Traveling back to the 3rd dimension is always a little stressful, time welts, like speed bumps, rattle the teeth in your head, & everything is way too fuzzy, & out of focus. Rock had been on strike for several months, and was red as a beet, and starting to peal, so's to say not in the best of spirits, me, I'd been grinding away at the plastic factory, battling through the corporate mic-moc, with the double speak, smiles, & thumbs up, when they don't even know what their thumbs are for. Now those boys on the other side of the wall, in their air conditioned offices, with their meeting, & luncheons, lobbing those grenades over the wall, had convinced themselves they knew what was going on. We on the floor talking in English, to those plumped-up smiling faces, might as well spoke in some dead tongue, for they only understood corporate-eeze, everything is going great, is all they heard. Thru all of this, in my mind, a guitar stood singing in the corner, I thought it strange, but couldn't help but listen, as it beckoned, & called, through the production din that tries to strangle any, and all thought, so as to make management seem as if they know what their doing. Back at home,Tape running, this is what my guitar told me to do, good employee, as I am, I obeyed without question, not really even listening as it spilled out, " here Rock", I said, "come play outside yourself", & he did. Rock thought this should be blonde, but blonde, & brunette, had let us down, so it was red head. Then I went out and got a new guitar.
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