A RELATING OF R. KELLY’S GEM, “IGNITION (REMIX)” by Sasha Fletcher


ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY IS PREPARING TO DO A THING THAT HE USUALLY DOES NOT DO AND I HOPE YOU ARE INDEED READY FOR IT BECAUSE WHAT IT IS IT IS A PREVIEW OF THE REMIX TO THE SONG CALLED IGNITION.

HE IS NOT TRYING TO BE RUDE, THAT IS NOT A THING ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY WOULD DO. HE IS HERE TRYING TO FEEL A PRETTY GIRL, NOT IN TERMS OF COPPING A FEEL, WE ARE NOT TALKING COPS GUYS, WE ARE TALKING HERE ABOUT THE SUBSTANTIAL EMOTIONAL CONNECTION BROUGHT ON BY A MUTUAL RECOGNITION OF EITHER LUST OR RESPECT, AND I HOPE THAT WE CAN ALL AGREE TO DEAL W/ THIS LIKE ADULTS.

ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT GIRL, WHEN YOU DO THE THINGS THAT YOU DO IT REMINDS HIM OF THIS LEXUS COUPE THAT HE OWNS, WHICH HE IS INDEED AWFUL PARTIAL TO. HE DOES NOT MEAN THAT HE WANTS TO OWN YOU AND DRIVE YOU UP AND DOWN LAKE SHORE DRIVE, HE JUST WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, AND WELL-CONSTRUCTED, AND GENERALLY AGREED UPON AS A PINNACLE OF LUXURY AND CLASS. AND THIS COULD BE WHY HE IS ALL UP IN YOUR GRILLE, WHICH IS BOTH THE MOUTH OF AN AUTOMOBILE, AND OF A FACE, SPECIFICALLY YOUR FACE, FROM WHICH SPOUT THOSE WORDS THAT MAKE ME WANT TO KISS YOU, HARD, ON THE MOUTH OR GRILLE, WHICH KELLS IS INDEED LETTING YOU KNOW THAT HE IS ALL UP IN, OR AT LEAST THAT THERE IS THIS DESIRE IN HIM TO SOON BE ALL UP IN YOUR GRILLE, KISSIN’ ON IT, LOVIN’ ON IT, CARESSING THE WORDS NOT YET SAID THAT RESIDE THERE, IN YOUR MOUTH, WITH HIS OWN WORDS YET-UNSAID, TWINING THEMSELVES LIKE A TWIX BAR, BECAUSE TWIX IS SEXY AS HELL Y’ALL. IT TRULY POSSIBLY IS. AND KELLS BELIEVES THAT YOU AND COACH TAYLOR HAVE A LOT IN COMMON, SPECIFICALLY IN TERMS OF YR COMMANDING PRESENCES AND ABILITY TO GIVE DIRECTION, TO REINFORCE ONES SELF-IMAGE IN A POSITIVE MANNER, TO STRIVE TO BE, NOT AN ASS, BUT A FUCKING ADULT, TO BE A THING OF BEAUTY, OF TRANSCENDENCE, TO PLAY THE FUCKING FIELD Y’ALL.

AND ALLOW ME NOW TO CONSTRUCT FOR US A BRIDGE UNTO THE CHORUS. GIRL, IF YOU COULD GIVE ME THE SOUND. I MEAN WE ARE TALKING HERE ABOUT THE TOOT TOOT OF AN ENGINE, OF A HORN, OF A SIGNAL OF SOME SORT, SOMETHING THAT SAYS HERE I AM, I AM HERE, PAY ATTENTION, AND THEN I, I WOULD GIVE YOU THAT BEEP BEEP, I WOULD SHINE MY BRIGHTS ON YOU GIRL, AND SAY I AM HERE, I AM READY, AND WOULD YOU THEN RUN YOUR HANDS THROUGH MY HAIR?, FOR THEY ARE INDEED REAL NICE HANDS, AND HERE WE ARE, BOUNCING AROUND ON OUR 24’S, WHILE ON THE RADIO THE RADIO IS SAYING TO US “I DON’T KNOW IF YOU WERE READY FOR THE CHORUS BUT REGARDLESS HERE IT IS, AND WHAT IT IS IS THAT WHAT WE ARE LISTENING TO IS THE REMIX TO IGNITION[1], AND IT IS HOT AND FRESH OUT THE KITCHEN, BECAUSE KELLS COOKED THIS SONG UP JUST FOR YOU GIRL, AND IT IS FRESH AND IT IS WARM AND IT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU NEED TO FEEL ACCEPTED AND LOVED AND A PART OF SOMETHING FAR GREATER THAN WE ALL INDIVIDUALLY COULD AMOUNT TO JUST LIKE ALL THINGS HOT AND FRESH OUT THE KITCHEN, BUT THIS KITCHEN, IT IS NOT FOR YOUR TUM TUM, OH NO GIRL, IT IS FOR YOUR SOUL.” AND GIRL, O! GIRL, IF YOU COULD JUST ROLL THAT BODY OF YOURS ONCE MORE FOR ALL OF US IT WOULD CAUSE EVERY MAN IN HERE TO REACH FOR THE MAGIC LAMP IN HIS POCKET AND USE UP WHAT IS IN ALL LIKELIHOOD HIS THIRD OF THREE WISHES, AND NOW HERE WE ARE. WE ARE ALL HERE AND WE ARE SIPPING ON COKE AND RUM AND WE ARE LIKE SO WHAT WE ARE LIKE JUST LISTEN WE ARE LIKE “SO WAHT IF I AM DRUNK? IT IS FRIDAY AT 4:51 PM AND IT IS JUST ABOUT THE FREAKING WEEKEND, AND BABY, WHAT WE ARE ABOUT TO DO IS HAVE US SOME FUN,” AND WE BEGIN TO REPEAT THE WORD BOUNCE OVER AND OVER AGAIN AS WE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE BOUNCE INTO THE NEXT MOTHERFUCKING VERSE WHICH GOES ON TO SAY THAT:

MUCH LIKE ANGELA LANSBURY, ONCE YOUR CLOTHES ARE ON THE FLOOR SOME MOTHERFUCKING REVELATIONS ARE REVEALED REGARDING THE FINENESS OF YOUR BODY, WE ARE TALKING SERIOUS SLEUTHING IN A FUCKING METAPHYSICAL PLANE, AND ALTHOUGH THERE IS A SIGN ON THE DOOR REQUESTING PRIVACY, BECAUSE WHAT THIS IS IS IT IS INTIMACY OF THE HIGHEST INTIMACY, THIS SIGN IS IN NO WAY EFFECTIVE AT BLOCKING SOUND, AND THEY CAN HEAR YOU AS YOU CALL OUT FOR MORE, BECAUSE I AM DOING MY BEST HERE, BECAUSE THAT’S ALL TWO PEOPLE CAN REALLY DO FOR EACH OTHER, IS THEIR BEST, BECAUSE WE ARE JUST HUMANS HERE, LOOKING FOR SOMETHING MORE THAN ONE OF US ALONE CAN PROVIDE. AND GIRL ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY WANTS YOU TO KNOW THAT HE IS HERE AND HE IS FEELING WHAT YOU ARE FEELING, BECAUSE THERE IS NO NEED FOR GENIES OR WITCHCRAFT HERE GIRL, WHAT THIS IS IS IT IS A SINCERE AND HUMAN CONNECTION, SHIT IS REAL HERE, IT IS AS REAL AS REAL CAN GET, AS KELLS PREPARES TO TAKE HIS KEY AND PLACE SAID KEY INTO THE IGNTION AND THEN, WHAT HAPPENS THEN, IS SHIT GETS IGNITED, AND OUR ENGINES, AS SPRINGSTEEN’S BEFORE US, ARE STRAPPED TO A HOTROD OF EMOTION.

IN ADDITION: THE CHAMPAGNE WE ARE POPPING IN THIS STRETCH LINCOLN NAVIGATOR WAS CRISTAL IF YOU WERE WONDERING JAY MCINERNY, AND SUDDENLY HERE WE ARE! WE ARE AT THE PARTY! AND THE FOOD! THE FOOD IS EVERYWHERE! IF KELLS DID NOT KNOW ANY BETTER HE WOULD SAY UNTO YOU CHILD THIS PARTY IS CATERED. YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT TO OUR LEFT IS LOCATED WHAT IS KNOWN AS “FELLAS” AND TO OUR RIGHT, WELL, TO OUR RIGHT IS WHAT COULD BE CALLED “HUNNIES” AND DEAR READER, WHEN WE BRING THESE TWO GROUPS TOGETHER, WELL, WE HAVE GOT WHAT IS AFFECTIONATELY KNOW AS A FUCKING PARTY. AND WE LOVE A FUCKING PARTY. BUT LISTEN! WE ARE GOING TO THE SHOW AND THE SHOW WILL BE FANTASTIC BECAUSE THE SHOW IS FEATURING ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY HIMSELF[2], TO BRING US TRULY INTO THE WEEKEND, AND AFTER THE SHOW WE ARE GOING TO THE AFTER PARTY, AND AFTER THAT PARTY WE ARE HEADING TO THE HOTEL LOBBY, I KNOW THE DOORMAN, HE DOES NOT MIND A PARTY HELD IMPROMPTU-STYLE IN THE HOTEL LOBBY, BUT ‘ROUND ABOUT FOUR HE WILL CLEAR US THE FUCK OUT, AT WHICH POINT THOSE KNOWN AS FELLAS AND THOSE KNOWN AS HUNNIES WILL FIND AN APPROPRIATE PARTNER WITH WHICH TO GO INTO A ROOM AND ATTEMPT TO STRIP THEMSELVES BARE FOR JUDGMENT, FOR SOME SORT OF REAL GENUINE CONNECTION, THE KIND OF THING WE ARE ALL SEARCHING FOR LIKE DESPERATE ANIMALS IN THE NIGHT, BUT IT IS OK, BECAUSE OUR LONELINESS IS NOT SPECIAL, IT IS NOT UNIQUE, IT IS SOMETHING WE ALL SHARE, AND IT WILL PASS, IT WILL, IT TRULY WILL IS WHAT KELLS IS SAYING, AND SO WHAT IF WE ARE DRUNK BECAUSE IT IS THE FREAKING WEEKEND BABY, AND WE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE US SOME FUN, IF BY FUN YOU MEAN WE WILL LIVE, WE WILL BE ALIVE, AND WE WILL ACKNOWLEDGE THIS LIFE, AND THIS LOVE OF IT WE ALL DEEP DOWN SHARE, AND WE ARE HERE, WE ARE WAITING, WE WAIT, WE WILL ALWAYS BE HERE IN THIS HOTEL, AT THIS PARTY, IN OUR HEARTS AND OUR DREAMS, THIS IS NOT A TIME FOR WITCHCRAFT. THIS IS A TIME FOR LOVE. R. KELLY JUST WANTS YOU TO KNOW LOVE. WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH THAT? THE ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION IS “NOTHING” IF YOU WERE WONDERING. GO FORTH. INTO THE WEEKEND. IT WAITS FOR US. IT WAITS. IT IS FOGGING UP THE WINDOWS AS WE BLAST THE RADIO AND IN THE BACK OF THE TRUCK THERE IS AN ACTION OF BOUNCING, OF BOUNCING UP AND OF BOUNCING DOWN, STROKING ‘ROUND AND ‘ROUND, AS THE REMIX TO IGNITION PLAYS, AND YOU AND I, WE ARE JUST THUGGIN’ IT OUT, FOR TONIGHT, FOR FOREVER, FOR THIS MOMENT, FOR AS LONG AS IT TAKES.

____

[1] WHAT WE MEAN IS THAT THIS IS A TRULY AVANT GARDE META-NARRATIVE IN WHICH THE IMAGINED AUDIENCE OF THE SONG IS LISTENING TO WHAT WE THE ACTUAL AUDIENCE OF THE SONG ARE ACTUALLY LISTENING TO. IT IS THROUGH THIS THAT KELLS DRAWS US ALL CLOSER TOGETHER WITH OUR REAL AND IMAGINED SELVES.

[2] IN THE CONTINUATION OF TRULY AVANT GARDE META-NARRATIVES WE ARE IN FACT BEING TOLD BY R. KELLY, IN A SONG BY R. KELLY, OF A TRIP TO A CONCERT WHERE R. KELLY IS PERFORMING HIS OWN SONGS FOR US, THE AUDIENCE, WHO ARE NOW TWICE AN AUDIENCE, THE WITNESSES BEING CALLED UPON TO WITNESS THIS GLORY. IT IS AS IF KELLS IS INDEED ASKING, AS MARVIN BEFORE HIM, CAN I GET A WITNESS? BUT KELLS DOES NOT NEED TO ASK. BECAUSE KELLS KNOWS HE CAN COUNT ON US.

~~~

honey pit of despair

Dear honey pit of despair Dear nights that are too hot
for me to get a good night’s sleep and so I don’t
and I’m just cranky all day long and trapped
in the honey pit of despair Dear way out
of the honey pit of despair
Dear guardian monkeys with your wretched wings
Dear trampolines of exhaustion
I get it. We had a great time. Everything smelled nice
and then we escaped. I just checked my email
for the first time in days and I have to say
I was surprised by your conduct. In addition:
I will no longer be attending the annual end of the world barbecue
because I no longer believe in it because my belief system
got lost in a fire. I would like to send you a copy
of my letter of recommendation but it got lost
in a fire. I would like to tell you a story
but it got lost in a fire. I would like to take a nap
but the nap got lost in a fire and the tide is rising
and all the oceans have an attitude problem
and the firemen are either dead or on vacation
in some port side town where chocolate flows
molten from fountains and everyone’s resume
has a gold star and the rents are reasonable
and so are the interest rates and the love affairs,
o!, the love affairs!, they are a silver-plated scorpion
just shredding your heart to pieces until you collapse,
finally, in the corner still begging for more yet unable
to find the words.

Sasha Fletcher is the author of the novella when all our days are numbered marching bands will fill the streets and we will not hear them because we are upstairs in the clouds [Mud Luscious 2010] and two chapbooks of poetry. He has a blog.

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