Leech to the ideas expressed in extreme aggressive/progressive music. Maybe some of the technicalities will seep into my pores like LSD on a bandana in the heat. On stage and regurgitating in a bathtub somewhere in Europe, all haggard. A low E and B string below the standard tuning. Experiment the chord various present if you tuned your guitar (with floyd rose maybe) tune every string G or B. The combinations of chords apparent and the fingers more simple. It takes simple rehearsal. It takes something to master standard. Who gives a shit about what's standard? To make a face as a guitarist these days, it's about innovation and strange enduring sounds. Or a persona. Mostly humble or rhythmic... Men lifting weights behind me. Girls tanning in front of me (in tanning beds) I sit on a half circle couch and my weight has made an imprint. Comedy to my right. Blue and red flannel in the corner, engrossed in studies like a young lady I conjured up for a story. I never truly explained their appearances and wonder if that will be a major complaint for the readers. The lack of concrete imagery possibly detracts from the story because we get a glimpse of character but no indications of their actual appearances. They look scared or loving but we don't know what color their hair is.
The blue and red flannel to my left. Far across at a round table, sitting on a bean bag. Her computer has a bright pink case. Her ears are pierced in multiple places. Brunette ponytail. Causal. Texting somebody. A friend? A lover? I wonder if she has plans for Valentine's day. I wonder if I could summon the courage to give her some candy. Now talking on the phone, animated. Talking through the wire with her hands. Writing down things the person is saying. taking careful notes because this phone call determines so much more than simply the rest of her life. what if this where I meet her? some special bond forms and white denim becomes a lovely experience. I will die to be holding someone's hand if they play street joy. I will fall over and hope someone warm catches me. I will fall through the ceiling into a carefully planned layout of mixed races and genders. I hate approaching people here. It is too difficult and embarrassing.
