You Spin Me Right Round part Tumeric

I spent the whole night wishing I could get closer to her. Excuses to brush by, to look just a moment more. I did't want to be creepy. I didn't want to own her. Nothing like that.

I just want to be able to get closer to her. I want to be her friend.

I was at the high school dance. Shitty waste of an evening. I mean, I wouldn't have even considered going to something like this. It was embarassing. But I knew she'd be there.






And then the song started. You know the one. "You spin me right round baby, right round."

Cheesy shit but we can all dance "ironically" to it. That makes it safer somehow.

Yeah I, I got to know your name. Well and I, could trace your private number baby. Amber. That was her name. Different hair color every week it seemed. Different piercings and tattoos. Same eyes. Nothing could change them. I wanted to.

So I stood in the corner. Gibberish numbers were bouncing around in my head, blocking everything else out. They seemed to come from the music but compound themselves, a feedback loop of infinite proportions. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, ...

She turned to look at me when the words "Watch out, here I come" seemed to blow my eardrums out of my cheap skull.

21, 34... ACTIVATE.

Something horrible happened. A snake slithered through my intestines and wrapped its coils like a vice-around my brain, and it squeezed, squeezed, squeezed. The juices in my pineal gland squirted all over my shoes. I fell to the ground, crying, vomiting, shitting myself. Everyone around me looked on in terror, but the music kept playing.

--You keep spinning me right round baby, right round--


I dragged myself to my feet, staggered and convulsed. Reaching out for someone to for FUCK'S SAKE HELP ME, and froze. Amber stood with her back slightly to me. On her shoulder, a butterfly. She saw what was happening to me but didn't react like the others. She knew. A monarch butterfly. The music was triggering something in me. I had read about this somewhere. Project Monarch. CIA operatives. Was I a--? No. Like that the switch flipped. Fzzzzt. Static tingle in me extremities. Click. Splice tape. All rules of reality moved tangentially to themselves, and suddenly I knew exactly who I had to kill and why. In another moment they would have me. Everything I'd believed, who my parents were, where I was raised, all of it was an implanted lie. I was a device, an automoton, with one horrific purpose.

My bladder released, as if heeding the call of whoever had programmed me in the first place. RELEASE, RELEASE, RELEASE the order echoed through my body as if from a loudspeaker, and every system in my body took it altogether too literally. Release! My eyes screamed, evacuating tears and mucous. Release! My stomach said, disgorging thick splashes of stomach acid. Release! Release!



"You fuckers won't take me alive!" I screamed, knocking over the punch bowl, bunching up the stained tablecloth and throwing it at the shrieking Field Hockey girls that were clustering in that part of the room like catty, horny squirrels.

I got to my feet, and shambled toward an open window, leaving a trail of shit, semen, and urine behind me. The music stopped when I reached the window. I could hear a commotion behind me - the school authorities had finally realized something wasn't right. The cool air lingered over my face, a final beautific moment, respite from the sweaty pig pen that had been my invented life. And I turned to see her, the last face I would see. She gave an indifferent shrug and took a drag on the smoke she had illicitly brought into the auditorium.

My body was like bird bones in a cat's mouth.