in summer 2008, i traveled overseas, from lebanon to canada, to visit my family and my then-girlfriend who now lives there.
a month had passed, it was time for me to come back to lebanon. i went to the airport at the scheduled night, with my grandmother who was coming with me. we went inside the airplane, and waited there, for at least a couple of hours until midnight, when they told us there was a technical problem and we couldn't take off. so we headed back to my aunt's house and spent the night.
the next evening, we went again to the airport, went through the whole procedure of checking in and waiting at the terminal gate. same thing happened. we waited for a whole couple of hours, until they told us, a problem had happened.
it wasn't much of a problem, we just headed back. walking in the empty airport at midnight, nobody around; i saw something on the ground, in the middle of a big surface. something small and green. that thing was calling me. i walked up to it, and looked : it was a pick. i picked it up, put it in my pocket and walked back to my grandmother who thought she lost me.
the next day, i was back home, here in lebanon; not only with a whole month of incredible memories, but with a little something more. i had the perfect pick.
the Jim Dunlop Midi .94
it was my pick of choice throughout a whole year. on whatever guitar, whatever string gauge, no matter the playing style, it nailed everything. from sweet and soft arpeggios and chords, to hard hitting palm muted powerchords, it nailed everything. it KNEW what my hands wanted. So well that i felt this pick was a physical manifestation of what my psyche sees what my perfect pick would be like. it was an extension of my hands, a part of my soul that exceeded my body. that pick was always on me, in my wallet, wherever i went.
in fall 2009, i went to amsterdam. there must've been something i made that upset my pick, because she left me there. she disappeared and never returned.
a month had passed, it was time for me to come back to lebanon. i went to the airport at the scheduled night, with my grandmother who was coming with me. we went inside the airplane, and waited there, for at least a couple of hours until midnight, when they told us there was a technical problem and we couldn't take off. so we headed back to my aunt's house and spent the night.
the next evening, we went again to the airport, went through the whole procedure of checking in and waiting at the terminal gate. same thing happened. we waited for a whole couple of hours, until they told us, a problem had happened.
it wasn't much of a problem, we just headed back. walking in the empty airport at midnight, nobody around; i saw something on the ground, in the middle of a big surface. something small and green. that thing was calling me. i walked up to it, and looked : it was a pick. i picked it up, put it in my pocket and walked back to my grandmother who thought she lost me.
the next day, i was back home, here in lebanon; not only with a whole month of incredible memories, but with a little something more. i had the perfect pick.
the Jim Dunlop Midi .94
it was my pick of choice throughout a whole year. on whatever guitar, whatever string gauge, no matter the playing style, it nailed everything. from sweet and soft arpeggios and chords, to hard hitting palm muted powerchords, it nailed everything. it KNEW what my hands wanted. So well that i felt this pick was a physical manifestation of what my psyche sees what my perfect pick would be like. it was an extension of my hands, a part of my soul that exceeded my body. that pick was always on me, in my wallet, wherever i went.
in fall 2009, i went to amsterdam. there must've been something i made that upset my pick, because she left me there. she disappeared and never returned.
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