Sunday, November 25
Sunday, February 6
Wednesday, February 2
If you have read my blog in the past you will know that I have been trying to build my own (or assemble is probably more accurate) electric guitar for a while.
Well it's finished. Yay. It took about ten years and a couple of false starts and some incomplete projects, but it is finally done. And I am pretty pleased with the results.
So hello to 'Beany 1'. It's a strat type guitar that I have built with some specific components that I like.
Fender Highway One nitro finished body - cream and it's a little beaten up - looks great
Warmoth Imbuia neck, with a compound radius, and ebony fingerboard/pearl markers, which i finished in satin with Gunstock oil and then some Gunstock wax - just on the back as the fingerboard is ebony and doesnt need finishing.
Earvana compensated nut
Grover locking tuners
Fender classic trem with Graphtech graphite saddles
(since this was taken I also added Graphtech graphite string trees to the headstock)
The electronics are EMG DG21s - the David Gilmour (of Pink Floyd) signature set.
It is a pretty rocking and loud as hell - I am having fun with it. What's next?
Sunday, December 19
Is there a thrill in finding a bargain? She certainly thought so. She wanted that new bag, but the sticker shock of the retail tag was a little too much to bear. That is nearly next month's rent payment. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, but that bag would look amazing and would shut up Angela. She wanted to see the look on her face when she walked into the party this week, that facade that hide the green eyed monster inside her.
Is the cost worth the hardship this month? A couple less mochas, well a lot fewer, and some nights in watching tv, that wouldn't be so bad. And she thought that if she did want to get out, then she was pretty sure that Daniel would take her out. He was nice, good for a meal ticket at the moment, not sure if he was marriage material, but the fact at he was seeing her and not Angela was definitely worth putting up with him.
She fingered the lines of the credit card in her purse, raised surfaces, silently screaming a Braille taunt to her, go on, just hand me over... It will be painless. Its credit after all.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Saturday, December 18
And he played to it, it hadn't hurt him so far. He could get anyone to help him, give him a favour, lend a hand or offer their hand.. And more.
It was always that way. Thick rimmed glasses, a retainer and spots. There was a time that nobody paid a second glance. He drifted around the streets invisible to all, women, men. Then one day it changed. No more spots, contacts and a haircut, new t shirts and the approving looks started rolling in. Then the advances. How did he play this, he wasn't used to the attention but he learned to like it.
Remembering the first touches of a girl. Something months before he was resigned to never knowing. The electricity of her fingers, her lips. How the sound of a caught breath made his heart beat that touch faster. How the scent of perfume made everything else seem less important.
Now the world was laid out in front of him. Throwing itself at his feet. It owed him a little for all the years of obscurity. Now it was his turn to reap the benefits.Is this what a movie star or sportsman feels like? Ten feet tall and unstoppable? It was a good feeling.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, December 17
bodies tangled in the half light of curtained mornings
Blue brown light filtering through the depths of the room
Giving your silhouette an angelic glow
I ran my hand over your hip and along your waist
telling you one thing, thinking something very different
All the time, you filled my nostrils, my mind
the lingering of your perfume ever present.
Even now days and nights later, in the dark of night,
I still catch that unmistakable hint of your hair, your skin
It all comes flooding back
And in my half sleep, I still see the glow of your outline
Burned into my mind, like you're right there
But who am I remembering? Is it you,
Or just composites of our best times
A highlight real of my greatest moments
And my greatest mistakes
I sink back beneath the waves of dreams
Into the embrace of sheets, like waves washing over me
And I see the smile in your eyes for the last time
Wednesday, December 8
An American Dream.
But look closer at the shine, pick at the fraying corners,
And tear away the new suit.
This is what drive desires, wants, lust, greed.
Running against everyone, needing every last seat, parking spot, table.
Bigger, better, more than the Jones', Changs and Kumars.
Beneath the flash, the lustre, is a masked acrid odour of dark.
Green eyed, fat fingered and ruthless
Clawing at each other, climbing over those too balanced to care about the superficial.
There is a dark side to this country, an underbelly that nobody wants to admit.
Fueled by the dream of the free, really obsessed with the want of the flesh, of the wallet, of the dollar.