Hey this might interest you. The Evertune system. They have a website but I can't include a link here. Apparently it will keep your stringed instrument in tune forever. Thought I wonder how it affects tone.
Interesting concept. It’s a pretty advanced modification. I listened to some of the testimonial videos, and to be honest I wasn’t impressed with the tone on any of the instruments. Chalk that up to poor video sound or amp settings I guess. Personally I don’t have much of a problem with going out of tune but I could see this being particularly useful in the studio when coming back to a track for punch-ins.
You know how people will label a post “TW” for “trigger warning”? I don’t suffer painful reactions to triggering images or writing. However “TW” being my initals, my first response on seeing it is like, “What have I done now….?”
Basorexia: An overwhelming desire to kiss. Cataglottism: Kissing using the tongue. Cheiloproclitic: Being attracted to a person’s lips. Colposinquanonia: Estimating a woman’s beauty based on her chest. Gymnophoria: The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you. Krukolibidinous: The act of staring at someone’s crotch. Lygerastia: The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out. Sphallolalia: Flirtacious talk that leads nowhere. Tibialoconcupiscent: Having a lascivious interest in watching a woman put on stockings. Ximelolagnia: The urge to stare at women who are sitting with crossed legs.
“The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.”—Gaston Bachelard (via nighthawks)
Come, Heavy Sleep (this setting by John Dowland, 1563-1626)
Come heavy sleepe the image of true death; And close up these my weary weeping eyes: Whose spring of tears doth stop my vitall breath, And tears my hart with sorrows high swoln cries: Come and posses my tired thoughts worn soul, That living dies, till thou on me be stoule.
Come shape of rest, and shadow of my end, Allied to death, child to his blackfac’d night: Come thou and charme these rebels in my breast, Whose waking fancies doe my mind affright. O come sweet sleepe; come, or I die for ever: Come ere my last sleepe comes, or come never.