Personal Stories
Biscuits & Gravy
“Lawd...I been eatin’ me some biscuits and gravy,
stuff so good...make a man crazy.
You know...you sure start feelin’ lazy,
after a dinner...of biscuits and gravy”
“Lawd...I been eatin’ me some biscuits and gravy,
stuff so good...make a man crazy.
You know...you sure start feelin’ lazy,
after a dinner...of biscuits and gravy”
Who Loves You Like That?
Who Loves You Like That?
For the first time in months I played the guitar—and sang, as well. Loosening up the voice came pretty easy. So did the guitar. Pretty quickly the chops were there, like old friends who’d not abandoned me. For that I was grateful.
I eased into it by taking out my acoustic guitar, which I hadn't played in more than a year and polished it, cleaning the frets, tightening the tuners. This put me in touch with the instrument, oddly enough, like a kind of platonic foreplay. I really think I was re-orienting my brain, so it would relate to the guitar as a companion--as an essential part of who I am--instead of as an enemy, which is how I often view it. Emotionally, at least.
For me...the guitar represents a barrier, a potential failure, an unnecessary challenge.
And it seldom ever accepts me for who I am.
But who does?
And what is life without challenges?
Sometime, though, when I am careful, and try and be nice to it before-hand, to bond with it. Then...it loves me like I wish it always did.
But who really loves you like that?
That would be the question.
Mark Magula
For the first time in months I played the guitar—and sang, as well. Loosening up the voice came pretty easy. So did the guitar. Pretty quickly the chops were there, like old friends who’d not abandoned me. For that I was grateful.
I eased into it by taking out my acoustic guitar, which I hadn't played in more than a year and polished it, cleaning the frets, tightening the tuners. This put me in touch with the instrument, oddly enough, like a kind of platonic foreplay. I really think I was re-orienting my brain, so it would relate to the guitar as a companion--as an essential part of who I am--instead of as an enemy, which is how I often view it. Emotionally, at least.
For me...the guitar represents a barrier, a potential failure, an unnecessary challenge.
And it seldom ever accepts me for who I am.
But who does?
And what is life without challenges?
Sometime, though, when I am careful, and try and be nice to it before-hand, to bond with it. Then...it loves me like I wish it always did.
But who really loves you like that?
That would be the question.
Mark Magula