Howlin’ Wolf, a storm of sound,
Growled the blues that shook the ground.
His voice, a train through midnight dark,
Lit the room with lightning sparks.
Three souls bound in rhythm’s flame,
No one asked from whence they came.
Just the beat, the sweat, the roar—
A gig that bent the mythic score.
Then morning came, the kettle hissed,
Miku stirred from smoky mist.
Was it real or dreamtime spun?
He checked his phone… and there was one.
A photo: grainy, black and white—
Three shadows caught in perfect light.
Two legends, one surreal bear,
Proof that blues can take you there.
A report from the Nonsense Chronicler Pink Flamingo
📰 The Nonsense Chronicle
Section: Temporal Distortions & Sonic Riddles
Byline: Pink Flamingo, Senior Correspondent for Mythic Gigs & Chrono-Jazz Phenomena
Date: Whenever It Was
🐾 MAHARAJA MIKU TIME & THE DOUBLE BASS CONVERGENCE
“Smokestack Lightning bends the hourglass again”
Last night—or possibly three centuries ago—Maharaja Miku sipped a cup of Kenyan coffee so potent it tore a hole in the fabric of causality. One moment he was rehearsing scales in his Cardiff palace, the next he was standing on stage in a smoke-drenched Chicago blues club, flanked by Willie Dixon and Howlin’ Wolf, both very much alive and very much in tune.
The bear wore sunglasses. Of course he did.
His bass guitar hummed with electric prophecy, trading phrases with Dixon’s upright like two ancient gods debating rhythm.
Wolf howled into a chrome microphone, his voice a freight train dragging the moon behind it.
The crowd included ghosts of legends, a few lesser known flamingo celebs and one sentient jukebox.
The setlist was simple:
- “Smokestack Lightning” (played in a loop until time forgot itself)
- “Bear’s Lament in E Minor” (improvised)
- “The Flamingo Waltz” (never recorded, only remembered)
At 3:17 a.m. (or was it 1957?), Miku vanished mid-solo, leaving behind only a faint scent of espresso and a single photo on his phone. Black and white. Grainy. Three figures. One myth.
Ceremonial Verdict:
- Basslines: Conversational and cosmically entangled
- Vocals: Wolfish and weather-altering
- Temporal Integrity: Irreparably compromised
- Flamingo Presence: Acceptable
Closing Note:
The Chronicle reminds readers: strong coffee may summon legends. Always check your phone before dismissing the impossible.
Local newspaper report.
The same paper but an edition from a different dimension.
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