Says the man who just asked
if I really want to have a family.
So as to be decisively dismissive,
I dissolve into my tiny computer
and wonder irritatedly what “back
to form” must mean. With regard
to one of my favorite film directors.
Back to form? When did she ever
lose it in the first place? Her so-
called form. Is this petty of me,
I wonder, given that it is at least
a back-handed compliment (yes,
given my trail of consciousness,
petty is much too small a word).
(But petty.) Like the ritual that
for decades now has given me
unfathomable amounts of joy:
watching film trailers. For hours
sometimes. Only these days it’s
only the trailers (just like it’s
only me). I’ve been at the cin-
ema twice in the past three
years (not bothering to give
a comparison, such as an
estimation of the zillions
of times the previous three).
Occasionally, I’ve taken Net-
flix up on a free month or two,
but even then I can’t—but almost
absolutely cannot—watch anything
in there. It’s not the screen
being so small (sizes; as opposed
to the big screen or a more robust
computer than my cheap-ass phone).
My dismissal of the surroundings of
my present; the questions that de-
mand decisive answers; my retrieval
into the celebrity of the small screen,
this meandering, this me being just me
and, most specifically, only me. On-
ly now, since I just tore my back,
I’ll be going on an indefinite leave.
“It’s all connected. We can get to
the bottom of it.”
My weapon of
choice (martial arts-wise) is the
killer umbrella. A killer umbrella?
Or, until now at least, it was my
go-to. Probably more than any
other reason because it’s so…
unlikely? In that historical
Hong Kong (etc.) martial arts
flick cinematic genre’s way.
Even in that specifically un-
real universe it is not only
original (true historians
might disagree, given
true origins and such), but
it is outlandishly imaginative
and just plain beyond this guy’s
(me; my) version of reality (by which
I apparently do not mean reality
but am thinking more in terms of
what it was, what it is and what it
could be). There is perhaps no right
word, much as I am positive there
is one. It is a phenomenon, this
notion of deadly umbrella in this
specific cinematic universe. It’s
historical. As in history. Like the
act of, let me offer as example,
looking backward through the
assumedly more accurate lens of
time. In this case, to a time-frame
when I was not just me. And then
locking my gaze onto his (mine; or
ours) as if to ask (jokingly? I wonder.)
“Look at us now. What do you think,
Pops? Amazing? Or suck?” And to
whatever degree it does surely suck,
extending that question a bit fur-
ther with "How the fuck to change
the trajectory; to change this traj-
ectory?" In this case, how to abso-
lutely flip it or reverse it? Is it
possible? Can I simply “put my
thing down, flip it and reverse it”?
To quote goddess-rap-lyricist-and-
performer-on-a-savior-level, Ms.
Missy Elliot. Look it up. It’s
in the chorus of the same ditty
as the one that immortalized
the badonkadonk (donk! and I’m
definitely not worthy). Boys,
boys, all type of boys. As I
(we) stare at myself into the
future, everything begins to
make sense. Killer umbrellas.
Lost form. Torn abdomens.
Families of meerkats with no
names, only so someone who
makes names can give birth to
something who’s never met a
mammal (from the outside),
and name the result Meerkat.
And that, historically, is for
life (unless you're Madonna
or Gaga; but frankly, why
would one ever try to erase
such a fabulous given name?).
And, so, I wonder, why this
pyrotechnical eureka, this
everything making sense
all of a sudden (like that
moment during the first sem-
ester of my sophomore year of
undergrad, nearly two-thirds of
the way through the term, during
which my courses were Physics III,
Organic Chemistry II and a class
that gave dramatic/cinematic
closure—with the scary pro-
bability of a sequel—to all
of the mathematics/algebra/
calculus courses I had thus far
endured)? Everything makes
sense sometimes, right? Or
am I the only one? Do we not
each have these moments?
I suppose I would not know.
But did you know (as I now
do and am compelled to
share; because, inter-
net; and because why
bother to correct me
if I’m wrong on this
point given where it
has gotten us thus
far? By which I of
course mean gotten
me.) that for the
two lines after that
one I quoted above,
(the Missy Elliott flip
it and reverse it
quote from the
chorus of the song
that I say immortalized
badonkadonk-donk), that
she then just repeats that
line, but in absolute
reverse? She flips
it. And there are
two lines of that
flat-out flipped-
out line. And
then, end
of chorus;
next verse.
