There are several pointy bits. The starting bit, the couple of bits before the middle bit and several bits toward the end bit.
I havnt made it to the end bit yet.
I still have 9 gizmos with strings on them not including the mandolin or ukes.
It doesnt matter how I stack them all they collectively take up about 1.135sqm or 12.21sqf with amps and cab included when all clumped together. I have this clump of stuff stacked in a corner. Its quite a dull lump, just a corner of boring looking stuff. Mainly black cases and black rectangles.
I still have some electrified stringed gizmos I want to sell but I dont know which ones to make gone. The strats do my head in the most. Always thought they would be the easiest. Good strats are so cheap and easy to get it almost seems weird to have an attachment to them.
The next stage of this thing, once Im safely set up in my new place to be is to take note of what I use out of the remaining electric stringed objects over the next 6months to a year and then cull the items that get the least use. I have a fair idea of what items they may be but I want to give them a fighting chance. They were once much loved and much played dooverlackies.
Two of the nine whatchamacallits are acoustically inclined and one of the nine doohickeys plays low noted and none of those three are on the endangered list.
I sort of covered it all in a reply to another blog but, Im roomless. I cant get out of this room until the carpet and curtains are done.
I feel quite discombobulated and out of sorts. Ive had the same some where to be for the last 20yrs. Its all different now. Nothing is where it normally is. I havnt even got my desk.
The room I have retreated to for the last 20yrs, or hid in, planned world dominance in, broadcasted from, conducted and cataloged sonic experiments in, deconstructed and reconstructed things in, took things apart and then thrown them out because I broke them in, sat and did nothing in, sat and looked like I was doing nothing in, the room where manic energy was spent in, the room I would fall asleep at my desk with a guitar on my lap in, the room where I blissed out on repeated riffs and momentary flashes of unusually and uncharacteristically cool shit is now just a space. Stripped back like this, its just another room where as before it felt like a destination.
I feel kind of sad to be giving it up and happy to be free of it at the same time. More excited to be moving on than sad. There were times I was my own warden and the self imposed isolation was a killer.
displaced slacker and his clump of stuff.