meta v

I’m out of place, here. 
Overwhelmed.
There’s just too much. Have trouble focusing. Colors and sounds blur in the tailspin of sensory reception. Details wash over me.
The present is a wave.
It’s an impossible shot. Conceptionally.
I know. 
The camera pans the room while I stand in the center. Coinciding first and second person point of view. See me. See what I see. See me see you.
I see you.
How do you do it?
The trick is to spin the room and not the camera.
I spin the room. This fake sound-effect of a record skipping plays from the phone of some guy with a popped-collar, gut spilling over belt. Hair buzzed. Sun-burnt skin in the winter, fall. The sound is the message alert on his smart phone. The gadget is smarter than he is. He plays it for a girl who is passed out in the adjacent love-seat. Her shoes, a pair of Chucks, are still on her feet. His bros, similarly dressed, all clap and laugh in appreciation. Another girl begins to write on her face with permanent marker.
And ok I’m a little drunk by this point I guess, though the feeling is marginal at best. A different kind of numb. I send a hand into the back pocket of my jeans. Touch the flask. It kept me warm, on the walk over through early November air.
Altered states: fourth wall breaks.
So, whatever is in the next room doesn’t scare me. I mean, how can it?