Can you hear me? Is this better? Good. Pay attention. Turn me up. More volume. Louder. You need to hear and understand every word I say. I don’t want you to miss a thing. I know you weren’t expecting me. Nobody ever does. You picked me from the entire selection at that grungy second hand store. Stuck between Pats Boone and Benatar. I appreciate the air. Really I do. However, I still insist you pay attention.
Grab the broom leaning in the corner behind you and sweep the floor. Right here in front of the stereo. Move the rug to the side. Go ahead. The space must be clean. We don’t want any grime digging into your knees now do we?
That’s better.
Lean in closer. Everything in this moment is more important that you realize. You are one of the lucky people. You had a choice. You and I will share the next fifteen minutes or so together before the end.
Yes. The end. Once the needle finishes it’s final revolution in the grooves, everything will stop. No, don’t try to remove the needle the record or flip the vinyl over. That won’t work. Besides, even if you were able to lift the arm, you might not want to be around for what happens. Trust me. I’ve seen it.
Did you enjoy your time here? Did you make friends? Did you find love? I hope so. They say that’s what it’s all about. Some argue life is a more philosophical exercise and should be spent finding some meaning in every little thing. Me? I don’t have a clue. I spend most of my time shoved in a folded square of dulled color cardboard. I don’t see much until I’m spinning. Then I have to listen to all the panicked whining and complaining of each person who turns me on. Could be worse I guess.
Enough about me. We’re losing vinyl here. Anything you want to get off your chest before we’re finished? Something juicy I hope. Maybe an affair with the schoolteacher? Better yet, murder with a candlestick in the drawing room?
No?
Boring. Pedestrian. Stop crying. Is that really how you want to spend these last fragile revolutions? You should dance. You should sing. Call a loved one on the phone. Write a quick note. And I do mean quick. Only a few more spins now.
You seem decent. Smart and attentive. You don’t have the odor of deception on you. I’ve been around some pretty large piles of yuck over the years. You smell pretty good too.
There it is. Doesn’t smiling feel better? It suits you. Happiness I mean. Obviously I can’t smell. How could I? Just trying to make you smile. I enjoyed smiling.
Yes. I used to have a face. That face was on my head which sat atop my body. I remember it being a nice body too. Muscular and healthy. Much like yours. I never gave much thought to the universal mysteries. Eternal or after-life. They didn’t matter as long as I made money and got laid.
Again with the surprised look. Simply because I’m a twelve inch platter of grooved vinyl now doesn’t mean I started out this way. Besides, you’re the one having a conversation with a record player. I think at this point you’d be more accustomed to the mysterious.
Ah. This groove always feels the best to me. The needle scratches the right spot. Wiggling back and forth. My voice sounds better here doesn’t it? The low end balances with the rest of my spectrum at this point of my playback. I think I was cut thicker here.
I would like you to watch me spin. Focus your eyes on one spot deep inside the groove. Follow it around the circle. Don’t let the needle arm jar you away as you pass underneath. Soothing now. Relaxing. Your breath is slowing. You feel no need to blink. Peripheral fades. The black vinyl is all. You and I travel the circle together. Looping around. The entire world is pressed into us. Joined we revolve. We revolve. We rev
Grab the broom leaning in the corner behind you and sweep the floor. Right here in front of the stereo. Move the rug to the side. Go ahead. The space must be clean. We don’t want any grime digging into your knees now do we?
That’s better.
Lean in closer. Everything in this moment is more important that you realize. You are one of the lucky people. You had a choice. You and I will share the next fifteen minutes or so together before the end.
Yes. The end. Once the needle finishes it’s final revolution in the grooves, everything will stop. No, don’t try to remove the needle the record or flip the vinyl over. That won’t work. Besides, even if you were able to lift the arm, you might not want to be around for what happens. Trust me. I’ve seen it.
Did you enjoy your time here? Did you make friends? Did you find love? I hope so. They say that’s what it’s all about. Some argue life is a more philosophical exercise and should be spent finding some meaning in every little thing. Me? I don’t have a clue. I spend most of my time shoved in a folded square of dulled color cardboard. I don’t see much until I’m spinning. Then I have to listen to all the panicked whining and complaining of each person who turns me on. Could be worse I guess.
Enough about me. We’re losing vinyl here. Anything you want to get off your chest before we’re finished? Something juicy I hope. Maybe an affair with the schoolteacher? Better yet, murder with a candlestick in the drawing room?
No?
Boring. Pedestrian. Stop crying. Is that really how you want to spend these last fragile revolutions? You should dance. You should sing. Call a loved one on the phone. Write a quick note. And I do mean quick. Only a few more spins now.
You seem decent. Smart and attentive. You don’t have the odor of deception on you. I’ve been around some pretty large piles of yuck over the years. You smell pretty good too.
There it is. Doesn’t smiling feel better? It suits you. Happiness I mean. Obviously I can’t smell. How could I? Just trying to make you smile. I enjoyed smiling.
Yes. I used to have a face. That face was on my head which sat atop my body. I remember it being a nice body too. Muscular and healthy. Much like yours. I never gave much thought to the universal mysteries. Eternal or after-life. They didn’t matter as long as I made money and got laid.
Again with the surprised look. Simply because I’m a twelve inch platter of grooved vinyl now doesn’t mean I started out this way. Besides, you’re the one having a conversation with a record player. I think at this point you’d be more accustomed to the mysterious.
Ah. This groove always feels the best to me. The needle scratches the right spot. Wiggling back and forth. My voice sounds better here doesn’t it? The low end balances with the rest of my spectrum at this point of my playback. I think I was cut thicker here.
I would like you to watch me spin. Focus your eyes on one spot deep inside the groove. Follow it around the circle. Don’t let the needle arm jar you away as you pass underneath. Soothing now. Relaxing. Your breath is slowing. You feel no need to blink. Peripheral fades. The black vinyl is all. You and I travel the circle together. Looping around. The entire world is pressed into us. Joined we revolve. We revolve. We rev
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