heatherbeck

Sailors, Fighting on the Dancefloor.

Added 2018-09-20 01:41:04 +0000 UTC

I was given a ukulele a couple years ago.

It sat in its box for a while, until one day, I decided to take it out and start plinking. The ukulele it turned out, the innocuous little thing sitting in the box in the corner of my apartment, had nothing to offer but... joy. Sheer unrelenting happiness to anyone who was willing to pick it up and spend some time getting to know it. I never played a musical instrument before, but this fucker didn't care. It had no judgement; it just wanted to make me happy. If I could anthropomorphize it, it would have never worn anything be a smile on its face. I swear to God, that little chunk of mahogany laminate and cheap nylon string may very well have saved my soul. I've fondled it gently and have hammered at it angrily, but whatever the case, it's still happy, even though it's perched awkwardly on top of me (I no longer possess the angles for easily holding a stringed instrument, if I ever did. It's more of a hunched-over affair, or I just feel like IZ).

This isn't a great rendition of anything, is a terrible rendition of something, and I know my strumming needs some work to achieve what they call crispness. But it comes from a place of love. Put your headphones in if you'd like, and know that I will certainly not hold it against you if you remove them halfway through.

"It's a song about plagiarism. And it wasn't even my idea!"