I'm sorry.

Dear Readers ( A handful of you, who don't bother reading huge pieces or commenting)

I apologise for not writing more often.
See, in the day to day activities and business of daily life, I can't find the time
to put things up on a portal that people don't care about. Hence I shall be transferring a bunch of the stuff here to  my other blog which has more followers (some of whom who actually read, including this anonymous person who cares).

So it's not farewell, but more like, I'll see you around in a while yeah?

Thank you.

Bollywood

31st December 2008
Calcutta.

I was having a blast…..a band had finished covering all old rock classics from Led Zepp to Deep purple, and the DJ had started spinning sander van doorn. I was having the time of my life, and the drinks were all paid for.

Clearly there were perks to having an uber cool cousin with multiple girlfriends on his way to an IIM.

I leaned over to the bartender and ask for one more. “ For she’s buying the stairway to heaven” I reasoned.

I noticed the familiar pretty girl with three piercings on her right year look at me for a while. I politely looked back. She looked away with a smirk.. I walked over to her and sat down at her table.

“You’re not from around here are you?”

“Now why would you say that?”

“You have a different air about you. The way you easily got people dancing two nights before at Rakshit’s place and your easy going attitude, I’d say Mumbai, but judging by the way you socked that guy without provocation and broke his nose, I’d say Delhi.”

“People in Delhi can dance too you know, they don’t go around shooting everything that gets in their way. Besides I didn’t break his nose on purpose, I never wanted to.Even though I had enough reason too. But I must admit, it did feel pretty damn good.”

“It sure did turn a lot of drunk girls on.”

“And I don’t think its wrong for me to assume you were on of them?”

“Typical arrogant Delhite you are.”

“Touché. It’s only arrogance when I’m wrong”

“You Delhi boys are all the same. You are overprotective of your women and look at the rest as nothing but playthings, and when you don’t get your toys, you go crying to your mothers.”

“Considering my mother’s been dead 15 years, I don’t have anyone to go crying to now do I?”

“My sympathies.Oh dear look at the time, I better run, have a friends place to go to.Goodbye Mr Delhi”

“Goodnight to you. Happy New year. Will I know your name in this year or the next?”

“Oh we’ll meet, don’t worry about that Amartya.” She winked.

I wondered how she knew who I was. But then I let it pass. There were probably dozens of people who knew me and who’s names I didn’t know.

I took out my notebook to write the conversation down. Who knew, where and when I might use it?

I looked around the room and saw her. It was as if all the ethanol in my bloodstream had caught fire.

I tapped her on the left shoulder She turned around and saw me. Her smile changed into an expression of fright, guilt, sadness and thrill all in one. For a split second I thought she was about to reach up and kiss me like she did.

“ Amar…….oh….” She looked up at the guy next who looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face.

“Dhruv, this is Ama-“

“Amartyaraj Bhattacharya. And you are?”

“Dhruv Singhania. So you two know each other?”

“Yes. I was her squeeze until two months ago.”

“Excuse me?”

“Could you excuse us for a moment Dhruv?"

"what is it with you now?" She asked.

“What? What? Does it matter to you that I wake up in some other girls’ bed every now and then? Does it matter to you that I’ve taken to smoking pot again? Did you ever care? Did whatever we have mean anything to you, or even a part of what it meant to me? And the answer Is no. You just wanted to get off on me. ”

Fourteen shots of vodka, three pints of strong beer which shared its name with a small town in Bengal and a small rough blend of pot and tobacco rolled. I wasn’t going to stop. I could forgive myself later and think or forgiving her after that. But right then, it seemed as if all the anger in me regarding that person , all the anger that I kept within myself had finally found voice. No no keeping it to myself today. Not now.

Of course,… she didn’t know how drunk I was.

“Why did you tell me you loved me? Why did you tell me you cared? Why did you pretend to be that way, when you knew how much you…..no …IT.. meant to me?”

“Amar is not like that –“

“Call me Amar one more time, and I swear to Go-“

You want to know ?because……well…..its different now….and I don’t know….its just impractical….its not that I don’t have feelings for you….I can’t explain…..”

Bitch.

“You can never explain. Because there is nothing to explain. You just wanted to get off on me. “

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand and I don’t want to. Every time, Every fucking time. God I should be use to this by now- “

“Oii..That’s enough man, lets go out…. Take a few breaths of fresh bong air, and you’ll feel better…..” My cousin “….I’ll deal with him” He added to her.

“You’re one fucking cold bitch you know that?. I should’ve nailed you when I fucking had the chance. Even a whore would care more than you ever would.”

“Hey hey …man.. cool down” said the jackass she was with.

“ A word of advice. Don’t bother keeping a tight leash on her, its not worth it. She’s going to drive you into someone elses hole eventually. She always has and always will.”

“Watch your mouth”
“You watch your balls. You don’t want to find crows scavenging of them in the morning do you?”

“What’s your problem man? You threatening me?” He pushed me.

Like a reflex action, my left arm swung into action. I don’t remember if I got to his nose first, or if it was his abdomen, either way, he was on his back on a table with me about to smash a bottle on his head anyway. He pushed me.

“STOOOOP IIIIIT” she screamed.

“Screw you”

In all my rage, I had forgotten about the rest of the people. Present around me. They all looked at me like humans look at a grizzly bear that walks into their camp. I dropped the bottle,

“Enough bro, lets go outside for some air” my cousin said.

I heard him whisper “My cousin from Delhi, you know how they are… I’ll take care of him” to someone.

SHE came out to stop me. I didn’t know if it was my sub conscious sense of humor, but this was increasingly becoming more like a bollywood scene.

“Get the hell out of my way” I growled and pushed her aside.

I left her there hurting. Crying. She was as good as dead to me now. Either that or I had forgiven her. Hard to differentiate.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting cross legged on the grass in a small park.

“What happened man? Who is she? I’ve never seen you like this before…what’s up?

“That’s because you’re fucking seeing me after I was two years old. I’m sorry about ruining the party man. “

“Are you kidding me? If it was my girl, I would’ve smashed the bottle on his head Anyway, This kind of stuff is usual for my crowd man, they don’t give a shit. “”

In my social hierarchy I just went all the way down from Bastard to Victim.


“Look at yourself Amartya”. It was her again.

“Bhai, tell her to go away, or it won’t be pleasant”

“Could you excuse us for a moment?”

“Uhm…uh…..alright..I’ll be around….just in case..”

Typical him. Can never say no to a girl.

“What do you want now? Sympathy sex?”

She didn’t reply

My eyes were beginning to moisten. I ‘d had enough.


I got up took her hands looked at her in the eye.

“ I Love you Priya….I always have…. .. and always will…. No matter what. Trivialities like Distance , Time, practicality… don’t bother me. You can be with whoever you want to be with , do whatever you want to do….I am yours till death….. if you care to keep me……… I dare you.”

And saying that I kissed her. Perhaps it was the last. Perhaps not.

I walked away to join my brother for a smoke to end my bollywood scene.

Succeeding to fail.

I open my eyes to see a cross with Jesus.

I wonder if I’m dreaming or in heaven, but then Jesus wouldn’t be on a cross in heaven, I realize that the cross is hung on a wall. My head is heavy and I feel dizzy.I feel like throwing up. The realization sinks in, like a heavy rock being dropped down to my stomach bed.

I have failed again.

But this time it hurts. It hurts bad. After a few seconds of hurting I let it pass, After all that’s what I am right? A good for nothing failure.An emotional wreck. A dreamer.

So what if I failed to kill myself? Maybe some people are just supposed to suffer. Maybe some people aren’t supposed be happy, or be at peace. Some people are just born to fail.At everything. Some people are just not supposed to win.

Who was the first man to climb Everest? Really? Who was the third?

After a long time, I feel my chest aching . My emotions get the best of me. I can’t hold in the tears. I let them fall.”This was not how it was supposed to be” I tell myself. The imaginary bubble I made for myself has left me. I will miss it dearly. I look around, my hospital room and notice that the temperature control on the window air conditioner is set to ‘Mid’. I notice a candy bar wrapper and a few tissues in the waste basket. Someone was here. Someone was crying.

In the midst of this someone comes through the door. I turn my head and pretend to be asleep. It’s the nurse. She goes through the dozen pharmaceuticals on the table beside me, picks something up and walks out.

A thousand thoughts flood my brain, like someone opened a dam gate. Wish I had a cigarette..Maybe ten.


Atleast I know I slept for a long time in a long while. A permanent cure to my sleep trouble it would be.

To be tired and not be able to sleep is one of the worst situations in the world.

My head it seems refuses to become lighter.

I think of my last few moments of my life before I took the pills. I think of the events that could have possibly led to where I am now.

They say suicide is for the weak. For the ones with no courage. The ones who seek to escape. I disagree with the first two.

To take another man’s life takes courage yes. To take ones own however, requires more.

Everyone fears death.

I look at death as a journey filled with hope. Strangely, I wasn’t scared. I felt the same way one feels before setting of for a trip abroad, or the day before your first day in a new class. …………


[To be continued.]

zZzZZZzZz

Sometimes aspirin can't cure a headache. Sometimes sleep is not what you need. Sometimes all you really crave for, is chilled beer, and a smoke to seal the deal.

Life seemed short a few months ago. Life was overflowing with optimism.The age of 25 was within sight.Success was pulling me towards it, like a magnet pulling iron nails.

Now, thrown into this dark hole crawling with lust, betrayal, longing and despair looking at the occasional sun crossing over the opening,I wait for the day i can summon the strength to climb out.

I'm exhausted. Tired, of shooting arrows in the dark. Tired of my thoughts which behave like a gaggle of geese playing with little children in a room filled with toys at a busy intersection with impatient drivers honking while blowing black metal at loud volume on a hot summer day in Delhi.

My thoughts that churn brain fluid at a slow sluggish speed. I wish i could silence them. Silence them for once and for all.

An irritant need. Waiting for the teacher to arrive...for the student is ready.

Hope is a lie. Grace does not exist.

The idle mind may be the devil's workshop. I am possessed. Parasites crawl through my veins, they swim through my bloodstream. Feeding on my emotions, feeding on my malignant heart.

Failure is the norm. Failure, my biggest fear. The battles lost, The war a long tiring one.

I'm falling asleep.

New year? New resolutions?

s been almost a year since i started this and posted on this blog. Optimism was at its peak then.....but right now, here i am again,another 31st, another year gone...another list of resolutions of which none i will keep...or maybe not...

I realize that its been more than a year since I declared my love to that girl. A year later,I ask myself, What if things were different? What if I chose differently and took the pains to see her this time again? Would she have done the same?More than sadness, its outrage thats running through my veins. Why? Because I'm disgusted by people who say they care when they don't show it.

I realize that its going to be almost a year since my boards that went crap.Would it be any different if i chose to revise instead of watch movies and drink vodka the days before my exams?

Exactly on this day, a year back, I was sitting in the same room,doing the same thing i am right now. Writing. Except this time i'm posting online. Why? I don't know.

I don't find anything wrong with staying at home on such a night. I prefer being alone anyway. I rather be at home, fix myself something nice, wish people on the phone( the ones who call anyway) than be out there getting drunk and mindfucked like the rest of the world.

Soo many questions.........with answers that i will never know.... Bye Bye 2009, you were a pain in the ass. Fuck you.

With a not so small, scotch and soda in my hand,and the last smoke of the year, i bid farwell to thee,2009, one of the worst years i've had and raise a toast and hope for better days that shall come my way !

A day 48 hours long.

You know i always wondered why 'Riyaaz' early in the morning was so important for Indian classical music. I mean, hey its just practice right? you can do that whenever right? wrong.


Unlike the standard 'stuff' that i know, Indian classical seems to be from another dimension. Indian classical is based on the 'raaga'. Unlike western music , it is not a scale, or a chord, or a triad. Theres no definition of a Raaga. Damn. Not only does one have to learn the notes of the many hundereds or Raagas , The Indian musician has to also improvise using those very notes.

I tried playing a raaga called 'Jhinjhoti'. Guess where i learnt that from> A song called Afterglow by a band called INXS. Yes. Apparently Sona(the indian singer, remember Bolo na? ) collaborated with JD Fortune( the Indian version of Afterglow is on youtube, posted below) And in her interview she said that on first hearing the song , she thought it sounded like 'Jhinjhoti'/. Now for an illiterate person like me, All Indian classical sounds the same.(NOT BORING).

I thought sweep picking my arpeggios on the guitar was Killing. After Trying Indian Classical, I'm being murdered.


WATCH THIS VIDEO NOW. ITS TIME WELL SPENT.

~On Appreciation of Indian Classical Music, by Ravi Shankar~

Indian classical music is principally based on melody and rhythm, not on harmony, counterpoint, chords, modulation and the other basics of Western classical music.

The system of Indian music known as Raga Sangeet can be traced back nearly two thousand years to its origin in the Vedic hymns of the Hindu temples, the fundamental source of all Indian music. Thus, as in Western music, the roots of Indian classical music are religious. To us, music can be a spiritual discipline on the path to self-realisation, for we follow the traditional teaching that sound is God - Nada Brahma: By this process individual consciousness can be elevated to a realm of awareness where the revelation of the true meaning of the universe - its eternal and unchanging essence - can be joyfully experienced. Our ragas are the vehicles by which this essence can be perceived.

The ancient Vedic scriptures teach that there are two types of sound. One is a vibration of ether, the upper or purer air near the celestral realm. This sound is called Anahata Nad or unstruck sound. Sought after by great enlightened yogis, it can only be heard by them. The sound of the universe is the vibration thought by some to be like the music of the spheres that the Greek Pythagoras described in the 6th century B.C. The other sound Ahata Nad or struck sound, is the vibration of air in the lower atmosphere closer to the earth. It is any sound that we hear in nature or man-made sounds, musical and non-musical.

The tradition of Indian classical music is an oral one. It is taught directly by the guru to the disciple, rather than by the notation method used in the West. The very heart of Indian music is the raga: the melodic form upon which the musician improvises. This framework is established by tradition and inspired by the creative spirits of master musicians.

Ragas are extremely difficult to explain in a few words. Though Indian music is modal in character, ragas should not be mistaken as modes that one hears in the music of the Middle and Far Eastern countries, nor be understood to be a scale, melody per se, a composition, or a key. A raga is a scientific, precise, subtle and aesthetic melodic form with its own peculiar ascending and descending movement consisting of either a full seven note octave, or a series of six or five notes (or a combination of any of these) in a rising or falling structure called the Arohana and Avarohana. It is the subtle difference in the order of notes, an omission of a dissonant note, an emphasis on a particular note, the slide from one note to another, and the use of microtones together with other subtleties, that demarcate one raga from the other.

There is a saying in Sanskrit - "Ranjayathi iti Ragah" - which means, "that which colours the mind is a raga." For a raga to truly colour the mind of the listener, its effect must be created not only through the notes and the embellishments, but also by the presentation of the specific emotion or mood characteristic of each raga. Thus through rich melodies in our music, every human emotion, every subtle feeling in man and nature can be musically expressed and experienced.

The performing arts in India - music, dance,drama, and poetry - are based on the concept of Nava Rasa , or the "nine sentiments." Literally, rasa means "juice" or "extract" but here in this context, we take it to mean "emotion" or "sentiment." The acknowledged order of these sentiments is as follows: Shringara (romantic and erotic): Hasya (humorous): Karuna (pathetic): Raudra (anger): Veera (heroic): Bhayanaka (fearful): Vibhatsa (disgustful): Adbhuta (amazement): Shanta (peaceful).

Each raga is principally dominated by one of these nine rasas, although the performer can also bring out other emotions in a less prominent way. The more closely the notes of a raga conform to the expression of one single idea or emotion, the more overwhelming the effect of the raga.

In addition to being associated with a particular mood, each raga is also closely connected to a particular time of day or a season of the year. The cycle of day and night, as well as the cycle of the seasons, is analogous to the cycle of life itself. Each part of the day - such as the time before dawn, noon, late afternoon, early evening, late night - is associated with a definite sentiment. The explanation of the time associated with each raga may be found in the nature of the notes that comprise it, or in historical anecdotes concerning the raga.

Although there are 72 "melas" or parent scales upon which ragas are based, Indian music scholars have estimated that, with all their permutations and combinations, there exist over 6,000 ragas ! But a raga is not merely a matter of the ascending - descending structure. It must have its "chalan "- or certain note patterns characteristic of the raga; its principle important note (vadi); the second important note (samavadi); and its main feature known as "jan" (life) or "mukhda" (face), the cluster of a few notes by which a raga is immediately recognised.

In terms of aesthetics, a raga is the projection of the artist's inner spirit, a manifestation of his most profound sentiments and sensibilities brought forth through tones and melodies. The musician must breath life into each raga as he unfolds and expands it. As much as 90 percent of Indian music may be improvised and because so very much depends on understanding the spirit and nuances of the art, the relationship between the artist and his guru is the keystone of this ancient tradition. From the beginning, the aspiring musician requires special and individual attention to bring him to the moment of artistic mastery. The unique aura of a raga (one might say its "soul") is its spiritual quality and manner of expression, and this cannot be learned from any book.

It is only after many long and extensive years of "sadhana" (dedicated practice and discipline) under the guidance of one's guru and his blessings, that the artist is empowered to put "prana" (the breath of life) into a raga. This is accomplished by employing the secrets imparted by one's teacher such as the use of "shrutis" (microtones other than the 12 semitones in an octave, Indian music using smaller intervals than Western music: 22 within an octave): "gamakas" (special varieties of glissando which connect one note to the other), and "andolan" (a sway - but not a vibrato). The result is that each note pulsates with life and the raga becomes vibrant and incandescent.

Next to be considered are the "talas" or "rhythmic cycles" of a raga. There is unique intricacy and rhythmic sophistication in Indian music. There are talas ranging from a 3 beat cycle to 108 beats within a cycle! The most popular talas are those which have 5,6,7,8,10,12,14, and 16 beats to a cycle. There are also other cycles such as 9,11,13,15,17, and 19 beats, etc., which are only played by outstanding musicians on rare occasions.

The division in a tala, and the stress on the first beat (called sum), are the most important rhythmic factors. While there are talas having the same number of beats,they differ because the division and accents are not the same. For example, there is a tala known as "Dhamar" which has 14 beats in the cycle divided 5+5+4: another tala, "Ada Chautal" has the same number of beats, but is divided 2+4+4+4: still another tala, "Chanchar: is divided 3+4+3+4.

In vocal music, a drummer will accompany a singer either in slow, medium, or fast tempo at the start of a song in whatever tala the singer chooses. He will do the same when he accompanies an instrumentalist in the gat section of a composition. Like ragas, talas also have their own characteristics. Some of the older traditional talas , such as "Chautal" (12 beats) and "Dhamar" (14 beats) are played on a two-faced drum known as pakhawaj. This accompaniment is used in the old traditional "Dhrupad-Dhamar" form of singing and in instrumental performances on the veena, rabab, surbahar, etc. Today, most vocal and instrumental music is based on the contemporary form called"khyal" and is accompanied by the tabla, a two-piece drum.

The improvisatory nature of Indian classical music requires the artist to take into consideration the setting, time allowed for his recital, his mood and the feeling he discerns in the audience before playing. Since Indian music is religious in origin, one finds the spiritual quality in most of the musician's performances.

The traditional recital begins with the alap section - the stately and serene exploration of the chosen raga. After this slow, introspective, heartfelt, sometimes sad beginning, the musician moves on to the jor. In this part, rhythm enters and is developed. Innumerable variations on the raga's basic theme are elaborated. There is no drum accompaniment in either the alap or the jor.

The alap and the jor evolve into the gat, the fixed composition of the raga. Here the drums enter with the wonderful rhythmic structure of the gat and its time cycle, the tala. This section in based on the "Khyal: form. From this moment on, the gat (which can be anything between 4 and 16 bars of fixed composition) becomes the vehicle for the musician to return to after his improvisation. While the artist has complete freedom to improvise, he may do so only as long as he does not leave the format of the raga and tala. This freedom within the bounds of artistic discipline comes only after many years of training and sadhana. This is why one cannot rightfully compare the improvisation in Indian music with the improvisation of jazz.

The step-by-step acceleration of the rhythm in the gat finally culminates in the jhala portion as it becomes more and more playful and exciting.Sawal jabab ,the dazzling and rapid dialogue between sitar and tabla, has the power to enthrall even the most uninitiated listener with its thrilling interplay.

Often at the conclusion of a recital, the musician may choose to play a "thumri' or "dhun." This semi-classical style is much freer and completely romantic, sensual and erotic.

Indian music is much more appreciated and respected today in the west. Many composers and musicians have been influenced by our music. The openness, willingness to learn, and sincere enthusiasm of western audiences are a continuing source of inspiration and delight.

~The Infinite Hate project~

"Hey man, Why the fuck did you shell out 350 bucks for Death Magnetic? I mean their tracks were on limewire ages ago, why didn't you just download them?" The fake accent did not set my blood on fire. It was in the frank manner in which he expressed himself as if he was talking about a class 10 First Terminal examination that did.

Naturally I bothered to interfere and reply. My argument- Why Buy an M.F Hussain Painting worth crores? Why not just go take a picture of it using his 30 something mega pixel camera,make it look nice using an illegal pirated/downloaded version of Photoshop, take a printout on glossy paper and stick it on his Godforsaken wall? After which he should ideally further praise it and call it " Amazing Shit" and talk about what a genius of painter Mr. Hussain is.

Music is Art. I say this again and NOT for the last time. There is lot of hard work put in into creating a record. Yes even if its Timbaland.Even if its Himesh. Countless hours in a studio, Recording,getting the Mix right, Mastering, then getting it approved only to face rejection over and over again. And don't even get me started on what a struggling musician has to go through.

Music is art. To me An artist creates magic using his brush with paints of vivid shades of colour.A artiste composes magic using the instruments of his choice and choosing the right notes.His canvas- the 5 lines of the staff Or thanks to technology, software on his computer.

What disgusts me most is the way music is now treated like a bar of soap.
A mere commodity. What disgusts me even more are the "I luuuurve muzic"
"muzic iz ma oxygen"that kids write on their respective social networking site's profiles when they don't give damn.

There is a certain sanctity that was,that music has lost. I don't blame it on fast paced lifestyles.I don't blame it on Pricing. I blame it on a digital format called "MP3" If you don't know what that is...well, i can't really comment on that now can I?

This gem of a format not only kills audio quality, but saves space, So
you can cram a million songs on your digital player. Whatever happened to the CD??

There is a certain satisfaction that an individual receives in going to the record store looking around, deciding which artiste he or she would rather spend on, bringing it home and listening to it that seems to have been lost.

Yes I download. Yes downloading is what fuels my hunger for new sounds. But Yes I do make it a point of picking up that artiste's CD the next time I'm going to a record store. Though i must add That all the electronic music i have, save 45 tracks, i have downloaded.I have downloaded illegally from the artiste's myspace page. Why? because you simply don't get them in this country.

And remember something called Vinyl? You wouldn't. It went out of production before you were born probably. Vinyl is what a large chunk electronic genres prefer because it aids while Dj-ing and the Vinyl sounds very different form your conventional CDs.

But why did I give you that piece of "Gyan"?. You were too busy worrying about if I was attending rave parties. Somehow even though the older Indian generations(read above 40 years of age)appear(or pretend rather) to be very "with the times" the mere mention of the words "Trance" or "Electronica" "House" or "Nightclub" seems to make the emergency department of their very "with the times" active brain Fire Neurons up in overdrive. And don't even get me started on your regular rock Gig.(Don't bother telling me or my friends that you go for the beer and nicotine lest your in need of a broken nose or a dislocated shoulder.
(It doesn't matter if your a girl.)

Its amusing to see how people don't want to buy a CD, don't want to pay for A concert ticket,and yet insist that they love the artiste and their music.Its beyond my understanding. How people imagine their artiste surviving without support.There is this idea that "If he is on stage, he has got enough cash to last a lifetime of luxury" that i can't be a part of.Yet there still are millions, who save up, make sacrifices and buy those CDs, who PAY and buy tickets to attend those concerts. They aren't God sent saviours. They are among ones like you and me.They are the ones called 'True Fans'. They keep the music alive.

My only request is- Give music the sanctity it deserves. Treat it with respect. Across all decibel levels , across all genres.

Amen.

Regret, Remorse, and their other friends.

There have been times when i have regreted dropping the guitar at the age of nine and concentrating only on the Tabla. But its never been so strong. I always thought through time aided talent alone would i become more skille. I made a critical error.

I know this guy whos my age in music class, who doesn't know a shit's worth when it comes to musical instruments, processors. His range of music is strictly limited. Yet skill wise he is far up the mountain that i've just started climbing.

I blame myself actually. I am the one not trying hard enough. I guess I was too busy learning and making my own riffs(that i didn't write down, cause i didn't know how to then sadly ) while the rest were learning that Metallica song or that Megadeth solo. If only i was doing that would my skill be something to be proud about i guess........

So now i've started doing something i hate myself for--- Looking for Tabs on the internet instead of figuring them out myself and working on songs that i will hopefully cover in the new future.

They say that you should play the guitar until your fingers bleed. I don't know if that actually happens, but God help you if you try and stop me from finding out.