ABOUT JIMI AND BEING DEAD It is too bad that I can’t die and go the stoney heaven … or hell in which all rockstars reside, jam with them for a while, ask them if they died intentionally. Ask what it’s really like up there, and what was so bad down here that they would rather die young and miss out on all that life had to offer them. Ask Jimi what it felt like to be so worshipped for his tormented lyrics and left hand-up side down playing technique? Because we all know it was not the voice that got him recognized. He had things to say. He said them. But his guitar had a lot more to do with his making it through. But what if I could. I would write a story that started thus; my day with the ghost of Jimi Hendrix. It was back when black men would get killed just for being black. And this one, he showed the world that talent had nothing to do with skin color. This one created work that transcended race. His work was more spiritual than any church hyme I ever heard sang by a choir of prepubescent boys. He showed the world what being a Zeus was of the musical genre was.