One day I came home to find Daft Punk standing in front of my door. The two of them stood side-by-side, wearing matching metallic jumpsuits, and helmets that obscured their identity. They were nodding their heads, and bopping their knees, and blocking me from going inside.
“Hey,” I said.
“Good evening,” said Daft Punk 1, standing to the left.
“We need to speak with you,” said Daft Punk 2, the figure on the right.
Their voices sounded digitized, auto-tuned like they did in many of their popular songs like “Around the World” and “One More Time.”.
“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”
“No one has seen who we really are. Underneath the helmets. We want to show you,” said Daft Punk 1.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said. “I already know. I once Google Image searched, ‘What does the real Daft Punk look like?’ and pictures of some French-looking guys came up.”
“No,” said Daft Punk 2. “That is not who we really are.”
“That is not what we look like under these helmets at all,” added Daft Punk 1.
“Why me? Don’t you think it should be one of your biggest fans or something? I mean I’ve danced to your jams at parties, but I’m not exactly your #1 fan. I hear there are people who shell out hundreds of dollars to see your once a decade concerts and to be honest the most I would pay would be —”
“No,” said Daft Punk 2. “It is going to be you.”
Then the two members of Daft Punk lifted up their arms in a synchronized motion and removed their helmets. There was an engulfing blue light and it was revealed what was underneath. I cannot describe it, because there are no existing words to describe what I saw. Language would not apply. What I saw did not in any way resemble a face; it did not in any way even resemble any objects I have ever experienced in this three-dimensional life. I can only describe how I felt. Dizzy, disoriented, revolted, but I don’t even know if those are accurate.
Vertigo might come close to describing what seeing Daft Punk felt like, what I was feeling. I was being stretched by the heels of my feet and a grip on the crown of my head and I was falling down an artery in my own body, but I was maybe still outside my own door, unmoving as a cymbal crashed in quarter time in my head.
Daft Punk stood in front of me and continued speaking, although now it didn’t matter which one was speaking anymore. They both were.
“Work is never over,” said Daft Punk. “Hour after hour, work is never over.”
“Oh, you’re singing your song,” I said, relieved to grasp onto something familiar.
“No, it’s not a song. It’s a monologue. It’s an advice column. It’s your first poem. It’s language breaking down. It’s a manifesto. It’s the climax of a story. It’s a manual, but it’s not a song.”
And then Daft Punk started speaking at a pace faster than it was possible to ever speak, yet every word was comprehensible, it was communicated in a single flash, like the most lucid thread pulled taut in one stitch through my head. They said the following:
“Work it harder, make it better.
Fail again, but this time fail better.
Softer worser slower weaker
Get a habit and then kick it
Get a habit and then kick it
Fuck it, fuck it. Choke it. Broke it.
You broke it. You broke it.
You’re broke and you know it.
Think of the most uncomfortable situation and put yourself in it.
Think of the last thing you’d want to make and now make it.
Think of an invisible city and now go live in it.
Think of the stupidest writing to write (this) and now write it
Again and again
And then you can begin.
If you can’t wait, then don’t wait, begin it.
If you don’t know what you’re looking for, then Google it.
If you love someone, you can free yourself from it
By telling them.
Work it, work it
Make it, make it
beat it, beat it
Eat shit, delete it.
Refresh, refresh, refresh your browser
And propel, propel yourself forward.
Do not have the same conversations
Do not repeat past linguistic combinations
Do not accept any acts that aren’t life affirmations
Hour after hour, minute by minute
00000100010101010111
A.D. back to B.C., live pulse by pulse
Now more than ever, more than ever, more than ever.”
Then Daft Punk turned me around by my throat and I was facing a mirror. I saw that I had my own silver helmet on now. The helmet was a reflective surface too, drowning me in replication. I slowly began to reach for it, knowing when it came off, there was no guarantee that the face underneath would be my own.