I hadn’t slept the night before,
Or eaten well in days,
So it wasn’t hard,
To go out at happy hour,
And get drunk off a few tallboys
And come back home in the early afternoon,
And fall asleep until 11 at night.
But then as I was gonna go out,
I heard somebody playing la guitarra,
So I banged on the door.
“hole on” I heard a guy’s voice say.
I didn’t hold onto anything, but I waited.
I hadn’t had much to hold onto for months.
A little Japanese guy opened the door.
“nice playing,” I said, standing there dumbly.
We got to talking, then we got to drinking.
We both agreed how ridiculous Indonesia was,
How it was a terrible country to be in,
Because people only wanted your money,
And they went about it in such a stupid fashion,
Like primitive scam artists.
“they like keets,” the Japanese guy kept saying.
“just like keets, like, so STUPID, it’s funny.”
And in a way, it was funny. Terribly funny.
A man had tried to sell me a plastic belt buckle,
Claiming, “no, no, it metal!”
It was the most plasticky plastic I’d ever seen.
It was all a big joke.
I hoped that they knew it as well as we did.
And I think they did.
So I’ll give ‘em credit for that.
Life was all a big joke to them, to all of us.
But the Indonesians,
they could knock on the doors of hell,
and say with straight faces, “no, it heaven. HEAVEN!”
One big, fabulous lie. Fuck it!