Just Because You Are Breathing Does Not Mean You Are Not Dead
It�s been an awful two days, the kind that keep the tension locked up like rusty old mattress coils in your shoulders, prickly and taught �
The kind of day when you show up for work late and you go to the crappy office kitchen with sad empty Formica tables covered with scattered sections of yesterday�s USA Today. You look down in the sink to see forgotten Tupperware containers from someone�s lunch the day before � now half full with flat bubbles from dishwashing detergent � a pool for e coli to play and fornicate and breed.
Those little microbe fuckers are doing the back stroke and spitting up Joy liquid detergent as they smile. You are sure.
You were going to that sad place to get a coffee, but some goddamn inconsiderate bastard took the last cup and didn�t even bother to put on another pot. So the carafe sits and it burns.
Just like you.
There�s a fax on your chair. Scribbled handwriting scrawled URGENT. You don�t even bother to move it, you just sit.
There are over a dozen emails waiting for you as you log into Outlook � those stupid unopened envelope icons in the corner - this one is flagged, this one has a red exclamation � the exclamation point is there because even though you have a college degree how on earth would you recognize the sheer importance of its content without it?
The voice-mails blink at you. That red eye on the phone watches you. Coaxes you into picking up.
Blah, blah, blah right away Blah, blah, blah, it�s crucial blah, blah, blah � I need blah, blah, blah, you must � blah, blah, blah, I think you should blah, blah, blah, motherfuckers, blah, blah, blah �
Everybody needs something. Everyone wants something.
Demands. Commands�hours and hours of ands �ands�ands�
But you just gotta laugh, man.
You just gotta roll right outta that bullshit later on � not only because you�ve got to � you�ve got to because that is not you that is not what you are about�
You roll right out of it because what they don�t know is even though it�s a Tuesday night and ain�t nobody home to go out with, ain�t nobody home to talk to you�ve got K-Tel Records on your side.
You�ve got Super Bad and Super Bad is Back.
The greatest collection of soul classics on the planet
And even though you are missing Son of Super Bad you just know, one day it�s gonna show up on Ebay because you�ve got soul on your side.
Just like the hardest working man in show business, you don�t know ka-ra-tey, but you sure know ca-ray-zay.
And ain�t nobody gonna stop you from getting down with your bad self in your own living space.
And even though you gotta shut those blinds tight and even though you can�t dance (there is evidence of drunken sputtering on a wedding video somewhere, you are sure) you can get down with your bad self.
You are gonna cook tonight.
You put that Colonel Sanders to shame the way you can cook up a chicken.
So you get to cutting, you get to chopping and banging pots and pans - you get to making a little noise.
And you let it all sizzle.
Just like you.
And you move. No, no, you don't just move, you've got moves
Spatula waving, makeshift microphone just like Curtis (Mayfield that is) you are Superfly. Spilling, and swiping and stirring - cookin� up that chicken real good because you are not taking anybody to the hospital tonight. No way, sisters and brothers. Ain�t nobody getting salmonella poisoning on your watch.
You wander in and out of the kitchen, into the living room, you move. You turn, you jump a little (just a little � you�ve got new neighbors). Wave your arms � shake your ass. Y�heard. Shake it. Elbows, arms, knees, jerk bend � use �em.
And keep moving. Don�t stop.
You are the superstar in your space. This is your world and it doesn�t matter what anybody else wants.
You�ve got hips � use �em. The boss man ain�t here. And if he was you tell him to go to hell because this is yours.
Use �em �cause ain�t nobody watching anyway.
And even if they were, fuck �em.
Fuck �em all.
Just use it, man. Use it all.