Prince toys with the space-time continuum

On a temp job in 2067 I learn that there are no more new songs. There are new bands with new names but they only play covers. People around here—the future—they say you get used to it. When I asked the guy I was working with how it came to be this way, he said an algorithm determined beyond any shadow of doubt that it was impossible to write new songs. They'd all been written. As far as songwriting was concerned, the oversoul was complete. Any attempt to write a new song was by definition not a new song, it was an oldie, so if you tried to say it was a new song—your song—you were in fact stealing it from the oversoul and setting the species back.

Of these future matters of state I didn't worry because, as always, I had a job to do and a temp job should be free of worry while you're doing it. I was to assist in the manufacture of a couch under a rock concert because what happens at rock concerts in 2067 when there are no new songs is two people manufacture a couch during the show, under the stage. The couch is a thematic representation of the show itself, to be determined by the rockers, who give the couch makers the theme before show time, based on their pre-concert interaction with tailgaters, though it turns out theme is only sponsored by color in the future. They're supposed to be mood couches, capturing the spirit and vibe of the show and if you're fortunate enough to be able to buy one, you can take it home and sit in that vibe in your living room. Bring the show home. Better than a bootleg, said Phil, the guy I was making the couch with.

During the show itself there's a monitor showing the two people making the couch. And what happens in the future when you go to a show is, you watch the manufacture of the couch on a huge monitor above the cover band as much as you watch the show. It's a big part of the experience, though they still have smoke in the future, too.

*

Phil said he'd made hundreds of couches. It was easy—always the same frame, always the same arms, legs, the same stuffing. The only thing different was the color of the fabric. Our couch was yellow. I asked him if he could feel 30,000 people in the coliseum watching him, watching us.

No, he said.

It kind of feels to me like we're behind a one-way glass, I said.

That's entertainment, he said. Hand me that leg. Sooner we knock this baby out the sooner we can get out of here.

But what do we do if we finish early, before the show's over?

Usually I watch the rest of the show from the side of the stage.

But then you're not really capturing the theme if the show isn't completely over. Doesn't a lot of important stuff happen as the show ends? Like encores?

Encores? There aren't any encores.

Why not?

Why not? Because all the songs have been played.

See, this is what I don't get.

Hand me that hammer.

Sure, sorry, here you go. Why have the concert in the first place if there are no new songs?

What? Where are you from anyway?

The past.

Get out. Really?

Yeah.

How'd you get here?

On Prince's space ship.

Who's Prince?

He's a musician, was a musician, a songwriter.

Really?

Yeah. There isn't a Prince cover band?

Not that I know of.

Well, he contributed many songs to the oversoul.

Phil stopped what he was doing.

But if he's in the past and you're in the past and he sent you from the past and he could have sent himself and not you—are you a songwriter from the past?

No.

Then the Prince is writing songs when those songs are still contributing to the oversoul, which means he could come here and write new songs and they would be new.

I suppose.

But they would only be new and entered into the canon of the oversoul if he came here and stayed here.

The old Brigadoon trick. I don't think that's going to happen.

Why?

Prince is tough to figure. But I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to mess with the space-time continuum. He's not greedy.

What's the space-time continuum?

It's a theory proposed by a scientist in the movie Back to the Future. Hey, question: are there any new movies in 2067?

Yes, but we're getting there. Government estimates say we'll have them wrapped up in twenty years or so.

What about poetry?

Done and done.

Novels?

Not quite. Novels are to poetry as movies are to songs. What's the space-time continuum theory?

Oh, it's that if you go back in time or forward in time you shouldn't do anything that will disrupt the natural order of events because the consequences could be disastrous.

Like what?

The scientist never really explained how it could be disastrous. I guess it was just taken on faith.

You're in the future now, Phil said. Aren't you disrupting the natural order of events?

This is just a temp job, Phil. Temp jobs, by definition, don't disrupt the natural order of events, which is why I like them. My work life has no practical effect on life as we know it or what it will be. I'm not out to change anything. I prefer that tranquility.

But you're making a couch with me. If you weren't here, I wouldn't be able to make the couch alone and there would be no couch to sell to the highest bidder at the end of the concert and one less person or family would be able to vibe out to the show in their living room.

No offense, Phil, but I don't think that would have any real effect in this world.

Of course it would! I'm an artist! What I do matters! I've spent my life working on thematic couches so that one day there will be no more possibilities and we can cross them off the list on the way to ultimate knowledge! You fool! I'm doing my part!

I'm sorry, I said.

*

We worked on the couch uninterrupted until we finished, which coincided exactly with the last song of the show above us. Prince never tells me where or when he's going to pick me up so I usually end up doing what seems natural, I just sort of go on walkabout and he always appears, hovering in his space ship like a sand sniffer from a galaxy far, far away. I figured now that Phil and I were done with the couch, now that the show was over, I'd walk outside and see what people in the future do after a show, since I missed out on what they do before a show. Phil wanted to talk some more so I stayed put for the time being.

When did Prince play? he asked.

In the 80s, 90s and 2000s.

Is that when you're from, the 2000s?

Yeah.

That explains why I haven't heard of him. We're systematically working back in time with concerts until we get to the first song ever sung. Right now we're only in the 2020s, songs written in the 2020s. What were songs like in the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s?

I guess you'll have to wait to see.

Can I go back with you?

I don't think so.

Why?

Prince's space ship is a two-seater.

Damn.

Why do you want to go back anyway? You're doing your part here, like you said, and I apologize if I suggested you don't matter, Phil, because you do.

All the songs remain the same.

Whoa, dude.

What?

Nothing, Phil. I wish I could take you back but you have more important work to do here.

*

We parted ways and I walked out to the parking lot. It was big and had entirely cleared out of space ships. Except for one. I walked over to it, across the vast parking lot, like a stable hand across a pasture, trying to make headway with the one remaining renegade horse and armed only with straw. Prince leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. I'd been meaning to ask him about that. The manual window. His ship has warp speed.

How was it? Prince asked. I was surprised because usually he's not as effusive.

Sad, I said.

Why?

This guy I was working with, Phil, he's never heard your shit. Or Led Zep.

Get in.

And, Prince, it's worse, I said as I Velcro-strapped myself in: in the future they've got the oversoul on a spread sheet. Your work is done even though they haven't gotten to you yet.

They never will, Prince said, and winked a purple passion my way, a roofie-powered blast of boudoir. I was out, again, until the next episode.

Space trip

It was the night before Tuesday. I was watching reality TV when Prince rolled by. Rather, hovered by my third floor window. I leapt from the couch and threw open the window.

Wanna come for a ride?

I nodded.

Get in.


*


Where are we going?

England.

Why?

I want you to meet a friend.

Who?

You'll see. And then Prince winked his wink. A spray of lavender mist shot out of his eye and enveloped my head space, a straight shot into the olfactory. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Prince pushing the warp speed lever. After that I saw myself in a sea of lavender with thousands of deodorant stick-sized purple Princes hopping above the lavender sea, all excited about the new revolution and all chirping, the thousands of them, Let's get crazy, let's get crazy!


*


The biggest and most popular summertime attraction in England is a swimming pool under a tent. I shouldn't understate it like that because it's actually a sprawling series of pools connected with waterfalls under a massive tent. They wait in line for hours in their flip flops to get in under the tent and chill out by the pool. One of the reasons it's so popular is the tent acts as a sun filter. Estimates vary on the SPF factor. Some say it's as high as 150. Others say it's as low as 45, and unsafe. They debate the SPF factor of the big tent while waiting in the long line, which is as long as a dozen football fields. A bar stretches the length of the line so it's a flip-flopped bar crawl in a straight line with everyone comparing sunscreens and their SPF factors like wines and vintages, which is sort of all you need to know about the modern English.

I just don't see what's so special about a pool under a tent, Ricky, I said to Ricky Gervais. I'd landed next to him.

Series of pools. Are you daft?

I don't think I'm daft. I just don't see the great big deal about a pool—

—series of pools—

under a tent. I mean, the tent sort of defeats the purpose of having a pool—

—series of pools—

doesn't it?

It's about synergy, yeah? The pools are all connected so we're connected. In our swimming trunks. All together, yeah? Little waterfalls doing their bit. Harmony. Yeah? Ebony. Side by side. Ebony and harmony side by side with perfec ivory. That's what it's about. Teamwork. I. You. Me. We. Yeah?

I'm with you, Ricky.

Where's Prince?

I don't know. He ejected me from his spaceship and I landed here.

Funny little bugger.

I'm going to need a lift home after the pool. That is, if we ever get in to see the pool.

Series of pools.

Smooth Bird

Last weekend we went for a swim at a lake in a hill town. Blueberry bushes ring the lake. It was a beautious maximus afternoon. We cooled off, watched a tireless dog swim to and fetch a ball thrown in the water over and over, compared and contrasted our feet while sitting on a wooden dock, and caught sight of an enormous bird, probably a heron but it looked like a pterodactyl, swoop about the edges of the lake, no doubt for the blueberries because herons aren’t bird brains – they know where to find the antioxidants.

On the way back from the lake we saw road signs for corn. We pulled off at one to find an old flat bed truck, veggies in coolers, baskets and crates on or about the truck, and a kind of roof contrived to shade the bounty. A sign said to put money in a hanging bird box.

We bought a huge bunch of basil, swiss chard, a dozen ears of corn, beets, and incredible white onions. They smell so sweet.

Recently I came across a list of the eleven best foods you aren’t eating. Blueberries, beets and swiss chard make the list. My mother used to make stuffed zucchini around this time of year, with zukes from the garden. (She also used to make zucchini flower pancakes.) The main ingredient in the stuffed zucchini stuffing, aside from squash pulp itself, is swiss chard. It brings strong character to the stuffing, as if it’s the family member who most specifically captures the mores, triumphs and flaws of the unit, extending across generations. The crazy uncle, maybe. Swiss chard is why you love your family. And it’s good for you.

Well, we boiled the beets for a salad, in which we Frenched and added one of the sweet onions. The beet water couldn’t be wasted. I decided on two purposes. I would cook rice pasta in it and I would add some to the chard that I’d already rinsed and chopped and had cooking with garlic and olive oil. See, we’d sketched a menu using the veggies from the truck stand. I was to use the chard as main ingredient in ravioli.

I added about a cup of the beet juice to the simmering chard and let it cook mostly off. The result was a hearty braise whose taste alone is a little too sharp but when complemented with parm, ground beef and pork and a conservative application of ricotta, the admixture should make for supreme ravioli the likes of which my grandmother might be proud (her famous ravs were spinach, parm and meat-filled, no ricotta).

I love to cook. I love to swim. I love fresh vegetables of high summer and lakeside blueberry bushes you can swim right up to. I’d love to glide down to them in sweeping arcs, too.