ABBA Of Our Lives

by May 25th, 2009 - Culture » Sounds » Creative » Writing »


The Swedish disco megaband ABBA – and I don’t use the term megaband lightly – was our future.

Do not mistake me. I am not purporting that in the future we will resemble ABBA. No, no. ABBA was our future.

It already happened.

We missed it.

We have no future.


But wait…do not yet despair…the 70s will be here again…or…we’ll be there again…

It’s all very complicated…I get confused…but it was explained to me once…I think.

Time is a fickle mistress and a slippery incline – literally – and also a soccer goalie, some jazz music, a lemon poppy seed muffin, and a cute little cloud-radish cartoon coasting along an old 2×4 propped up on some college Philosophy books and a tennis ball.

The tennis ball is the bugger. I got it all figured out except for that damned tennis ball. Based on its position – and therefore the 2×4’s angle of incline – the rate of decent or ascent of the cute little cloud-radish – which we are of course contained within – varies greatly, thus effecting our travel through time.

It is not a perfect science.

I admit that.

However, by my calculations, taking into account all the possible arrangements of knots and splinters in the 2×4, and approximating the actual cuteness of the little cloud-radish cartoon, we should be back in ABBA range between our years of 2011 and 2013, + or .7 days.

So mark it on your calendars…be on the look out for massive amounts of polyester and shitty film stock…and when you see ABBA this time around – Bob Dammit! – you cling on to them for dear life so that we can finally have a real future and end this cat-and-mouse game before the cute little cloud-radish hits ground zero, disturbs the soccer goalie eating his lemon poppy seed muffin, thus falling out of rhythm with the smooth jazz on the radio, angering him so much so as to stomp on the wobbly 2×4, launching the cute little cloud radish back up the through the same space and time, once again forcing us to suffer the same dumb, sexless, repressed, muted, passive-regressive existence we’ve gone through so many times and time before.

Carpe Que Sera Sera

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