Inside this musician beats the heart of a human. Like Shambles', this heart of mine is broken. Not shattered, not busted up beyond repair, though, for within this human heart beats the heart of a musician. And music, for this human, is like duct tape. Fixes damn near anything.

The instruments have lain untouched, though. My hands seem to want to be doing other things right now. My ears have been gravitating to classical music on the radio, and seem to be especially responsive to the violin and the cello. I am reminded of the incredible, beautiful creative energy that crisis can foment. Someone on another thread mentioned the cellist who played daily in Sarajevo during the strife there. What a loving, human, action. We need more cellists, less land-mine designers. I recently read a Confucius quote that goes something like this, and I paraphrase:

"When man understands and appreciates music and courtesy, there will be no need for war."

Short answer, WYSIWYG, after all that rambling, is I'm damn glad I've got music in my life. Cheaper than medication, and lasts longer. Peace, Bardford