it doesn’t matter until the sequel, when the good old days go bad. your hands are half invisible and your band is freaking out and your future mom and dad don’t know that’s who they are, but then future dad finds courage and kisses future mom: is that god, or just your skills on the guitar? either way, the results are equal, so just accept it, just be glad. When you disappear in a photograph of yourself stuck to your guitar at your parents’ prom, and you know you’ve got to play that perfect chord but your fingers slip and all the notes are wrong. but what good is an imagination if you can’t pretend? because after all it’ll never be that good again. god knows it wasn’t all rainbows and puppy dogs back then, around the time the eighties waited for the nineties to begin. i think there was some heartbreak and some humiliation, which i guess is a part of a well-rounded education. but i choose to remember the music and the heavy petting. but instead of unexplained pain, it’s unexplained pleasure, buried deep in your brain, like pirate treasure. it’s as vague as a disease like fibromyalgia. and i’d love to go back but i broke my flux capacitor. but my favourite scene was tim cappello at the boardwalk when he played that shirtless solo on his golden sax. and so for a while i wanted to be a vampire - a vampire like kiefer, not like the guy who played max. and one night i was watching the lost boys with a girl who i liked and her friends and when the vampires attacked the hippies on the beach she said she had a crush on kiefer sutherland. the late eighties was a fantastic time to be ten. remember when john stamos played the drums in the beach boys? that’s the kind of thing that happened back then: musicians guested on sitcoms and actors made albums. april and i slow-danced to the cocktail soundtrack and kokomo is still my favourite song to this day. The compact disc was the wave of the future, i had my first kiss and i liked it ok. my name is mathias, and i came to say that. wherever we are, baby that’s where we’re at. so dance with me baby, put your hands on my hips, kiss my aforementioned kissable lips. one day i might get hit by a bus or get cancer, but right now all i am is a fabulous dancer. and an accident is something that you don’t plan, like the Y chromosome between a woman and a man. there are targets you can shoot for and mines to circumvent, but most of life is an accident. and life in between is just war and combat. where we’re born and when we die: we can’t control that. i’d like to keep it that way for as long as i can but you know what they say about the best laid plans. but i have a ukulele and i have a guitar, though i don’t have a house or a kid or a car. so i’m oatless and unemployed these days. i sowed my oats when i was young and i thought i was clever, and my oats all rotted in the field where they lay. but it’s not about sowing my wild oats or whatever. everywhere is nice if you drink enough beer, so some days i’m there and some days i’m here. i’ve spent time in peterborough and in winnipeg, but leaving is living if you just use your legs. the vietnam war would not be good for his health, and that’s how i was born in the commonwealth. they lived and went to school in buffalo, but my dad decided that they had to go. she was raised as a catholic but then she converted, ‘cause she loved my dad’s religion and she loved him too. in the sixties my mom was hip and mini-skirted. and i carry all my fat in my ass and my hips, the rest of me is skinny as a stick. My name is mathias and i came to say this: i’ve got a big bushy beard and kissable lips.
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