Rêve Vingt:

Dream Twenty:

Perhaps it is as the result of having watched Nelly last night, or perhaps it is a continuation of my dream wherein I am Biggie Smalls. (which I am having trouble finding in my record at present, but I am sure if you keep digging you will find me.) At any rate, I attended Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s funeral. During the service a eulogy was intoned by that one upstart kid on YouTube who left a comment, I.A.L, on “Got Yo Money”, singing O.D.B’s praises as though the drug-addled gangster was some sort of a role model. In the Dream, this young man, who proved to be a weedy ginger kid from the suburbs, said that Dirty Bastard (whom he mistakenly called “Dirt Nasty”, at some point) ate everything that he wanted to eat and fucked everything that he wanted to fuck, (the boy’s words exactly, if memory serves) and that he was a Great Man. Upon the Tomb Stone, which was produced by a company owned by the redhead’s father, a member of the Redheaded League of Scotland, there was inscribed an engraving that translated to: “Here Lies a Happy Animal”, roughly. The Father was so moved to tears by the boy’s “sermon” (his words exactly!!) that he ordered a Tomb to be built to house both O.D.B. and his son’s ashes. But his son protested, complaining that he all ways wanted his ashes to be cut with heroin that would be spread via the “drug trade in Chi-town”. After much dispute and tearful embrace, the compromise was granted by the patriarch.

I was eating Shrimp at the Wake when I was approached by a member of the Wu Tang clan. He introduced himself as “Goatface Killah” and insisted that I was the Clan’s prime suspect for the murder of O.D.B. I decided not to hurt their pride by arguing that the Bastard had killed himself with drugs. So I spun a tale wherein a rival of mine had supplied him with the drugs, which were deliberately laced with a drug called Fallen Angel Dust. Goatface promised to avenge by friend O.D.B.

As I took my leave of the Wake I was approached by RZA and GZA, dressed as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I asked them if they weren’t supposed to be dead, too. RZA replied that they had found enough evidence to convict O.D.B’s killer, but that they were afraid to present it to the Police, for fear of violating Omerta. GZA told me that they all knew now that I had no vendetta against O.D.B. They peaced, and I was left baffled. I had no idea that my story was true. I thought that maybe this was proof for Confirmation Bias: that the more you want to believe in something, the more evidence you will. But it was at this moment that a cop car pulled up next to me.

I had to appear before a Court that investigated the murder. Not unlike the Ricin Scene in Breaking Bad, I had first to endure an investigation by two F.B.I. agents who wanted to know how I could have known what I did if I had had no involvement in it. They could let me off the hook if I supplied the information. But I had not the heart to tell them I had made it all up.

In Court, I could not tell whether I was a Witness or a Defendant. The Plaintiff was the Father of the Redheaded boy. He argued ferociously with my legal counsel, who was GZA, that I had deliberately poisoned O.D.B. and lain a false trail. He argued that I had a vendetta against O.D.B. from the very beginning. I replied that I had nothing against O.D.B. in particular. It was rather that I hate his entire kind.

Perhaps I lost the support of the Clan. But the Judge ruled in my favour, and I got to go home. I still could not help but to wonder: had my rival ACTUALLY killed O.D.B? The evidence was overwhelming. But then I realized that O.D.B. had CHOSEN to take the drug. Along the way, I past a rehabilitation clinic. A woman sat outside it with a sign reading “will suck for food”. I asked her what happened. She told me that she was a nurse who used to help her patients back to sobriety, but that O.D.B, by his sheer presence, had driven her out of business by selling prescription drugs for cheap.

I took her home. Along the way I wondered whether or not O.D.B. had deserved to die. But then I realized that people would pardon him all his sins in Death. If this woman, an aspiring Healer, could be reduced to victimhood by the sheer presence of a competitor, forced to watch all her patients die as victims of O.D.B’s tyranny, then surely, fucked up as it was, (my words exactly) O.D.B. would all so, at some point or an other, be remembered as a Victim. In an age without virtue, anything was possible. So at least the animal had died loved.

DM.A.A.