GAS

I started to play the guitar when I was 15.

I only knew two chords back then. E-minor and G. Chords to the verse of Nirvana’s “About a Girl.” When my dad bought me my first guitar for my birthday, I played those chords, those two chords for a whole month, and just those chords. It sounded like shit. But then shit don’t make noise. So, I think it sounded bad to the ears, like how bad shit smells to the nose.

But I’m glad I didn’t stop. Not that I can play like Steve Vai, or Hendrix or SRV. I know some of the main chords and some that I don’t know by name but they sound good. I’ve got a good rhythm hand, but I suck at country style rhythm (I just not cut for country, I just hate it) and metal kinda palm muting stuff (but I have a soft spot for metal awwww). I can play some licks from time to time but that’s about it. Just an average player. An Ok guitarist. But I’m happy, I try to improve.

But then I got sick.

Really sick, like seriously ill.

I’ve been diagnosed with this thing called GAS. I’ll never be the same again. When you got this, there is no turning back. It’s like cancer but badder.

The sounds you hear in your head. Just haunting. Humming, harsh ones, waves, the wails of a person, echoes, oceans, caverns, whatever. Sounds you think you need. Need because you just want to justify the desire. It’s always a need. But when the truth seeps in, it’s too late already.

It’s some sort of hearing illness. When your hearing wants to control your whole being.

Ever since I ventured into the world of pedals.

Gear Acquisition Syndrome.

This is not a joke. It’s real. And that’s the truth.

 

 

 

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