From booksartyoume
thought that i'd post this after sending it to a friend(hadn't looked at it for a bit), & more below this one if you want:
Meditation on Pianos and Guitars(trg, 6/09/03)
Along the banister sits the Piano waiting to be played. -- Note: I will be referring to these things in the proper noun sense, being that they are most often extension of a person. Even those who play poorly or those who merely apply the mechanics of instrumentation, even these people extend themselves through their instruments. True, they are either inept or asses, but nonetheless their instruments are extensions of their person. Enough said. Over in the corner sits a lone guitar, snug in her case where no one can see her, out of the way so no indiscriminate hands might perchance pick her up and pluck her strings. A priceless piece of wood and strings must needs be protected.
Piano by now is quite perturbed, thinking that all attention should be shown towards her direction. By the way, she would say, I am not out here for all to see for nothing. Piano has never decided where on the gender scale he or she is to be found. I dont thing that he or she truly gives a damn. I know that I dont. --For the sake of less confusion I will trade of gender references here to either gender, so please dont be put off. If youre unable to deal with such liberal understanding of personhood being express just choose the one that you think best fits Piano and read on. Piano loves his keys tapped ever so lightly, save for the appropriate crescendos. Her timber in the upper range is unparalleled and his lower ranges resonance will shake you insides, not so much with his volume but with his vibration, even when the notes are barely heard. Piano says, Please sit down before me and let me razzle dazzle you. And this he will if you will but spend a little time with him. Key pressed rise up to be pressed down again. If you have the knowledge and finesse it wont take much more than twenty minutes for you to become one with her. Here you are transformed into another world, a world where angels fly, a world where angels wished they could buy, a world where people are full of instrumental proficiency. This world is where both genius and simple music lovers meet.
Please, he says, tough my black keys too, youll not be sorry. Its not like the racist phrase, Back, try it and youll never go back. Here if you allow yourself to experiment with the ebony key it wont be long until youll be back on the ivory wider ones. Here both the white and the black form a part of a mutual necessity for melody. Without the entwined love affair there is no harmony, no blues, no Mozart, no Mahler or Brahms, no Fats Domino or Oscar Peterson, nothing. She says, Come play with me and Ill guarantee you that youll never be unsatisfied. Yes, this seems true, but for me it still doesnt fill my soul with all that I need.
In the corner safely behind the furniture sits my lover, my Guitar. --Guitar is most positively of the female gender. Her shape gives her away. I have never known a man, even the most luscious of a drag queen to have Guitars shapely figure. Over in the corner I hear faintly her call, Please open my case and reacquaint yourself. I open the case and there she was in all her glory. I dont know what it is with people and their guitars but it seems like when we open up the case that we must take a minute to look at her. I placed my hand on her to lift her out and I plucked the five strings. Magic. My heart is captured. Before I play her I will wipe her off, prepare her for our union. Now placed in my arms, hands both pressing her strings and ready to pluck, her curved body both around and between my legs -- I proceeded to play.
Guitar prefers that you take your time, usually at least an hour of playing before you get serious. No strumming or pouncing your picks and fingers up her strings, at least not until theres a proper re-acquaintance of you fingers up, down, over and around her neck. She has to know that you mean business. Otherwise you should get on your merry way. After about an hour and a half of playing my love we began to lose in the muse. We no longer knew where one of us started and the other ended. True love. We found ourselves in Guitar world, one that I am not quick to want to leave. After about three hours of playing we needed to take a rest from it for the day. Both my fingers had become quite tender and her body was full of my perspiration from her head over her neck and all over the front of her shapely body. I am love with Guitar. I love Piano with her pale ivory keys and his ebony sharps and flats, but Piano for me doesnt resonate with my heart, soul or body. Guitar commands my attention.
Close Pianos lid. Place my lover, Guitar, gently into her bed, after wiping her dry. One last time say goodnight and pluck her strings, then lock her case and place in the corner behind the furniture out of the way of those who might find her inviting. She is mine and I am hers. I love my Guitar.
My Guitar (trg, 6/19/03)
Should I fall asleep in the night?
Will my shapely one be sad?
We have been together longer than any other.
Weve played.
Learned.
Laughed.
Wept gently.
Slept side by side.
Had a mutual understanding about patriarchy.
Was more frightened by matriarchy.
We pulled and pushed each other
till we were stretched.
The tension is near breaking.
On certain playful days we break,
yet we are back together quickly.
When you sit over in the corner
ignoring my pleas
I know that I must pick and pull you up,
hold you close and let you enliven me.
Many have held my attention temporarily,
But you have always had my heart and soul.
We met at the crossroads
and told the Devil to go back to his hell,
ever since we have shared destiny.
Do I fear the night?
Will I linger with my shapely one?
We have been together more than all others.
This one NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART:
note the guitar timothy r gates, 07/13/2006
fits into your middle
or, between your legs
if played patiently,
persistently,
aggressively, but intuitively
curves like a girl,
unless you want her to be a boy,
shell comply
or, youll comply
if you suck at playing, you better learn
itll show you for what you are
or, if you dont know who you are
youll be fucked
but not in a good way,
the way that makes the word make sense
note the guitar
and the guitar will note you
ignore the guitar
and the guitar will not respond
you will suck
again, not in a good way
youll most likely blame the guitar
but youll be the ass
hold the curves into your frame tight,
play with maturations knowing,
let someone who thinks they know how to play
play power chords,
my guitar gently weeps, at times
she also makes me cum
my guitar is never the blame
for what Im too damn lazy to know
I note my guitar
Damn, I love her frets
Meditation on Pianos and Guitars(trg, 6/09/03)
Along the banister sits the Piano waiting to be played. -- Note: I will be referring to these things in the proper noun sense, being that they are most often extension of a person. Even those who play poorly or those who merely apply the mechanics of instrumentation, even these people extend themselves through their instruments. True, they are either inept or asses, but nonetheless their instruments are extensions of their person. Enough said. Over in the corner sits a lone guitar, snug in her case where no one can see her, out of the way so no indiscriminate hands might perchance pick her up and pluck her strings. A priceless piece of wood and strings must needs be protected.
Piano by now is quite perturbed, thinking that all attention should be shown towards her direction. By the way, she would say, I am not out here for all to see for nothing. Piano has never decided where on the gender scale he or she is to be found. I dont thing that he or she truly gives a damn. I know that I dont. --For the sake of less confusion I will trade of gender references here to either gender, so please dont be put off. If youre unable to deal with such liberal understanding of personhood being express just choose the one that you think best fits Piano and read on. Piano loves his keys tapped ever so lightly, save for the appropriate crescendos. Her timber in the upper range is unparalleled and his lower ranges resonance will shake you insides, not so much with his volume but with his vibration, even when the notes are barely heard. Piano says, Please sit down before me and let me razzle dazzle you. And this he will if you will but spend a little time with him. Key pressed rise up to be pressed down again. If you have the knowledge and finesse it wont take much more than twenty minutes for you to become one with her. Here you are transformed into another world, a world where angels fly, a world where angels wished they could buy, a world where people are full of instrumental proficiency. This world is where both genius and simple music lovers meet.
Please, he says, tough my black keys too, youll not be sorry. Its not like the racist phrase, Back, try it and youll never go back. Here if you allow yourself to experiment with the ebony key it wont be long until youll be back on the ivory wider ones. Here both the white and the black form a part of a mutual necessity for melody. Without the entwined love affair there is no harmony, no blues, no Mozart, no Mahler or Brahms, no Fats Domino or Oscar Peterson, nothing. She says, Come play with me and Ill guarantee you that youll never be unsatisfied. Yes, this seems true, but for me it still doesnt fill my soul with all that I need.
In the corner safely behind the furniture sits my lover, my Guitar. --Guitar is most positively of the female gender. Her shape gives her away. I have never known a man, even the most luscious of a drag queen to have Guitars shapely figure. Over in the corner I hear faintly her call, Please open my case and reacquaint yourself. I open the case and there she was in all her glory. I dont know what it is with people and their guitars but it seems like when we open up the case that we must take a minute to look at her. I placed my hand on her to lift her out and I plucked the five strings. Magic. My heart is captured. Before I play her I will wipe her off, prepare her for our union. Now placed in my arms, hands both pressing her strings and ready to pluck, her curved body both around and between my legs -- I proceeded to play.
Guitar prefers that you take your time, usually at least an hour of playing before you get serious. No strumming or pouncing your picks and fingers up her strings, at least not until theres a proper re-acquaintance of you fingers up, down, over and around her neck. She has to know that you mean business. Otherwise you should get on your merry way. After about an hour and a half of playing my love we began to lose in the muse. We no longer knew where one of us started and the other ended. True love. We found ourselves in Guitar world, one that I am not quick to want to leave. After about three hours of playing we needed to take a rest from it for the day. Both my fingers had become quite tender and her body was full of my perspiration from her head over her neck and all over the front of her shapely body. I am love with Guitar. I love Piano with her pale ivory keys and his ebony sharps and flats, but Piano for me doesnt resonate with my heart, soul or body. Guitar commands my attention.
Close Pianos lid. Place my lover, Guitar, gently into her bed, after wiping her dry. One last time say goodnight and pluck her strings, then lock her case and place in the corner behind the furniture out of the way of those who might find her inviting. She is mine and I am hers. I love my Guitar.
My Guitar (trg, 6/19/03)
Should I fall asleep in the night?
Will my shapely one be sad?
We have been together longer than any other.
Weve played.
Learned.
Laughed.
Wept gently.
Slept side by side.
Had a mutual understanding about patriarchy.
Was more frightened by matriarchy.
We pulled and pushed each other
till we were stretched.
The tension is near breaking.
On certain playful days we break,
yet we are back together quickly.
When you sit over in the corner
ignoring my pleas
I know that I must pick and pull you up,
hold you close and let you enliven me.
Many have held my attention temporarily,
But you have always had my heart and soul.
We met at the crossroads
and told the Devil to go back to his hell,
ever since we have shared destiny.
Do I fear the night?
Will I linger with my shapely one?
We have been together more than all others.
This one NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART:
note the guitar timothy r gates, 07/13/2006
fits into your middle
or, between your legs
if played patiently,
persistently,
aggressively, but intuitively
curves like a girl,
unless you want her to be a boy,
shell comply
or, youll comply
if you suck at playing, you better learn
itll show you for what you are
or, if you dont know who you are
youll be fucked
but not in a good way,
the way that makes the word make sense
note the guitar
and the guitar will note you
ignore the guitar
and the guitar will not respond
you will suck
again, not in a good way
youll most likely blame the guitar
but youll be the ass
hold the curves into your frame tight,
play with maturations knowing,
let someone who thinks they know how to play
play power chords,
my guitar gently weeps, at times
she also makes me cum
my guitar is never the blame
for what Im too damn lazy to know
I note my guitar
Damn, I love her frets