Courage

'Cos some commercials are the best thing on TV:

Love it!

My guitar's gone PUNK!

It could not be called a guitar given it had not been a 6-string since the morning I found the first one, the thinnest of the strings, divided in two someday back in July. It had decided to give up. No more crying sad songs, no more screaming shivering bendings for it. It was the end for the long and thin piece of steel that hung loosely, making my guitar incomplete. So, coming around the guitars shop and getting a new string had become a must; a must for which I had found no time till today.



Once in the shop I realized that over the years I had just replaced the strings that got broken, so most of the strings were dark and tired, too old to bring the clear pitch I love hearing. I pulled out my walllet and bought a complete 6-string fresh set.

Later at home, I had some fun removing the old strings and replacing them for the new ones. As the tuning screws were loosened those old strings released their last cry, as a note that faded while the frequency went lower and lower. Until they became a dead thread, a piece of metal from which no sound could be heard ever again. Distant memories came briefly to my mind, memories of friends, of long gone years, of songs played and sung in distant places and distant times. Songs sung by those old and exhausted strings that had just silenced their voice one by one.



But the screws were spinning again and this time counter-clockwise, and a new voice was becoming more and more audible. A new note, clear as daylight, a new cry of rage and life, a new scream demanding the here and now. A new song that was just letting itself be heard for the very first time. Not only one, but two, three... up to six times, six new voices rising up. Now my guitar has six new, shiny, electric strings. My guitar is back. My guitar is young and sparklingly alive.

Yeah, my guitar has gone punk!