I seem to have developed a sort of attachment with my guitars. Not so
much as an infatuation with an inanimate object. I mean, if the house
were on fire and everyone were asleep except me, I'd first save my
family, then my sister (subject to Terms and Conditions) and then if I
had the time or a Demi-god like adrenaline rush, I'd get a bunch of
other things: money, potato chips, my iPad (because Twitter and
Facebook can't wait for the morning headlines) and then if time
permits, soap. Because soap is not a very good thing to not have.
I think both my guitars have different personalities. My acoustic is a
cherry red coloured rosewood guitar. It plays its tunes well. I think
he (yes, he's got a designated gender) is a soulful person waiting to
play his tunes. Of course, all guitars are waiting to play their
tunes, unless you're using one at a Green Day concert, where the
thought process of a guitar would be like this:
Oh, you're playing me. Fine.
Oh, now you're shredding me. Alright. Bearable.
Oh, now you're pulling my strings (no pun intended). Bending the
lines? Pushing the envelope? Fine.
Wait, what are you doing? What's this?
Why am I disconnected?
[At this point the guitar is banged on to several objects including
stage equipment, the floor and people]
Alright, back to my guitar. I think when I don't play him, he feels
sad. Poor guitar.
My electric guitar, which has found conception in the form of a
basswood Strat lookalike, seems a bit more jumpy. It's electric blue
on colour. When you look at it, it feels as though you are staring
down straight into its inhumane, robotic soul. But it's not cold in
there, I expect. After all, I give it all the attention in needs (by
not beating it up).
I feel both he and it are good people/things. If the world were
engulfed in a totalitarian post-war apocalyptic Orwellian environment,
these guitars would be treasured antiques for a verity of reasons.
One, they are guitars and guitars are awesome (unless you're Green
Day) and two, because I owned them, and I'm sure that one day every
single object I have ever touched will become
will remain an object that has been touched by a mere mortal whose
existence has no significant value in the cosmic oasis of the space