Thursday, August 31, 2006
The Greatest Guitar In The World
Before I forget it, I have a dream to record.
I dreamed this just before waking up this morning. I dreamed I was riding a bicycle and the guy across the hall from me in my Freshman dorm in 1978 was riding a bicycle, too. There was a growth of trees to the left and he said, "Fred. I'm going to show you the greatest guitar in the world."
We got off our bikes, put them in the grass and walked toward the thicket. In the middle of everything was an intricate stonework cage with curlicews. Within it was a gleaming instrument of the sort a metal maverick would play. Dave was fascinated and actually said, "Aww!"
I was amazed to be seeing the top-rated guitar stuck in a cage Michelangelo might have designed.
"This is ours!" said Dave, and he walked toward it. I began walking toward it, too.
In real life, Dave was from Long Island, although I met him at college in New England. One semester, before vacation, he said I should call him in Deer Park and go with him to the grounds of Pilgrim State Psychiatric in order to climb the outside of one of the many abandoned buildings. He convinced me it would be the moral equivalent of rock climbing.
"When's the best time?" I said. "Midnight?"
Dave's mod glasses almost popped off his nose. "Midnight? Climb one of those at midnight, and be snuffed by a junkie?"
He never mentioned climbing a decrepit building again.
But grabbing an electric guitar from a rennaissance stonework cage in broad daylight might have been up his alley.
I dreamed this just before waking up this morning. I dreamed I was riding a bicycle and the guy across the hall from me in my Freshman dorm in 1978 was riding a bicycle, too. There was a growth of trees to the left and he said, "Fred. I'm going to show you the greatest guitar in the world."
We got off our bikes, put them in the grass and walked toward the thicket. In the middle of everything was an intricate stonework cage with curlicews. Within it was a gleaming instrument of the sort a metal maverick would play. Dave was fascinated and actually said, "Aww!"
I was amazed to be seeing the top-rated guitar stuck in a cage Michelangelo might have designed.
"This is ours!" said Dave, and he walked toward it. I began walking toward it, too.
In real life, Dave was from Long Island, although I met him at college in New England. One semester, before vacation, he said I should call him in Deer Park and go with him to the grounds of Pilgrim State Psychiatric in order to climb the outside of one of the many abandoned buildings. He convinced me it would be the moral equivalent of rock climbing.
"When's the best time?" I said. "Midnight?"
Dave's mod glasses almost popped off his nose. "Midnight? Climb one of those at midnight, and be snuffed by a junkie?"
He never mentioned climbing a decrepit building again.
But grabbing an electric guitar from a rennaissance stonework cage in broad daylight might have been up his alley.
# posted by Fredwemyss @ 4:01 AM 
