cord

Taut when pulled in two opposing directions. Thick, sturdy. This black cord is looped through the space created by bottom of my guitar strap and the side of my guitar. I thread that black cord through and into the input jack. It buzzes lightly before plugging in, and buzzes a little more aggressively on impact. Like angry bees. The other end has been already plugged into my amplifier. And the sound comes to life. Responds to my movements, when on purpose or accidental.

Toaster over cord that keeps falling out of its socket. Bad socket, loose wire? Toast stays bread for way too long. Time to take it to the bath and destroy it. The only sure way to summon Zeus…and a trip to Mount Olympus. Or…what am I saying? One way ticket to Hades for sure. Down the river Styx. To whatever semblance of an afterlife you imagine.

On the telephone in 1970 with a curly cord extending from the receiver to the rotary phone. The kind you have to stick your finger in and turn to dial. Something rhythmic about it. Something also magical. The phone is in between lime and forest green. Smells a little funny at the speaking end. High quality grade plastic. I can hear the dial tone, which I just recently found out is allegedly 440 hZ (which is the pitch of A above middle C – I think). Everything now is cordless. It’s so ubiquitous, it doesn’t even need to be advertised as such.

Guitars, toasters, and phones. These things have been around for years and years. Commonplace items to be expected in a common, shared human existence. Art, food, and socialization. These connectors, these cords have enabled us to express, eat, and communicate. That new guitar smell, fresh out of the case. The smell of burnt toast. The smell of a used phone.

Author: Roe

29. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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