baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Metaphor In A Fissure So it's my fault. My prized guitar: a steel-stringed beauty of an acoustic purchased in a moment of indulgence one chilly Saturday years ago has suffered cracks in the seams and binding because of me. I kept her hanging around too long. Literally. I wanted her within reach at all times so I rarely put her away. She was always on a wall-wether the living room or the bedrooom or the garage wall-ready to be strummed at any moment. And last week, as I sat down on my front porch and began playing Track 5, I looked down and saw the results of my carelessness. Cracks. In the seam. On the neck. Damn. The luthier in what is growing to be one of my favorite loitering spots tells me to get a humidifier. I didn't tell him I had one. I bought it years ago but lost it in somewhere between gigs, houses and garages. And didn't care enough to replace it. He also said that I should have kept her in the case when not being played. Damn. You fucked up Mr. Self-Destruct. Surely, there's a metaphor in here somewhere. 1:02 p.m. - 2002-10-26 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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