OJ and the Simpsons

He swings between the ecstatic jaunts and sauntering malaise of ennui of a bipolar thespian.  He must’ve championed the Cheshire-cat grin at birth, because he sports it as natural as any man breathes. He sings the blues, not as if he’d lived through the worst one could imagine, but despite it. Julian stands at 5’11” and mopes at 4: his body must know that 4:20 brings better times and prepare him mentally just to make the highs higher.

A perpetual man of extremes, Julian M. wears his heart on his paisley polyester sleeve. When happy, the 23 year old will inform all within earshot with the boisterous laugh of a king at play. Throwing his shoulder-length, thumb-thick dreadlocks back in fits of delight creates a stark contrast to the moments when his head hangs down past his lap, seemingly into the depths to which only his own mind can send him. This is hardly exaggerated. I know that he feels harder than the average person; I think he might feel harder than anyone.

                He moves as if someone told him that clowns were sexy at a younger, more impressionable state: because he knows it all now. You could try telling him he doesn’t, but that would just be information to which he is already hip. He even knows he’s hip to too much, as long as he isn’t too hip, he’s fine. He loathes the small minded, the more loathing, the more o’s in his utterance of “fooool.” He does this wondering all along if this is proof of a shrunken brain. Fancying himself a witchdoctor, this matters a lot. He will tell you in an instant, no matter how hard you didn’t ask,  that his music is made to “hypnotize, entrance, and leave folks doin’ the no pants dance.” Direct quote.

                One gets the feeling when speaking with him, that he’ll never lose that purity of the poet’s heart. No matter how much he flip-flops between moods: he cares about the people too much. Sometimes I wish he knew how to speak in stead of professing, but that just wouldn’t be very Julian. Most of those around him for any period of time can do an impression of him due to his extremely characteristic style of speech. Where any vowel would go in a word for any other man, Julian inserts seven, in capitols, and bold, italicized. He has this way of enunciating that makes you have to do it too or feel lazy for not. That is his way of spreading his love of the English language.

                Speaking in the sounds of house-music seems to be his most natural way of communicating. I have probably heard him say “boomp, psst, tatt” more than “hello,” which by the way, he sayd with such an upward inflection that one is forced to wonder “HELLO?” as if he were asking ‘whats up’ and actually cared to know the answer. He cares.

                To tell the truth, he used to worry me with his alter-ego, Doctor Ka, a lab professor nom de plum, under which he produces volumes of music with almost superhuman frequency and precision, but not anymore. I realize that he has too much ego for one man, and it was probably a smart decision to partition it.

                Ambiguous sexuality considered, he never seems to know just how many women are after him. I think he keeps the answer from himself to avoid being me. With all that crazy in one place, it’s a gift to humankind that he only wants to use it to avoid the depression that would surely ensue should he ever choose not to service the world by making us dance.