1:49 pm
You need to think about this every day: that the word is what you're involved in, is what's paying the bills. And so it should pay the bills.
No matter what happens, your involvement with the word is key. Will be key.
The word has distinguished many a song. Never forget that.
*
It is an Alvarez Regent dreadnaught that I bought from a guy around here for $55. He had it advertised on craigslist last Friday along with a bunch of other guitars and parts of guitars and other junk.
Now, the first decent acoustic guitar I ever owned was an Alvarez. I think I must have traded it away eventually toward a better guitar. But I always liked that first guitar, even though the nut eventually came to buzz.
The guitar I got Friday has been put back together better than perhaps it first was, or so I like to think. The guy could certainly have sold it for more than he did. He could have asked more for it; but, that he didn't was part of the charm of the whole thing, the whole arrangement. It all seemed, as they say, meant to be.
The key thing is, these old Alvarez models have solid spruce tops and real rosewood fretboards. This is a big deal. A crack in the top of the guitar has been meticulously repaired (you can hardly see where); and the heel of the neck finely cut and re-glued.
The fucking thing has .012's on it and has had for over a month, according to the guy, and it seems solid as a rock. It's not a piece of junk; it's a real instrument, albeit a cheap one. And everyone's gotta have at least one cheap one, a beater. There is a certain charm to the cheap ones, a certain ineffable charm. Because if you can make it all sound real and right on cheap one, well, then you know you're onto something.
Yeah, it's my beater. But I could tell right away, in that way that you always can, from the very first E played, that the thing had some song in it. It's also my lone 6-string acoustic at this point. And I'm hanging on to it. I'm taking it camping next month, sure. Also, it means I can work on getting me fingerstyle chops together. Also, now I don't feel so antsy to spend 3x as much on a brand new cheap guitar. Oh no: I'd like the next 6-string I get to be a good one. A real good one. Like this one. Till then…
*
But I'm fucking kicking myself for ever selling off that old Taylor. How could I have? But I sure did. Because I quit, I fucking quit for years, I gave up, gave it all up, gave everything up, resigned, became resigned, gave in to my own complacency, chickened out, backed out, shut it down, shut it away.
And now I'm back.
And that is the great lesson: that you can come back, you can bring it back, you can bring yourself back, you can rise anew, you can return more powerfully than anyone could have ever imagined.
Like he said.
*
When I walked up to the dude's house last Friday eve, the dude with the guitar, the living room was pungent with the scent of incense, like he'd just smoked a fattie.
Too bad he didn't know exactly who he was dealing with. I'd have brought a six-pack of Coronas or fifty extra dollars, or what have you.
But I aint that lucky. Or at least, I wasn't.
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