Just remember this, my girl, when you look up in the sky
You can see the stars and still not see the light (that’s right)

Eagles “Already Gone”
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Free Writing 1/29/2016

I wish I had the ability to play a musical instrument. A guitar, harmonica, something. Hell being able to play a sax with 1/100th of the ability of a Clarence Clemons would be nice.

I never gave it much thought as a kid or even a teenager. Some kids have the piano pushed on them, or other instruments, but that never happened with me. Maybe my butchering if various Johnny Cash songs at the age of 7 or 8 was enough to prevent my parents from wanting that to happen. Who knows.

I like words, and like to put them together, it would simply be nice to be able to strum a guitar a bit or play a harmonica to build those words into tunes, which could maybe turn into a song. I’ve tinkered with putting things like that together before, but I don’t see anything coming from that either, but you play something in your head, without the ability to transfer it to something that works, it’s frustrating.

I think it would be relaxing to have a screened in porch just to go back there and sit and pick on a guitar, read, nap, whatever. Just something away from the elements.  I’m not even sure I have the hands for it. Maybe a jumbo guitar.  I bought my brother one for Christmas one year, and it now has 4 strings. He never put much effort into playing it. I know there are tons of videos on Youtube that show you how to play song x, y, or z, so maybe that is a starting place.   Well after asking to borrow his 4 string guitar and buying some new strings.

Knowing my luck, I’d get pretty good at a 4-stringer and then have that world blown to hell when I added some strings to it.   Oh well, just one of those rambles that would lead to wasting more time.

317 words

A stranger’s light comes on slowly
A stranger’s heart without a home
You put your hands into your head
And then smiles cover your heart

Mazzy Star

I don’t mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows
I can taste you on my lips and smell you in my clothes
Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies
You never know just how you look through other people’s eyes

Butthole Surfers

Interstate 40, Barstow, California to Wilmington, North Carolina.

The Road Goes on Forever and The Party Never Ends

– Robert Earl Keen