The Things I Miss

God, I miss being an old blues player in the 1920s.  I absolutely loved that.  I would sit on my porch all day and play the slide guitar, my old cracked fingers moving effortlessly.  A car would pass maybe twice or three times a day, kicking up the dust in the dirt road.  The birds were chirping.  It was hot, but not too hot.  And all I had to worry about was my big legged woman and whether or not she was being true.

And I miss that time I was an old Japanese fisherman.  I would sit and stare out into the waters, my bamboo rod still for most of the day.  My feet and toes were rough and brown in my rope sandals.  Sometimes I'd stop and lay the rod down to pick up my old wooden Japanese flute or whistle (I can't remember what we called it).  The white blossoms of the trees, the sweet and cool salt air, the mountains in the background...aw shit, that was Heaven.

And I miss being the barman in recent post-prohibition New York City.  It was slow, easy, and FDR had said, "what America needs now is a drink."  I'd listen to slow jazz on an old piano, wipe the same glass down for hours if I wanted to.  Big Fred was in the back playing cards...big hands, too...but I knew it would never get out of control.  I had a little place that was perfect for me for a few bucks a month.  It was just down the street.  A sad guy would come in and plop himself down and tell me his troubles.  I wouldn't even make him take his hat off.

Yes, I miss those times.  And what really fucking sucks is I'm 99.9% sure I was never anyone of those guys.  Just a dude born in 1978.  That's all I've been.

And what's worse is I'm 99.9% sure that even if I was those guys, things wouldn't have been like that.  I would have had a lot more than a big legged woman to worry about.  Try 1920s southern racism on for size.  And could it have really been that peaceful every single day fishing there in Japan?  Was the jazz really sweeter back then?  Could I have really afforded the perfect place on a barman's earnings for an entire life in the late 1930s?  And an entire life lasts longer than a decade.  The 1940s would have come along.  Then the 50s...

No...I probably wasn't a blues guy, a fisherman, a barman...I didn't have an old wooden porch, rope sandals, or a nice stool to lean against.  I'm 99.9% sure of it.  And another 99.9% sure if I was, it wouldn't be so romantic.

But you know what I like?  The 00.1% part of me.

That's what makes it so infuriating.  That's what makes me so infuriating.

Thanks everyone.  Sorry I was away so long.  I'll talk to you later.