Mark's Pages

March 2, 2010:

Mark with shiny chrome Dobro. Proud, like parent with new baby.

That one hurts for a different reason. I loved that guitar, it was special to me. The one I'd drag out if I wanted to show off. It was stolen and sold for drink by the woman I was pledged to marry, a vindictive gesture driven by addiction and successful desire to wound.

I frequently fantasize that it'll come back, somehow. I'll meet the musician or the collector who bought it. Whatever.

Things are just objects. They're not important the way people are. Yet some things have unique identities, and of course we invest certain things with parts of our own spirit when they come into our lives.

Goodbye old friend.