Zhe and the Guitar

It reminded zher of the scene in the Star Wars prequel The Phantom Menace. Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi are traveling through the planet core on the advice of Brian Blessed the Gungan when there are a sequence of near-death experiences with a succession of ever-larger aquatic predators.

Zhe hated the guitar. It was the embodiment of all zher insecurities and inadequacies. It stared at zhim from the corner of the room, daring zhim to attempt more sophisticated techniques such as zhe had seen on Youtube or performed by zher more talented friends. Whenever zhe picked it up zhe was offended by the harsh, buzzing, rasping sounds it made. Zhe made.

Zhe only really picked it up when zhe was feeling beaten down and hurt, which wasn't so often but they were the times that really stuck out in zher memory. Zhe didn't begrudge it: in fact zhe embraced it. Life in all its richness is composed of many different sensations, and to live fully one must embrace or at least accept those feelings.

It is still unpleasant though, feeling beaten down and hurt. What's more, the guitar came to be associated with those feelings.

Zhe wondered briefly about the proliferation of acoustic guitar solo artists with slow, mellow songs loaded with emotions mysterious and barely expressed. Perhaps if they were clear about what they were feeling in their songs they would feel too naked and uncomfortable. Perhaps they kept the lyrics mysterious because the real meaning was nonexistent or banal beyond belief.

Zhe imagined one might be able draw a graph or a conclusion with the number of solo acoustic acts per thousand population on one axis, and rates of depression, suicide, or some other sign of loneliness on the other. Zhe imagined the breakdown of social and communal life in post-industrial towns and alienating urban megaliths, and imagined all the busy parents with all their lonely children sat in their rooms with nothing but their instruments for company. What porn was for sexual fulfillment the guitar was for real friendship - no substitute.

Zhe was reminded of a song zhe had heard. It only had two lines:

"We only dance with joy. Don't fake it: they'll never believe you.
We don't write when we're happy, and if we did it would be boring as hell."

Maybe zhe was one of those lonely teenagers still, really. But if zhe was a little bit like them, the embarrassingly proficient, insultingly young guitar godlings that made her feel insecure or untalented seemed much more so. There was always a better guitarist.