Abstract Guitar by Trisha Lamoreaux
I've been off of this for quite some time and it was not from any desire to ignore the thing. It came from confronting various not quite serious diseases that, in truth, are serious. Really. Mostly just annoying but cumulatively exhausting. I have begun to develop a new relationship with my interior and exterior. It pisses me off. I've fed it for years. Washed it almost every day and done my best to provide it with its various animal oriented pleasures. What do I get in return? An array of stuff that has resulted in my ingesting, every day, so many pills that I can make little pill men or pill faces every morning.. The palette of colors and variety of sizes has a certain degree of interest but it is very fleeting. But, enough about me....let's talk about guitars.
They are coming and going with great rapidity these days. Having had my income reduced.....REDUCED!!! I have started to buy and sell guitars. Some mean little. I have an ARIA upstairs that has a severe case of Martin envy. Not that it sounds awful or that it looks dreadful. It doesn't sound dreadful. It is just a little soulless.
There are others that have come my way that are seriously difficult to consign to the sale sign. There was another Aria. Oh twas a magnificent thing McGee. Looked real and solid and sounded like bells with cinnamon over ice. There's a Yamaha that is a known quantity. Been around. Reproduced and multiplied. Inhabits whole sub continents. It has had labels of all hues. From the coveted red to the respected tan and a few stops in the black region. But it is solid and light and plays like someone who has rediscovered tap dancing on bronze strings. My fingers have such an easy time moving up and down the neck. There is no effort to a chord. Certainly it ain't no slide guitar.
So, eventually, I do sell them. They are brief but passionate affairs of short lived intense devotion. I carry pictures of them in my wallet and sigh when I show them around the bar.
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