For those of you that haven’t heard this excellent Neil Young song called Love and War go look it up. The ponderous yet simple chords, paired with the classic late sixties folk melody was a pure conglomeration of experience and regret. I truly enjoyed it.
I’ve also devoted myself to learning how to play it in completion, this includes the solos. I must work on my finger picking. My guitar doesn’t sound the same as his. I’ve spent the day in seclusion. I am sick and pensive and in no mood to deal with eighteen year old boys and their sense of humor. “I have my books and my Poetry to protect me, I am shielded in my armor Hiding in my room, safe within my womb I touch no one and no one touches me…” My guitar is here to keep me company, along with the complete works of E.E. Cummings. I should take a nap before fencing, as I’m ill. But I just feel so rotten, and more than a little bereft. I am silly and idealistic. It’s all that I have left.