Sunday, September 25, 2016

Standpipe Siamese

Standpipe Siamese.  I have no idea what that means.  I would like to go to Siam, which is what Ronald Reagan called Thailand during his sterling performance in the presidential debate that helped win him the office.  He already had Alzheimer's.  It didn't matter.

Siam it is.

There are Siamese cats and Siamese twins which have nothing to do with one another as far as I can tell.

Old Bangkok.  I didn't make it.  I probably never will.

People under thirty don't own cars or homes, I read.  They change jobs ever three years, so a forty year mortgage makes no sense.  They are committed to renting and travel.  Travel brings more happiness than things, or so a study offered.  I am the sort who likes to buy things when he travels.  Those objects litter my house.  I have many poison darts and arrows that go with bows and blowguns. I am well armed.  I have woven jungle baskets and clay pots and a whale's tooth.

Steven Wright said you can't have everything.  Where would you put it?

The kids are right, though.  The expense of my house has hamstrung me, as has my car.

I found a picture of myself yesterday--at the helm of my sailboat--in an old lap desk that I hadn't opened for many years, I guess.  I was twenty-seven.  I didn't own a house.  I was driving the VW bus I inherited when my father died.  I traveled somewhere whenever I wasn't working.  I looked peaceful and happy.

There is madness in wanting to visit the old, gone world.  It doesn't exist and maybe it never did.  The more I get, the less I have, it seems.


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