Riffing

I want to be one long riff, lilting and wailing from legato, Les Paul low-end, to shrill, thrashing Jackson. Arpeggios down the neck raise the thin little hairs hidden behind grey skies. A staccato glossolalia, seeming like it would be too long, feels just right when forced, paying close and intimate attention to parts normally unplayed. Then, rake into a grinding, but steady, rhythmic lick. Just when that gets comfortable, violently, yet carefully, break meter to duplet and slide into a new position.