Time Waits for Monica

Now is the time to put aside all motivations, selfish or unselfish, sought or unsought, willed or lorded over. No one will be throwing cups anymore. All of the long since stained carpets of movie theaters big and small will live to see the flashing lights and collapsing images; they will hear the roar of the rocket’s liftoff into the Planet SATUR-19, and those walls will all finally talk, spilling secrets of cinema’s life and death. In all one we will be everyone, in our minds a cooing whisper and the booming voice of God reassuring us that now is the time to be carried—never during our trials and testings will He leave us. This is the Word, and I am its prophet.

Da Boss has been a little concerned, to say the least, about my recent conversion to Holy Rollerism. He’s not taking it well: he told me “that’s not what it’s called” and “You’re wearing your cross upside down,” but I spur-clawed him and told him to buzz off and let free men, women, roosters, and hens practice their religion in any way they see fit. There’s nothing wrong with my wearing an iron cross upside down—at least I’m wearing one. I asked him—not Him, Da Boss—where his cross was, where his Good Book was, because if he was so Holier Than Thou, he should have a sermon and an edict of his own. He started hissing at me like a snake (Isiah 11:34) before transforming into a golden-orange cloud of pure energy. He—Da Boss, not God—told me via telepathy that he was going out for dinner and would be back to see the new rough cut of the movie when he was done.

I am no longer Monica—I am Everyone. All known light and life passes through me, accepting consequences and spanning time. I contain multitudes within multitudes, with eyes on the sky and windows on all of the world, a Zen of Enlightenment and pure calm. Da Boss said I was acting “hysterical,” but I’m beyond the petty politically correct foibles of the contemporary human race—I am the Star Hen, a space child of infinite wisdom and eternal light. I achieved this through the art of film editing; when Da Boss said he wanted SATUR-19 to blow away his previous two feature films, I’m not sure he expected his longtime associate and editor to have a full-blown religious epiphany, conversion, and transfiguration all within 36 hours. He’s not exactly thrilled, but he’s not mad at me, just confused. “Can’t you just be an angel or something?” No. An angel is one who has died. I will never die. I am the Star Monica. I will always be alive. These are my words and my words are me. The body I had has been sublimated into what you will know as the film segment “Time Waits for No One.”

This is all happening on Friday October 11 at Normal’s in Baltimore. There will be music and other short films. I will be watching, if not attending, as my aura may be too powerful for large public gatherings. But I know Da Boss will be there, even if he’s still a floating cloud of golden-orange energy—his aura is like, not even nearly close to as strong as mine and people will be like “Why are you a cloud of golden-orange energy” and he’ll just be like “My editor did it.” I’ll have to make sure he says all the right things from now on—remote voice activation is still out of my reach, but I’m working on it. I’m working on everything right now. I’m outside of your house. I’m standing right behind you. BOO!

—Follow Monica Quibbits on Twitter: @MonicaQuibbits