Day118 - Hands

When I first started playing guitar I would push until I drew blood, and sometimes beyond. I love the way my fingers feel after punishing them for hours on end, especially playing bass. I play guitar mostly with a pick but the bass is the reverse: all fingers. Caressed and tickled. Often the tips are tender the next day, painful, but I don't get the same arthritic ache with bass that I do after playing guitar.

The calloused skin of my thumb and index finger still blisters occasionally. I like the feel of having rough, well-used palms and fingertips, yet such softness on the converse.

I love watching my wrists and forearms during play - the shades of light dancing over skin along with the music.

My hands are large and strong, fingers long and tactile. I watch them run all over the fretboard in mathematical patterns that make so much sense to me.

I sometimes disassociate during play and just watch, entertained. I love this dualism.

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An excellent rehearsal today. We ran through around a dozen songs, working on each, selecting candidates for the live set, followed by dinner at our usual restaurant. I've almost caught up on blog updates since the week off chased by the week from hell. I have a compulsion to write. It's in my blood. Whether it's songs, poetry or words to myself. I feel better for getting it out. Released.

Every day should be lived at least half as well.

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Mother Love Bone - Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns

"Talking to my altar
Say life is what you make it
And if you make it death
well rest your soul away"

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