Before I came down with North Texas Satanic Bird Flu (which is the name I have given my currently unknown strain of virus), I had planned to record some awesome new guitar music to help in my noble conservation effort; the fight against the galactic extinction of wild guitar rock. Do you know how much it pains me to sit in a room with tiger striped electric green pants, pro-wrestling boots, and bitchin’ new sunglasses… and know that I can’t do anything with them? No sound comes from my amplifier this week. No tasteless, note-prostituting, thundrous swagger fills my apartment. The guitars are silent, and for this state of events, I can make only the excuse that I was too busy shivering, binge-eating pellets of aspirin, and hacking up clumps of sad from within my tortured lungs. I have been missing work, missing sleep, missing progress on any of my projects, and generally being a miserable clump of sweaty person.
I will return to my great task soon.