Wednesday, October 1, 2014


Dry Dream: Fancytown, what an ironic name. everyone frontin' but we the same as everyone else.

Tyrone: you talkin' to me?

Dry Dream: you standin' there aintcha? these raves are lame but it's the only thing in town. connections if nuttin' else, feel?

Tyrone: what's your j-o-b?

Dry: those aren't the connections that matter. name's Dre, but everyone but my moms calls me Dry Dream. i came up with that.

Tyrone: um, Tyrone, yeah, forgot my name for a minute.

Dry: good to visit for a minute. haven't seen you round these woods. transfer?

Ty: nope, born and bred, all my life here in this one little shithole.

Dry: time to get noticed, nobody.

the ravemaster is donned in resplendent garb in the middle of the abandoned auditorium packed with revelers. his shiny coats attempt to outshine the overhead lights. but nothing beats the disco ball. he raises his creaky fingers and a giant golden microphone descends from the smoke. he addresses his flock. one twitch from his lips commands a hush from the room.

Lofton: i am the pimp. can you dig it? i dress as such, because i am the one who demanded the mantle of leadership. this town was fucked but i curbed it. never forget that, my thugs, it was i who ran towards while all of you ran away. you spited me, spit on me with your spite, i'll never forget that, but i told you i'd prove to you that i was the best. i fucking told you. now here we are, my thugs, just like i predicted. no more random gun crime on the streets, instead all the colors are mixed in here dancing instead of shooting. why it brings such a tear to my eye that i'm tired of these white lights, get some rainbow colors up in here, all the colors of the rainbow in this bitch, all of Fancytown in racial harmony under my iron boot. hughhughhugh

there's a delay converting the white light of the club over to rainbow. Lofton's fake smile isn't turned until the disco ball shines rainbow as well.

Lofton: somebody's gettin' fired for that, hughhughhugh. now all the guns are in my possession, my gang has them, and as such, i am infallible, i am the final authority here, but you love me, don't you? i'm a benevolent dictator just like i said i'd be. the proof is in the pudding, and i love me some chocolate pudding.

Lofton hugs tight his black girlfriend dressed in a fur coat. she has afropuffs in her hair.

Lofton: hughhughhugh, sit tight, baby. no worry, folks, it's faux fur, hughhughhugh. less crime, that's all that matters. more fun, that's what life's about, why worry your tiny heads over complicated things like city management and social echelon? be merry, get drunk, and live instead of die. does it matter who's in power? i'm one of you, fam, i party hearty like you do. shit, i throw the greatest parties this dumb town has ever seen, we always strive for a


Lofton: whoo, that was a track! continue raving, folks, don't mind me, but i will leave you with one nugget: i want all of you here, gathered here, collected here, when you think of me, i want one image to pop into all of your minds, in one collective Borg hive-mind thing: I AM LOFTON, I AM THE POLICE.

the crowd has their eyes closed, listening and listening to when the music will start up again.

Lofton: yo, blood. over there, right corner, get the lights for me.

Ty scootches back into the shadows, leaving Dry to get the lights.

rainbow resumes, darkness, flickering, the beats beating up the noise.

Dry: impressions? we can talk now, they're playing indie, not hip-hop anymore, hughhughhugh.

Ty remains silent.

Dry: living in this place before him was a nightmare. everyday, a random killing, even kids were the victims, by which i mean kids killing kids. guns flowed freely here like a deadly waterfall, man. it became impossible to distinguish who was the enemy, which was the good gang, folk just tryin' to go to school to learn about the magic of Mendel, workin' and eatin' at McDonalds, only to get shot in the face when they rang the doorbell to they own house.

Ty: feel. and now the trains run on time.

Dry: yep. don't matter, doe, it's a fait accompli. living here, everyone's just waiting to die, more precisely waiting to get shot. that's why everyone dances the night away, no one cares anymore, it's an unfixable situation, everyone would rather get numb to the music than think about it more. we all riding the ups, there are so few ups, but we know the end of the wave is a slit wrist.

Ty: you aren't buying Lofton's hope?

Dry: keep the change. i believe you can't change your station in life. you are born in a certain setting, with dreadlocks or a beard, a certain race, belonging to a certain tradition, and you are doomed to it.

Ty: or blessed, blessed to be alive. i think life is what matters, not what race you are, what you wish you would have been.

Dry: sorry bout that, my failsafe is self-loathing. i herd dat.

Ty: nigga, you ain't black, you Life.

Dry: hehe. nigga, you ain't about this life.

Ty: with a capital L. neither are you. wanna bounce and get some donuts?

Dry: sure. man today was wack, i had been waiting for weeks to get the new update for my ipad mini but i had forgotten my passcode. i finally remembered the passcode is the same one from my, well whatever, i do it and wait a long-ass time for that thing to download and upload and download again, and now my fucking ipad is slower than before! i mean shit, i have to push on the damn glass three times to get the links to go to that page. i have to update my instagram shit or all dat shit will get erased, all my hard work down the drain. i should have never bothered at all, the old way was better!

Ty: all that work and waiting and anguish just to find out there's no gold at the end of the rainbow. lesson fucking learned. but the old ways aren't always better, it's just a matter of finding the best new way.

Dry: shit, i hate my ipad anyway, can't read anything, the letters are too damn small. can't fucking type anything with my chubby fingers on that microscopic keyboard. and with these new improvements, it's so herky-jerky, so sticky. it sticks. it stinks. you click on a link, and, seriously, i actually saw this, the blue line that goes from left to right to indicate that the page is loading? yeah, that thing started going right, then got cold feet and went back left again, it didn't want to load the page! when it finally is at the page, there's a blank screen, then 5 minutes later you see the page. feel like chucking the thing into the safe streets.

Ty: the struggle is real.

Dry: i was feelin' existential yesterday. i took out the last Snickers from my pack of six and savored the crinkling of the package. i knew if i ate this, i would not have a Snickers for the next day and i'd be fucked. why do they sell them in six-packs? there are seven days in a week! it's the same with beer.

Ty: it's the companies' way of providing for sobriety. i feel ya, except my weakness is Kit Kat. i look at it this way: think about the pleasure of enjoying the candy right then, right now, instead of the future without it. live in the moment.

Dry: hashtag blessed. you need to stop by my crib and philosophize to my sista, she will eat you up.

Ty: she cute? only if she cute.

the two shove each other into the safe sticky stinky streets outside the club. they turn back to see the turnt inside. the back door swings out and in giving an animator's view of Lofton at his high post in the club, herky-jerky pics here and there, this point and that, trying to form a clear view of Lofton's face.

one thing is clear. Lofton is white.



Jules said...

I feel like I've been engaged in a mish mash of Eminem, 1984, nineties rave, gangsta and Robocop!

Ha! Why only six packs when there are seven days!? I concur.

Looking forward to see where this is going, blood. *)

the late phoenix said...

and Skins, we all must never ever forget Skins *)

the late phoenix said...

i hear they're doing a remake of 1984...*)