I Am Me, Who R U?

(after track No. 1, Art Official Cage)

“Are U a Prince fan?”

she asked with her tongue planted firmly against my cheek. Or, are you a self-proclaimed Fam? A Glam Slam? A midnight jam? Are you a woman or a man? Do you prefer Wham!? Or, should I shut already, damn.

Are you a leader or a follower? A disciple? A scholar? A pimp, protégé, pauper, or King, or would you rather be the Pope? Would you wear my ring? Are you a secret lover? A dreamer? A believer? Do uTorrent? Or, do you dream in w’s.

Do you claim to have every album ever released, and by every album, do you mean Warner Brothers records? Or, do you tap into the Vault for the avant-purple experience? Have you gots all them boots posted discretely on Guitar 101? Or, do you laugh in the face of restraint?

Are you as loose as cherry moonshine? Have you got a white parka? Do you cherish your vinyl? Is the white black album your holy grail? Montreux? Small Club? The Flesh? Do you spend waking hours scouring the land for broken rainbows, thrilled to the gills when you score an audio perfect FLAC attack to spin on repeat until your mind is clean?

Has your mind ever been clean?

Do you wear an ear cuff? Or, your name upon your thigh? A symbol tattoo? Or, a baby tee with Love4OneAnother bustin’ across your chest? Did you sign up for some new funk through Operator #6 and then make your donation? Did you secure your subscription? Update your status? Sign up with email? Did you get what you xpected? Or, were you sorely disappointed vowing never to be fooled again until looking at your watch @ 3:32am on a work night at some downtown club off 12th Avenue. Ain’t that a bitch.

Have you got that look? Has your hair got curl? In a word or two, are you a sexy mudda-fudda? Do you own a Phantom of the Opera yellow canary suit with flowing wing sleeves and matching guitar (!!) Have you hid 500 balloons in the bowels of a grand? Or, slowly placed a 7-inch into the computer? Have you seen the future? Will it be? Have you ever been guilty of what goes on in your mind? Or, were you a witness to the prosecution? Can you do the splits, come up, and look around to see if the joint is hopping (hopping), can you make it to the Bridge on the one? Are you legal yet? Can you go around the world in 17 days, or hit 23 positions in a one night stand?

Does your perfume smell like the weekend?

Or, are you a critic? YES! Every atom of you in magnificent glow while donning a suit of armor suitable for smashing banana splits while kicking out weak trivia sauce worthy of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise, nothing but jive talk for some raggedy-ass rag, unimaginative filler dribbble to meet a lazy deadline, useless words set in Palatino for a rubbing alcohol piss routine on late night television.

Have you ever made an album? Traveled the globe as a session musician? Have you ever laid down the grooves, the riff-raff, the sticky glue sleigh bells over a new jack bounce? Is there thunder when you’re on the mic? A scandalous suite of harmonious grind? Are you ready, Christopher? Are you even close to ready?

Naw…you ain’t ready.