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May 21, 2006

Lucy Love

Contd. from...

Love...
It is a state of mind like anything else.
Hatred, Anger, Desire, Enlightenment, Wastedness, etc etc etc etc...

All... just states of mind.

All unique,
but finally,
just different states of mind.

Lucy was thinking of all the people she loved. She was wondering if they had met her. If they met the OTHER her...the OT-her..
er...

Lately she was losing her focus a lot.

Focus is not the lack of distractions, but the ability to not be affected by the presence of distractions.

Lucy wondered about what the other Lucy was doing with this situation.
Was she thinking these same thoughts?
Could that be the reason for her annoying lack of focus?
Hocus

Pocus

Nofuss...

There...it happened again!

She got up and waited for the sky to lose color. Different kinds of birds began to sing as the evening approached. It was like the change of bands in a disorienting rock-concert.

She didn’t know why she thought about a rock concert suddenly, but the analogy had a chilling semblance to her hallucinatory situation.

She could hear the notes of Hendrix flowing in the air. They were coming from some radio, broadcasted from some remote station, by some random DJ, playing the Hendrix Blues CD that was copied from the master record off the MCA label sometime in the 70s...originally!

What a journey the notes have made! And to think that it does not even end (or begin) there.

The notes were first conceived in Hendrix's mind (brain?), subsequent to some complex muse making her mercurial-though regular-appearance, then running through Hendrix's body in the form of beautifully coordinated neuro-chemical signals, ultimately culminating into a muscular action that physically translated the notes in his mind, to the strings of the guitar, got swallowed up by the pick-ups, and then through acoustic-electromagnetic-acoustic transitions, went into the recording equipment, and made a permanent mark on the storage device.

Played again, the notes went through yet another complex series of energy transformations before coming out of that radio speaker, floating in the air, reaching Lucys ears, getting translated into neuro-electro-chemical information and then, via the auditory center, making a permanent mark on some cellular equivalent of a storage device in Lucys brain.

Quite simple if you think through it.

Lucy walked into Mark's Guitars.
She walked into the jamming room.
She picked up a black telecaster.
Plugged it in...
Turned it up...
Struck the strings, firmly and confidently!

C---9p7-----9p7-----9p7-----9p7-----9p7---9---10---10---10---10--- !

G-------8-------8-------8-------8-------8------7----7--7b8----7--- !

Eb---------------------------------------------------------------- !

Bb---------------------------------------------------------------- !

F----------------------------------------------------------------- !

C----------------------------------------------------------------- !

Hmm..."Not Bad", said Tom, who was standing by the door.

"Yeah, I know", said Lucy.

"How long have you been playing?" asked Tom, picking up another telecaster.

"The past 5 minutes!” replied Lucy.

"Hmm", mumbled Tom. "I’ve been playing for about 7884000 minutes!"

He started picking the strings.

Out flowed Hendrix’s Hear My Train a'comin', verbatim to Lucys debut performance. They both jammed for a while, forgetting any other universe besides the one their music enveloped them into.

That night Tom made love to Lucy again.
He then, for the first time, wrote a poem:

something is going on
something is happening
something that she lives on
something is underlying

“I have read that one before,” said Lucy.

"I think I know why!" said Tom.

"I think I know!"