Friday, September 2, 2011

Meet Him Or Delete Him

A few years ago I started having friends approach me, often while out of breath from the run they had to do to reach me and tell me something immediately. They'd say something like they said hi to me only to find out it wasn't me, they'd grab them my the shoulder and shake him, yell my name at him, but some were wiser, knowing it wasn't me, and would simply report they had a BGK doppleganger experience. All but one account actually reached me in a matter that is beyond knowing that there are people that look, even dress, and sometimes talk like me. I used to wonder how many versions of me are there, are they clones, am I am a clone? Why couldn't we just get together and form an amazing band or create something fantastic that I've always thought if there were more of me I'd be able to do. This one account was recent, the one that shook me, made me wonder if I should seek him out, find out where he lives (somewhere in Brooklyn, he is already that much cooler, hipper, than me, probably has the same clothes, but the next price bracket up in branding from me, and worst of all, he probably paid the same as me). When I find him, what then? I had this gut feeling we wouldn't get along, thinking of how when I used to want to meet half-asian half-white people like me, building in my head that we would relate, be best of friends, finding someone that understands your situation, but no, I felt friction instead, and leaving me even more alone on this planet. What would meeting someone that looked just like me, maybe they even had the same smell and voice as me, even spent some time in Texas and could even do the accent. Then I went through a list of things that we both had in common, all the flaws and quarks, everything that made me me, what then I wondered. One of us would have to be the evil one and the other is the good one, a fight would ensue. Someone would have a gun pointed at us, they'd look down the barrel and into the crosshairs, she'd be switching it back and forth, me or him, him or me, again and again.
"He's the evil one!"
"No, he's the evil one!"
"Stop it you're only confusing her!"
"That's something the evil one would say to cover up his clearly evilness!"
"Hey, wait, what if she wanted to kill the good one?!"
"He's the good one!"
She fires, killing one of us, on the ground, one shot to the heart, blood running from his chest, he tries to speak, tries to look into her eyes, something comes out of one our lips, too faint to fly with the wind, too late to try to make a mends. In the end who knows which survives and which one died there that day, one of us went home with that girl, and one of us gave the shifty eyes behind her back then put his index finger over his lips and shhhhh... to an invisible crowd, there goes the third wall, or was it the fourth, what happened to the second and the first?

(evil laughter)
(endless echo)
(the end of Thriller)


winnie truong said...

winnie truong said...
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