Take It On the Run

It takes three bites for the roach giant to eat a single child of rock ‘n’ roll.

On Wednesday October 23, 2013 at 9:15 AM EDT a loud dull thud began north of Pougkeepsie, New York. Without getting louder or softer it spread throughout the Empire State and thence the country, as if rebroadcast again and again from hidden speakers placed apart from each other just so. Within minutes all of America heard the thud, and by 9:43 AM EDT the sound ceased. Its cause? Unknown.

Somewhere in those 28 minutes all the men and women, living and dead, conceived within earshot of an REO Speedway song found themselves gathered in a large stone colosseum beneath a crepuscular sky. Presently, the tense changes. In the sand at the center of the colosseum lies a larva some 20 feet high and 100 feet long. It undulates and emits thuds like but not identical to the thud that brought Speedwagon babies to the colosseum.

The assembled begin to sing to the beat of the larva’s undulation and thudding. They sing the song held in deep memory from the first moment of their existence. No Kevin Cronin. No Gary Richrath. Just the voices in rolling harmony, in sync with the larval beat.

Heard it from a friend who
  heard it from a friend who
    heard it from another
      you've been messing around

They sing around but in place of Gary Richrath’s guitar comes instead the wet rip of the larva breaking open. A whale-sized roach emerges from the larval goo. It comes to its feet and hesitates only for a moment, long enough for the audience to its birth to sing They say you have a boyfriend. Then it drags itself forward out of the sand at the center and into the crowd.

It takes three bites for the roach giant to eat a single child of rock ‘n’ roll, and its appetite is endless. With every person consumed, the survivors sing louder. No one runs or moves. They are motionless, singing.

Take it on the run, baby
If that's the way you want it, baby
Then I don't want you around

In a month the lording insect eats them all. The last man loses his head just as he sings Heard it from another you been messin' around. It is still evening. The forever and eternal present. The tense doesn’t change anymore. The roach is alone. He cannot sing, but he can think. And he can dream. He dreams of Kevin Cronin’s hair. A pilous dream! He undulates, and he dreams.