RocketLauncher
Literotica Guru
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Isolated Blurt Thread
- Thread starter McKenna
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TheeGoatPig
There is no R in my name
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I was dreaming that my mother was having a different conversation than I was, which is something that has frustrated me often.
And then I dreamed that I was playing a 20 string guitar. Not only is that too many strings to be able to play on a regular neck guitar, but I don't really know how to play guitar...
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
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That sounds more like a Zither.
Hypoxia
doesn't watch television
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Technically, a 'lute' is an instrument whose strings extend beyond the facing soundboard. Guitars, mandos, 'ukes, banjos, o'uds, violins, cellos, etc are lutes. A zither's strings don't extend out. Hawai'ian guitars, dulcimers, autoharps, and pianos are zithers. A sitar with a hollow neck is in-between.
Multi-course lutes with one or more necks have abounded. I've seen a 24-string 8-course guitar, all strings tripled. I've seen a 5-neck 80-string guitar-like object with some zither courses. I've seen guitars with 8-12 fretted strings and another dozen or more sympathetic strings.
And 'guitar' is more a concept than an artifact. I've seen and fondled all sorts of weird stuff called guitars. A stringless electronic guitar? Had one. No strings, no soundboard, no nothing but a shape and a MIDI socket.
There's always air guitar for the lazy. Play as many strings as you can fantasize. Think of an air piano with 188 keys. Rock on!
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
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I've seen one. I didn't rate it as a "guitar", but then, I'm no musician
It usually does. Where can I park my bike please ?
I'm up late simply reorganizing again. Leaving my little office/writing room alone for a day or so. I'm doing whatever for whatever I think is coming my way.
It could be quite boring as I'm forcing myself to do stuff I absolutely hate doing.
Grab some coffee or whatever and sit a spell. You can park your bike anywhere you wish. Lots of space.
Also, I joined Twitter 2 days ago and no tweets yet.
I've prepared my 1st tweet for POTUS and have yet to submit it. I worry over the silliest things sometimes.
TheeGoatPig
There is no R in my name
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I know what a zither is. My mother has one.
No, this was a standard solid body electric guitar except that it had 20 strings covering every bit of the neck in excess of where there should only be 6 or 7 strings. Just picture a guitar, but instead of seeing the neck and bridge with some strings, all you see are strings. Just... tons of strings... So many strings...
Alice_Rosaleen
Really Really Experienced
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Next dream, play this 42 string guitar: http://www.oddmusic.com/gallery/om23350.html
MelissaBaby
Wordy Bitch
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It sucks to put a lot of thought and effort into a post and then find that almost no one is likely to read it because a moderator locked the thread due to a high testosterone alert.
So, I'll move to over here.
It wasn't all that hard for me to become a better person, because of what a shitty person I had become.
I was a drug addict for about five years. I lied to everyone I knew. I stole, I cheated, I manipulated people. I fucked for drugs. I became a willing participant in a drug dealing operation, knowingly pulling other people into the same dead end. And all the while, through two overdoses, a miscarriage and a half dozen misdemeanor arrests, I thought I was cool, I thought I was some kind of badass.
What changed me? The sight of a murdered man's blood on my clothes? The gun barrel pressed against my head? Maybe the expression on my mother's face when she paid my bail? The sound of the cell door slamming behind me?
Whatever the inciting cause was, I clearly recall the moment of clarity when I knew I had to change or die. I have written about it for those who are interested. But desire is not reality. Detox and eighteen months in prison did not change me, but they gave me the opportunity to reflect, to try to understand myself and to learn how to love myself. I knew that everything swung on that one hinge. If I could not learn to treat myself with love, I could never do so with others, I would never even be fit for the company of decent people.
It was a long journey, filled with ups and downs. I stayed clean, I kept out of trouble. But I was still weighed down with fears and doubts and lapses into a self loathing depression.
Then I started to write, and I laid myself bare, here, for any passing stranger to read.
When I had submitted the last chapter of My Fall and Rise, I went to my bed and I curled up in a fetal position and I sobbed for a long time. It was a good cry, a great release of pent up emotional energy that I had held within me for years.
I have a good life now. I have repaired my relationship with my family. I am going to college. I am engaged to a wonderful man. And I keep writing.
So, I'll move to over here.
It wasn't all that hard for me to become a better person, because of what a shitty person I had become.
I was a drug addict for about five years. I lied to everyone I knew. I stole, I cheated, I manipulated people. I fucked for drugs. I became a willing participant in a drug dealing operation, knowingly pulling other people into the same dead end. And all the while, through two overdoses, a miscarriage and a half dozen misdemeanor arrests, I thought I was cool, I thought I was some kind of badass.
What changed me? The sight of a murdered man's blood on my clothes? The gun barrel pressed against my head? Maybe the expression on my mother's face when she paid my bail? The sound of the cell door slamming behind me?
Whatever the inciting cause was, I clearly recall the moment of clarity when I knew I had to change or die. I have written about it for those who are interested. But desire is not reality. Detox and eighteen months in prison did not change me, but they gave me the opportunity to reflect, to try to understand myself and to learn how to love myself. I knew that everything swung on that one hinge. If I could not learn to treat myself with love, I could never do so with others, I would never even be fit for the company of decent people.
It was a long journey, filled with ups and downs. I stayed clean, I kept out of trouble. But I was still weighed down with fears and doubts and lapses into a self loathing depression.
Then I started to write, and I laid myself bare, here, for any passing stranger to read.
When I had submitted the last chapter of My Fall and Rise, I went to my bed and I curled up in a fetal position and I sobbed for a long time. It was a good cry, a great release of pent up emotional energy that I had held within me for years.
I have a good life now. I have repaired my relationship with my family. I am going to college. I am engaged to a wonderful man. And I keep writing.
RocketLauncher
Literotica Guru
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Quitting smoking today. It's going to be a rough week. 
TheeGoatPig
There is no R in my name
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We don't have a like system on this forum, but if we did, I would want to like this one several times. I'm glad that you were able to turn your life around and not get caught in the trappings of your old one.
Last edited:
trysail
Catch Me Who Can
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After experiencing moderated boards and lightly moderated (basically none) boards, I have discovered that I strongly dislike (i.e., hate) moderated boards.
The randomness and inherent subjectivity of moderation (a/k/a censorship) is annoying and frustrating. While I hate assholes and trolls, I find it far preferable to endure their assholery than the rage that arises when a post is deleted.
For the most part, I've mastered the ability to ignore the trolls and the idiots.
TxRad
Dirty Old Man
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First off, it is not censorship. This is a privately owned site and they have rules. Follow the rules and your posts won't be deleted.
Have a nice day.
MelissaBaby
Wordy Bitch
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My sincere thanks for your kind comment.
Hypoxia
doesn't watch television
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I'd classify a solid-body MIDI axe with a neck and something like strings (actual or virtual) as a "guitar-like object" (GLO). Thangs like that Casio were "guitar-like" with 6 string-oids in guitar EADGBE tuning. Whatever it was, most guitarists could play it, so there.
My current GLOs have 3, 6, 10, or 12 strings (if not broken). I desire a 4-string tenor guitar tuned like a mandola. I'm tempted to sculpt a guitar da gamba with numerous sympathetic strings. I'd like a sitar but have no place to put it; we're stuffed here. We've room for air guitars, though.
carsonshepherd
comeback kid
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Youtube toy videos will be the death of me.
Hypoxia
doesn't watch television
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Are you in a hurry to attain Paradise?
_____
A revelation has taken me. (Lightbulb!) I have an answer to the question: What Is A Guitar? The answer: If someone who thinks they're a guitarist can play it like they play guitar, then it is a guitar. If such a player can't play it that way, then it isn't, maybe. Not for them anyway. Thus, it's subjective.
Revelations are fun.
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
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A good idea, ruined by idiots with no sense of politeness or decorum or even decent language.
Until we get them, moderators are the only way forward: Especially on a 'private' site.
RocketLauncher
Literotica Guru
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Nicotine is the hardest drug to quit. I'm hating this. Quit for 10 years, started again, quit for a year, started again. The first two times I quit I quit for other people now there's no one to quit for except myself. Don't see the point in it except the cost, $14.00 a pack....
MREDME2
Loves Spam
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RocketLauncher
Literotica Guru
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Turns me into the Hulk. The actual nicotine withdrawal only lasts 3-4 days, it's the psychological dependence that's the hardest habit to break. Guess a stroke is good incentive to quit.
Hypoxia
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Not at all. I quit many times.
Hard part was STAYING quit. That took a few years.
I eventually tired of awakening to the taste of birdcage-bottom.
I smoked between ages 15 and 25. Yeah, I quit the regular habit over four decades ago. We've occasionally shared good Cuban or Veracruz cigars since, maybe one every year or two, depending on current lung capacity.
I quit during my Army years. Cigs were still issued in C-ration packs. I traded mine for desserts -- a devil's bargain, but still...
I was dirt-poor till I enlisted. Ready-mades were costly even then so I was fast and facile with a rolling machine and ZigZags, rolling Bugler or cheap, juicy, long-cut pipe tobaccos for smokes. I'd pay up to 35 cents an ounce!
Wild 'Indian' tobacco plants grew around my desert shack later. I felt little urge to harvest and dry them. That time was past. Their datura cousins were more tempting but once was enough.
I'm reminded of an old gag where a mysterious dark figure asks the person with them, "Mind if I smoke?", then cross their arms and fume.
Handley_Page
Draco interdum Vincit
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