I figure one day doesn’t mean anything, right? Just one? I mean, sure, I had that warm twitterpated feeling inside, the unexpectedly intense infatuation that seemed to say…say what, exactly? Lust? Love? But it can’t be that, right? Not after just one day?!
Nah.
And in any case, such a thing couldn’t happen to ME. I’m too sophisticated; unlike mere mortals, I have wayyyyy too many defenses in place. I shit more cynicism by sunrise than most people produce in an entire election cycle.
Right?
Right!
But then…then comes day two. Then three. And somehow it’s worse. Much worse. I can’t think of anything else; I can’t concentrate. Even at work, I can’t stand it…I have to leave my desk frequently, to…well…uhhh…well, because I have needs to fulfill. Dammit. An itch which must be scratched!
By day four, I can no longer go through the obligatory motions. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am clearly possessed. Demons are involved. I find myself spontaneously dancing–in the car, in my soul-extinguishing craphole of a cubicle, at a favorite restaurant, even while attempting, in vain, to piss with a modicum of accuracy into the urinal at my local drinking establishment…wherever–but…but…
I.
Can’t.
STOP!
I don’t understand a word they are saying, but the voices (OH, those voices!) are speaking to me. Singing. Whispering urgently. Marking time and taunting me. Singing of life, and love wasted, of injustice and oppression, of joyful other worlds and times, of bliss…of whatever…but always singing.
Goddammit!
When the sun rises on day five, I have become a convert. I look towards the East, towards Istanbul and Constantinople and Byzantium (yet another Holy Trinity), and say my prayer:
I believe in Transglobal Underground, the Mother almighty, Creator of synthesis and amalgamation, and in Sagopa Kajmer, her most pessimistic Son, Lord Rapper, who was conceived by the Melancholy Spirit, born of Mustafa Kandirali, suffered under Jordi Savall, was crucified, died and was buried; who descended into corporate hell; who on the third day rose again from Trapmindz; ascended into Hespèrion XXI, and is seated at the right hand of Ibrahim Tatlises–the Father Almighty of Arabesque; from there he will come to judge the Leadri and the (Mercan) Dede. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Kani Karaca, the communion of the Ceza, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and Opium everlasting.
Amen
Like any good convert–on fire with his newfound beliefs–I now felt the need to share my faith. Which is why I decided (and by “decided” I mean to say “was telepathically commanded”) to create a playlist.
And Voilà!:
Outlaw Panda Playlist #1
And now you, my friends, are invited to pray along with me (please, I implore you!):
