It’s A Time When Time Stopped—
Have you ever seen your life refracted through a broken prism, a rainbow of colors swirling into each other, leading from one to nowhere. See your two or three of your past lives melt into each other and burp up a creature that is not you but could have been you but no way would you ever.
Compassion and passion and disgust. It’s like time stood still so the past and the future could cha cha. Salsa. Rhumba. Break. Take it to the floor. Vogue. You betta work.
I’m looking at this girl and I know her name and I’m looking at this photo and I’m reading this guy’s name and then I’m saying. Same Same Same Same. Only, it’s different. It’s like what happens if you come from the same place and go in the same direction and know the same people and make the same choices and maybe the only difference is, I ain’t hanging with white people?
Or maybe it’s that I’m old school and I ain’t slang pills, I mean pharmaceuticals. Dropped tabs and took hits and I did it like this when I wasn’t doinn bumps but if it’s legal, really, where’s the fun? I old school. Gotta cop. Don’t rock a prescription. That’s like… some bougie shit.
But times have changed. I mean time stands still but if I were born later would it be different. I guess it would. Maybe I’d be her, I mean, she got that gig writing and I wanted to write but I was such a damn snob with dirt on my knees under my skirt. Maybe that’s the difference. Less money, more snob. When you have money, your taste level goes down.
But that’s not the only thing. It’s the parents. How is it that all these psychofessionals can’t raise children? I’m sayinn I knew this. But it’s epic. Endemic. Epidemic. Academic. Dig this. It’s the crime no one’s reporting. It’s the ultimate mind fuck. Is that a kind of rape? Did I just stumble upon a new muse? Should I follow her on Twitter on some 2012 shit?
Stalking is more fun. Underrated. Undercover. Also, less investment. I’m interested. At a distance. But too close I’ma get sucked in to watching this little girl explode. Implode. In a flurry of American Psychobabble. Everyone keeps saying Bukowski. I’m saying, Have you read his words?
Sheeit. His poems are better than his novels. They are novels. Novels on amphetamines. Time stops and stands still like a photograph and he’s saying it all. And he’s saying it with less words than I’ve ever seen. And I don’t even want to be him. I just want to watch. Watch and learn. Like I’m watching her.
It’s not just the drugs and the writing and the parents and the trashery. It’s that she got photos up in my old spot on Instagram. She was up in there and then I’m lookinn at the life I once had and the life I once had was so fly and is this their new fly? Is this what they got with me gone? Is this the new edge? This is their edge and they’ve lost their edge by going over the edge and do they even care? I mean standards are gone. They took me off their reviewer list.
I kinda dig that. Like you still got a hard on. Cause me, I’m hot. Ain’t neva been cool. My new passport photo looks better now than it did twelve years ago. I’m kinda back to blonde but not bottle blonde. More like sunspungold. And I’m looking at her and she’s Debbie Harrying it up. And she’s in my old spot talking about Don’ts and I’m thinking that’s how you pimp roll at your new job. Take it to the floor. Tell the children what’s up. Be the ultimate arbiter, tongue in chic. I dig you, girl.
And then I don’t and I like that about her. She got me feeling things for her that I feel for myself. All of it. She gets the crowd going. Provocative. ****** in Paris. No, she ain’t. She’s in New York. Literally. In print talking about how she was pregnant snorting Adderall and I’m that girl talking about, “Could you untag me on Facebook?”
Okay, no. That’s not all. I swear. I probably wouldn’t have written this but I saw that flick and that’s when I said Hold It Now. Because I’m saying, That’s how I know her name! She’s down with those muhhfukassss. Ohh man. I dig a small world.
And I’m looking at his photo and he looks terrible, I mean I got six years on him but he got ten more on his face. And he used to sparkle. Like fool’s gold and I loved me some illusions and delusions and he set it off. I mean, not even like the usual Imaginary Boyfriend steez. I mean like he introduced me to my lovely lovely lovely Mr. Brown.
Not literally. Jest did that. I mean. He’s the one who handed off the paperback on our one and only date. Put that dirty little book in my hand and said “You gotta read this” and I’m looking at that novel thinking, “He loves me cause he gave me a book.”
Time isn’t moving because she’s the me I could have been and she and me might be the same because I’m seeing something. I just got up to make coffee and I’m pouring it in and I’m thinking I like this flow because who the fuck knows what I mean except me and I’m talking to myself and then—
She’s IT. IT’s She. I been needing to go through the looking glass because Alice. Alice. Go ask her what I’m talking about. Shit, I just got chills. Like Lewis Carroll dropping a tab fucking with little girls. Like this just what I’ve been waiting for.