The Black Hole of Times Past

Cars slip by on wet, black hole roads, stellar plateaus in rainbow oil spills on the dark surface. Cars glide to a slow halt. The mother gets out. In the bakery, we talk. 
A dusty blue cat, wraps himself around a vase like a scarf, eyes like LSD. Other cats come in, they are memories of him. They lay on a field of sofas, filling the visible space. I climb up to the shelf with the vase cat. I open a window. I sit on a tray that rotates and floats outside, above an earlier scene below. A girl with red hair and a scarf, friends going for a drink in the snow. Music plays. I spin in time. 
I see a whole story. My life so far. But I see it from the wrong direction, I’m looking back in time. Travelling that way, I see key points that lead to heartbreak. I slide my car in front of the bakery. I tell my younger self not to talk to EG’s mother, or to stroke the blue cat. Only sadness will come of it. My younger self doesn’t want to listen, to me or anyone else, without an explanation, that he is incapable of understanding from his perspective. 
I’m outside a club. S has driven a comedy van there, like a mini clown van. It has a bar in it. He fixes us drinks, that we plan to take inside. He borrows the van from the Wants man, who parks it outside his house. In the club, I talk to two smartly dressed black girls. They love rock music, and guys in tuxedos. I tell them they are unlikely to find both in this rock club. 
I’m at EG’s house. I’m planning to grow some magic mushrooms. A friend doesn’t think that’ll be allowed. I plan to cover it by growing edible mushrooms too. 
Her dogs vie for my attention. One eats a dried magic mushroom. The other, a German Shepherd, dances with me on two legs, flexing his muscles. He becomes almost human, his fur now sparse sequins as I scratch his back. EG appears. She wishes I’d scratch her the same way. I give her the attention she needs. She wears blue, sequinned, underwear. 
I spin above on my record, the same sad tune destined for eternal recurrence. 


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