Dead Stars

by Bruce Wagner

  So artful was Mr Marshall Mathers, that to his father I-Veen’s pleasure, a 3rd domino need not even be touched by his hand—they were already falling by metempsychosis.

  The love of Jerzy’s life was a black Jew (he called her Blue) whom he lived with for a time in Brooklyn. He destroyed that love with the necessary, poignant sacrifices of War, forever paying the remorseful price. When the Great Wave came over him—such as it was beginning to lap at him now, & such as it had before he was hospitalized for his small, secret attack—he called her Blue, yet came to believe her true name to be Zadie Smith.

  Zadie Bluesmith sometimes helped him, the memory of her helped clear his head so he could set down thoughts & analyses which in Time he knew would be historical. He wished she could be with him but he’d lost track of where she was, didn’t even know if she were still alive, sometimes had a feeling she wasn’t, then heard she got married, but when he heard she got married he preferred to believe she was dead, that his feeling she was no longer living had been correct, preferred that awful thing over believing or learning she had married. She sometimes helped him during his compositions, the close & careful journaling he did to make sense of his inspirited crusade. Because it was lonely, solitary work. She helped with his Lamentations, & encouraged him to carry with him at all times the acrostic alphabet of which the League of Informers & Betrayers was composed—those who it had been written would stand in the way of the Suge-led Black, the warriors who one day, after much bloodshed, would storm Heaven & achieve their place in Paradise for there is no pain like their pain. He kept the laminated cheatsheet in a drawer, it’d been there since he came home from his small, secret attack, but when he saw the dark distant funnel & heard the faraway rolling thunder he placed it on his person & wore it all the days. An eerie roll call & reminder of MCs who had fallen:

  * * *

  Plantation Lamentations

  (Aleph) Eminem, Master/Overseer/Puppetmathers

  (Beth) Big Pun, Bone th., Busta Rhymes, Beasties, birdman

  (Gimel) Geto boyz, the Game

  (Daleth) Dre, Drizzy, DMC, dmx

  (He) Hov-Jay-Z

  (Waw) Weezy, Waka Flocka Fl., Wiz Kh., Warren G

  (Zayin) Ye, Yelawolf

  (Heth) Ice Cube

  (Teth) T.I., Tyler the Creator/T-Pain

  (Yod) B.o.B.

  (Kaph) Common, Chris Brown

  (Lamed) Lauryn Hill, Luda, LLCool J, lil kim, Jeezy

  (Mem) Method M., Mase, Mos Def, Mob deep, Maybach Music, MIA

  (Nun) NWA, Nicki-Barbie, Nate dogg

  (Samek) Snoop

  (Ayin) Naas, Andre 3K, Eazy E, OFWGKTA

  (Pe) 50 çent, Puff

  (Sadhe) Scarface, Soulja boy, Salt N Pepa

  (Qof) [The Martyrs 2pac/Biggie & Warrior Archangel Suge Knight]

  (Resh) Raekwon, Rakim, (Rihanna), Royce da 5′9″, Rick Ross

  (Shin) Slick Rick

  * * *

  And then Blue I.V. was born, a black blueblood whom the Puppetmaster could not transfuse, resistant to his plantation platelets, & that was when he was certain his Zadie Blue had transmogrified, had come to him, & it would not matter if he would no longer be living when Blue I.V. came of age in the Days of Majestic Rage & overthrew those who bore and betrayed her, the Bé & the Hov—the chosen cloven—the béhooven.

  . . .

  He toggled between CNN faggot panicwhores & Shade 45, reawakened to la causa as he listened sorrowfully to converted slaves singing on Marshall Mathers’ plantation.

  Royce da 5 9’s voice rang out from the fields:

  “Tell Shady I love him the same way that he did Dr Dre on the chronic, tell him how real he is or how high I am or how I would kill for him to know it.”

  Proud Black warriors who once stood tall now grew spreadcunts for the Puppetmathers, speaking in tongues and Code.

  Suge Knight’s head hung in sadness & steely resolve.

  . . .

  If he could help them triumph, his place in history was secure.

  (That’s where his head would go.)

  (The cheatsheet laminate)

  (A year ago, while hospitalized for his small, secret attack, Jerzy spoke with Suge & Suge Knight honored & thanked him, and told him he would contact him in Time.)

  The dark funnel frightened him.

  Jerzy had some little tricks to lighten up.

  For example, he’d dig out a DVD, Biggie Smalls guest-starring on an old Martin Lawrence. No shit, Sherlock. It was whack. Biggie played his 24-year-old self. He drops by Martin’s to tell him confidentially that he’s looking for a back-up singer & the next thing he knows (loose mouths in the hood), there’s 1,000 people outside the apt looking to audition. Gina & Pam diva their way in, & effin hilarity ensues. Jerzy loved it because it was so unabashed a tribute to I Love Lucy, one of his faves. Cunt MoMA used to plunk him down in front of the tube w/cold Banquet TV dinners & forget about him for the day yeah, life’s a Banquet, a beggar’s banquet huh. That show saved his life. To this day he fantasized it was him born to Lucy & Desi, primetime.

  . . .

  Home now.

  Bootie bumpin—meth & warm water shpritzed up the ass.

  3 pages torn from magazines, sitting on the low table between him and the flatscreen, for his perusal.

  A tivo’d NatGeo doc was on, but he couldn’t focus.

  He was focused on the torn magazine pages.

  “Second Look” was from People:

  Two pix of Emma Watson placed side by side. The pix look identical, she’s walking out the door of Whole Foods. The caption says, Find the Differences in these two pics of Emma Watson, the latest face of Lancôme in Paris. Hmmmm . . . try as he may, he couldn’t. I bet Harry around the Middleton could find the difference hahahaha. He’d say Oh shit yeah, she’s got 653 hairs on the arm on the right, & 547 on the arm on the left . . .

  O. Yeah. Now Jerzy sees that in the 1st pic, her Hermès watch has a single strap; in the other, it’s got two. Effin fascinatin, huh. Jerzy moved on to the side-by-side shtick Rob Lowe beach pics in the Enquirer’s “Two for the Road” knock-off. Good ol Rob. Now there’s a guy who always lands on his feet. Jerzy took a closer look . . . is that a beauty mark on Rob’s abs or is that a mark on the magazine paper? He spent a few minutes on it but couldn’t find the diff, the 2 pix looked exactly alike. Shit. Hate it when that happens. Well if at first you don’t succeed, fail, fail again. Hahaha. And for our next braincruncher, ladies & gentlemen, it’s . . . Lea Michele! (featured in this week’s In Touch Double Takes.) First thing Jerzy looked for was the photoshop nosejob. Nope, no photoshnozz. Hahahahaha. They left it intact. Took up a lotta space in the mag, tho. All the nose that fits to print, haha, the bitch got plenty o’ proboscis. But WTF, he couldn’t find any differences there either . . . . . . . .

  He crushed/smoked an Addie then watched some of the Martin Lawrence ing Notorious. Biggie looked fatcheeked & shiny-new as a baby, he wore a smart, XXXXXL well-pressed jumpsuit, his bigass feet stuck in a pair of pristine orange construction boots. Swank. Back & forth Jerzy went, twixt the Martin & the NatGeo doc . . . but it was sticky going. Man, this tivo’s a fuckin antique, what’s the matter with her. Fuckin Tom-Tom. Must be the 1st one ever made.

  The NatGeo doc: a hummingbird was on screen.

  He used to love reading NatGeo the Magazine but it started getting too sado-porn for his tastes. Fucking Rupert Murdoch bought it, fucking Murdoch ruins everything. Destroys. The last time he flipped through one was a few months ago in the waiting room of a pain doc. Foto of a farmer in the snow perched over the carcasses of two reindeer whose antlers became entangled. The old Swede said he figured it took them three days to die. Fuckin Murdoch.

  Hummingbirds scared him—too much like fibrillating s. They reminded him of what he thought his own must have looked like before the small, secret coronary. (Nobody even knew he’d had one except an RN he kept semi in touch with, she was a dope fiend, sometimes they FaceTime geni-cammed, she stuck a hairbrush
up.) This deepvoiced narrator guy was talking about how a praying mantis could kill a hummingbird. Say what? Jerzy PAUSED the docu to google praying mantis because he got temporarily fakakta & thought maybe a _/|_ mantis really wasn’t an insect like he fucking thought—but no! shit! It was—unpausing the Tivo so the narrator could say that mantises waited in ambush, fucking waited! at the feeders! for the hummingbirds to come! How the fuck could that be? How could it? because that demonstrates intelligence, how do you even recognize a hummingbird feeder if you’re a fucking insect, how do you lay in wait, you’re a mutherfucking insect, & if an insect can kill a bird then maybe it could learn to recognize the door to my fucking room . . . . . . . . . . .

  With stupendous effort, he kept reality checking to make sure he wasn’t having a freak-hallucination. When it became too much, he MUTED (letting it continue to PLAY, hoping the mutherfucking docu would do him the favor of ending by the time he came back), & hit the kitchen for something to eat but of course he wasn’t hungry. Decided to look for gum, looked in the drawer where Tom-Tom kept lightbulbs & screwdrivers & tacks, couldn’t find any, actually didn’t feel like gum anyway. Then he wanted a cookie, there happened to be an actual cookie jar on the counter (but no cookies, he’d need to remedy that, he’d pick up his latest fave, Tim Tams, Tim Tams for Tom-Tom, she’d get a kick out of that, chewy caramel chewy fudge chewy baca Tim Tams——shit. Maybe I should just run out right now to the 24-hour Ralphs) so he went back to his room to smoke, his attention back on the 3 torn Can You Spot the Differences? pages, couldn’t remember if he’d torn them out or if Tom-Tom left em for him, Tom-Tom was always tearing mindless shit out of mags & leaving it for him to peruse . . . . . . . he sat back down, eyes averted from the screen.

  He tried calling T2’s cell, bored, horny, imagined it ringing beside her dead body, or ringing ringing ringing while she was being raped by the police. Hung up & went back to Biggie & Martin, the mantis (Biggie) & the hummingbird (Martin), lit the crack pipe, scoped the 3 torn-out pages, thought about going for TimTams, handfucked for a hot sec to Emma, jacked to Rob, Biggie Martin hummingbird MUTE pipe jack/rob lowe’s dick in his mouth emma back to rob back to emma back to rob back to emma he cums kitchencookie jar no gum in the hardware drawer useless phonecall to TomTom TimTams UNMUTE

  rub

  just one

  more

  off (Lea Michele’s hairyhaileejewish arms&pussy he thought about going to the tube that featured CATEGORY: HAIRY/JEWISH

  There they are: side by side: the Mantis and the Hummingbird.

  Can You Spot the Differences?

  morephonecallstoTomTom morekitchentrips more crackpipejacking GBH mantisjack biggie biggie martin i love lucy who ate the fucking cookies tries to jack can’t cum finally sleeps.

  EXPLICIT

  [Tom-Tom]

  Domain Change

  “Hey,

  guest what, sunshine? Alice doesn’t live here anymore! Not for long, anyway . . . that is correct, we are moving. We are movin & groovin—to Mt. Olympus! You heard me, biatch, we are chariots on fucking FIRE. Tell you more about it later, hon, you will not believe how it came down, the opportunity, man, it is all gunna happen, it’s all happening, & you better start wishing large, Large Boy, cause right now there aint a in the sky that’s gonna say no to you. Lotsa airplanes in the night sky, sunshine. When you SWISHER ’pon a star, makes no diff——& on top everything, it’s a moneybag year, Chinese moneybag year, did you know that, Holmes? Bet you didn’t. Young money, cash moneybag.

  “Man shit Jerz, you look like shit warmed over. You gotta cut back, dude, cause I can’t be bailin you outta no psych ward, I ain’t got the time. And my shit’s just gonna get busier . . . just take a shower, OK? you fuckin smell, can you please just take a frickin shower? Pretty please? Jesus pull up your fucking pants, that bumster shit aint gunna play up on Olympus, playground of the gods . . . here, let me help, that’s a good boy, & no I will not suck your dick while I’m down there, you couldnt get it up anyway . . . see? See that? I sucked & it aint gettin close. You probably can’t even feel it. That’s one mushroom cryin in the rain, aint growin like the rest of em. That’s one dead fuckin shroom. Straighten up, Jerzy! Straighten up your room, boy, straighten up your shroom! Straighten the fuck up. That’s some short woody you got there, Woody. You aint gonna be peckin too much with that woodpecker, Woody.

  “All right, come on, let’s go sunshine, I’m puttin your skeevy unshowered ass to bed right now, shit man, you know maybe you need a girlfriend, a steady fuck might tighten you up, cause you’re married to that pipe, you’re becoming a sadsack eunuch mutherfucker, & I aint shittin you Jerzy, the Tom-Tom train is on its way, friendy-friend, bout to pull out the station. Today, I secured the mothership! We bout to take legal possession, & as you know sweet cheeks possession is 9/10s of the law . . . choo choo choo choo choo choo choo choo—that’s right, baby boy, one foot after the other, you doin real well, we’re putting you to beddy-bye cause the Tom-Tom train is leaving the station & you best not be running down the track all tryin to hop on . . .

  “All aboard! Last stop: Mt. Olympus! We all gonna be Mounties, we be Mounties listenin to that Sermon on the Mount! & if you expect to have a place onboard, my friendy-friend-friend, you have got to get yourself togethuh. Cause we are dust, we are golden. & we got to get ourselves back to the——ouch! Now come on tweety-pie, stop draggin your mutherfuckin feet, man you are a sorry-ass crackhead mutherfucker. What the fuck happened to you? You know we oughta see if your sister wants to fuck you, pregnant girls are always way horny, you see em rubbin up against posts like a cat when nobody’s lookin . . . maybe ReeRee could use a little on the side! Maybe ReeRee needs your peepee HAHAHAHAHAHA! O don’t look all like that, you know you’d love it. Hell, I’d love it. I might just lend a helping hand. Like a good neighbor, Tom-Tom is there . . . Cause I know how to cervix a pregnant gal, Sue Sylvester-style. Tell you what, when sissy & me are a happy couple, all cozy, I’ll invite you over once in a while, you can help me give her head. Good help is tough to find these days. She’ll already have had the kid, & by then another’ll be on the way, but this time it’ll be a celeb’s baby, none of this teen mom boyfriend shit. We want a kid with an annuity. Get us like an Ashton love child. Make him pay through the nose . . . but I am telling you, once sissy’s mine? There is no way I would let you tap that solo, no fuckin way.

  “You know what you’ve got to learn, Jerzy? What you need to learn is how to move the fuck on. Stop your cryin. Man that shit is unbecoming. I know what time it is. You’re still crying in your bong about Jigger Blue. The night is bitter, & Jerzy lost his nigger . . . oops I mean jigger . . . and all because of the Jew-schvartzuh who got away! Sunshine, you have got to move on—just like Jennifer & Renée & Demi & Ashlee & Scarlett & Sandra. Those girls know how to get laid, then move the fuck on. They make a movie with a guy, they’re armored up cause they’ve been hurt too often, but he’s gorgeous, never mind he’s been married 4 times & cheated on his last wife while she was having chemo—you know, they’re thinking maybe this is the one, they lower their guard, get all vulnerable & involved—the publicists already have the brakes on, cause the publicists know what’s coming, they see the breakup even before the hookup, the pubs are smart, except for the one who got her ass shot on Sunset, & they start saying shit like they’re just friends yoddy yoddy they value each other like good friends, all that yoddy yoddy horseshit, but suddenly the is head over heels, usually the guy she’s tripping on is a of way lesser magnitude, the pubs are freaking because they know the whore’s track record, but it’s too late, PDA pics are flooding the internet proving the authenticity of their love, & why not, who would begrudge, doesn’t the dirty whore deserve to have a boyfriend who’s maybe going to lead her to marriage & babies? Hasn’t she been unlucky in love enough? Hasn’t she dodged every STD known to science in her career as a who fucks lesser s? Hasn’t she succeeded in hiding the 2 miscarriages & the 2 ectopics? Hasn’t she put that pussy throug
h bootcamp, & isn’t she old enough to be dead in the ovaries? Oh & she tries to go forward with a degree of caution because she’s been burned before but this time fuck it sure does feel like it’s going to last, the Bad Boy sucks & fucks every hole, ooh he’s good at it too, even fucks the holes in her , every hole the bitch has, & you know there must be holes only celebs have, I am telling you, Holmes, s are different than you and me! And then o shit someone leaks that the relationship is slipping away, the pubs of course knew it was coming, they rush in and say no no no! That’s bullshit, they’ve never been happier—as a couple—& here are pictures from their holiday in Hawaii to prove it! Then: BLAM BLAM BLAM they’ve got sperm & egg on their faces both parties are moving on! O they still think the world of each other, they’re going to continue their relationship as friends, but they’ve decided to move on because—get this, Jerzy! I read it on the US Weekly website—shit I can’t remember what couple it was about but it said, it said, they decided to move on because ‘at the end of the day, they weren’t on the same page’—At the end of the day they weren’t on the same page!!!! I swear Jerzy that’s what it said!