We Were Godz

Without being too overtly nostalgic or anti-technology, it is somewhat bizarre how easily and without complaint we've lost touch with a life that was once a great deal more in touch with its surroundings, if only by necessity. Or the subconscious desire for mystery. When all is accessible, all is to some degree diminished by ease. Flying to a new city, finding an apartment with roommates on an index card pinned to the corkboard of the hippie grocery store, getting lost in a car that frequently broke down on various exit ramps, walking to a payphone to call for a tow and having no change in your pockets, looking for jobs in thumb-stain classifieds, carrying a Moleskine notebook filled with bad lyrics and bad poems, addresses and phone numbers, a few quick-snatch snapshots of that girl or boy you desire or miss stuffed between pages. Answering the shared rotary in the hall, writing down a message for your roommate and taping it to their door. Going into a record store and finding a rare album for a few bucks because the owner's personal knowledge was their only resource to approximate worth. Really looking at the person across from you. Gazing out windows, undistracted. Never once saying "Can you put that down for a minute?" unless it referred to a well-thumbed but engrossing Genet or Lawrence Durrell. Creasing open a heavy envelope, a long letter on lined notebook paper nestled with portent. Three channels, plus PBS. Every Friday night at the art theater no matter what was playing. Sleeping more deeply, and longer. Not sure we were gods, but maybe the better cherubim of our natures?