The Cat in the MazeThere once was a cat in a mazethat never once altered its gazeIt was so still and quietwhen everyone walked by itthat no-one knew it'd been dead for three days.
Guitar PicksGuitar PicksHey,I'm sure I've told you tons of times already about my guitar playing, and my guitar picks. I'm sure I have, but I don't know if I've ever really thought about them. No matter where I go, I always have my guitar picks. It's become some sort of habit now. Not a bad habit, but just something that's become routine. Every day I pick up at least two or three guitar picks and stuff them into the change pocket in my pants. I used to tell everyone that I carry them because "Well, you never know when you might need to play a guitar, ha ha," but I'm not sure if that's really why I carry them. It's not like I'm carrying a specific pick one pick doesn't hold some special meaning. It's really just any pick.Sometimes I don't even notice they're there. They only weigh, what, an ounce each? Maybe? They're tiny. Miniscule. But I feel like they really mean something. I actually barely play guitar when I carry them around, but they remind me of the guitar. They remind me of the m