Rock is a destructive form of art. Pete Townshend understood that; with his pinwheeling chords, his hand would be coated with scarlet by the end of a show. Jimi Hendrix understood that to a higher degree; so did Jim Morrison. Rock demands sacrifices. It will not be satisfied with mere humble prostration. It wants blood.
I understand that, too, and I agonize over it. If I die for rock, I will no longer be able to spread it. Wounding will have to be enough for now. It will take me, I know, when it decides my time has come.
I strum my electric guitar until my fingers have bled onto the strings, ignoring the pain of it. I know it will make my music better.
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