Tuesday, November 27, 2007

the orphaned anything’s chapter 1.

this is the first chapter of my upcoming book "the orphaned anything's" due out in spring of '08

NEW CHAPTER: stabbing my brother with the plastic blade from an osculating fan...
and other such thought provoking situations.

that's when i know i am near waking up. the abrupt indication appears to be when i roll onto my stomach, but i might as well get up... i know i'm just going to lay here, careen a couple of times, sway a few more, and then commence to think of all the things i should be doing instead of laying here.
i believe i am the only human alive to sleep in these bumbling lumbering phases. i understand now, after years of this sleep repetition, that i seem to have three, and these clumsy situation's only occur after the hours of thoughts that seem to run through my head without cease.
i cannot remember a time in my life where i did not have to have a mutiny over my thoughts or memories just to fall into what some might call sleep, but i simply call it a momentary 'at-ease of mental clamor'.
the first of my phase of my sleep cycle is that of the tent knees. aptly named, this is wear i lay on my back and my knees are bent, i thought as a kid it made my blue NFL knock off blanket look like a tent; hence, and ingeniously named, 'tent knees'.
The second phase is the discomfited fetal position, this happens only when, again, every thought has been explored and they finally concede to surrender until daybreak.
i have always wondered if there is a subconscious reason i sleep in the fetal position, am i trying to retrieve days in the womb; the safety or the silence? i understand that could be viewed as very odd, or @ very least neo-fruedian, but still.
never the less finally, when daybreak stabs like an unforgivable vengeance, i roll on my stomach, half laying on a pillow, and half uncomfortable. this is where i rattle in and out of consciousness and try to access what day it is, and what time i have to be somewhere, if anywhere.
laying here i realize i no longer need my alarm clock, i can't remember the last time i slept past nine a.m. but if i did have an alarm clock i would want to wake up to that one beach boys song 'wouldn't it be nice' (stereo mix) because i figure that song is so inconceivably happy that i could never again have a s****y day. the song is much to agitating-ly happy. i want to say that i have a sleep disorder and seek help, but i know i don't and probably couldn't afford the medication even if one was diagnosed.
the last time i gave myself a prognosis it was not as much a disorder as an excuse really. i convinced everyone around me @ the time in middle school, and subsequently myself, that i had attention deficit disorder because i could not concentrate, or study.
but honestly who likes to study in middle school? TV or study? what 12 year old kid would rather do math over watching any given cartoon? with my new found hyperactive diagnosis i believed, simply because i felt like annoying my younger brother, that i had A.D.D. or A.D.H.D.
now i simply see the availability of ridlin as more of a glorified baby-sitter than anything else. parents are afraid their callow boys enjoy high energy activities a little to much (isn't that called childhood?). so they put them in a comatose coma by giving them a prescription drug to calm them down. thinking about it now i guess that's what television does, puts one in a comatose state... and subsequently baby-sits.
today like yesterday, i will chance away fate by foreseeing that it is is not going to be much different. i have to work my jejune job once again today and in a little while i will get up, enjoy my morning daily routine of addictions, and head out to carpe diem-ish. upon arriving to my tedious job i shall once again reflect on another morning in which i succeeded in failing away. then i expect to ponder arduously on all the items i didn't complete on my to-do checklist (a 'handy' notepad that my mother adorned me with complete with boxes to check and blank lines to fill in, *hence checklist).
i ponder between my irksome daily customers on what i should have accomplished in those early hours and once again vow upon all things i have justified holy that the next morning i will get them all done.
then i will tell myself the truth...
it will be the same as this morning.
i will probably just sleep in and let another day pass like the ceaseless traffic on I-5.
at first i was quite cynical about the whole checklist thing and sarcastically added to the list such items as;
[] 1. breath (oxygen),
[]2. eat,
[]3. repeat steps 1 & 2 daily

now i take i take it much more serious and have added such noteworthy items as;
[]1. find the cure of cancer and AIDS all in one easy to swallow pill
[]2. getting smart
[]3. win the lottery

still laying here upon my unyielding bed the sun glares relentlessly into my eyes. the air conditioner is out, i think i am starting to sweat. i never got the air fixed so i bought a base-minded rotating fan. i hate rotating fans. i mean really what is the point of it rotating? and to my utter joy and surprise the knob broke off so now it permanently rotates. someone tell me what is the point really of an oscillating fan? the fan, in essence, is playing with your emotions, its like AH! your cool for a second,
now you are not,
now you are,
now you are not,
now you are.
i think i bought the dire ash gray fan more for the noise, in which i cannot sleep without anymore. i remember when my older brother and i were younger he used to fall asleep hours upon hours before me and immediately made this grovel/car-sputtering noise which irritated the piss out of me.
so i begged my mother for a fan, thus my first addiction was established. i do not know which made me more upset- the onslaught of engine noises he emanated from his throat or the fact he was that kind of sleeper that he could fall asleep right away.
i adored my older brother but have never come so close to killing someone with a plastic toy ninja sword, in our small closet-like bedroom, as i did on those exasperating night's. more than twice i plotted to disassemble the rotating fan and stab him with the plastic blade, or at least break off the knob in his throat. i never did.
we were but kids and still i felt worried about everything around me, and always right when i tried to lay down for the night. i think most kids worried about if the boogie man or some other ominous monster loomed about in the closet, or that they wouldn't be the first ones out to the tether ball court out @ the bus stop or worse...
that the other kids at school would make fun of them for something they wore, said, or cultivated upon their face the night before; as was very popular in middle school.
as for me, i began to worry about little things from early on. @11 years old i was concerned about einstien's theory of energy remaining after death thus concluding the possibility of an afterlife, or if the cambrian era could honestly disprove darwin and the theory of evolution, or worse...
what the kids at school would make fun of me for about the next day for what i will wear, will say, or for my newest edition to the family upon my face. i rarely got these beast's called 'pimples' but when i did they were so massive that once while trying to get into the movies the guy at the ticket window wanted to charge me double. one for me and one for my developed friend accompanying me.
so, it wasn't that bad. but in middle school it always felt that way.
i still remember, and to this day wonder if anyone else had ever done this; when i was a kid we lived in a two story house and each night before bed my brothers would always send me upstairs first. i would pretend like i was not scared of going up the old unnatural rickety stairs by myself. so on my way up the haunted stairs, and right before i got to the top i would say in my deepest voice;
"ok, i've got the whole place surrounded, come out with your hands up." and upon doing so pretend to call for backup in my imaginary walkie-talkie, complete with the static induced 'kkkkuccccct' sound at the end of each sentence.
i did all this because for some reason i always thought that some escaped convict, or spawn of satan phantasm, was hiding out upstairs and might truly believe and fear that the whole place was really surrounded by the local police force.
the enigma is that being 11 the low tonal
"ok, i've got the whole place surrounded," probably sounded more like a prepubescent mickey mouse after a helium balloon than any one on the local police force, ever.
nevertheless i still find myself to this day calling for backup when exploring new dark places @ night by myself, complete with 'kkkkuccccct' static.
now it seems to me that when i wake up i am usually pondering the same nonsense that i fall asleep thinking about. my thoughts are much deeper, like did i shut the garage? do i have to work tomorrow? do i have an STD?
you know... deeper.
so here i sit, on the side of my bed with all three phases of sleep in my near past, and my blankets distraught around the bedpost as if i was pedaling an exercise bike in my dream. is it so bad to look forward to sleeping the next night?
lately i don't want to be awake at all, my head feel's bludgeoned and i can actually feel the muscles in my enfeebled pale arms getting weaker. i would attempt a pushup but that would require some sort of energy, and motivation.
a "im up, what more do you want from me?" sticker hideously controls the back of my door, and i always tell myself to tear it down. my roommate/ awarded older brother put it on there as a joke, but now i view it as one of those inspirational-quotes that major corporations hang on their employees cubical thinking that it is honestly going to inspire after the second day.
perhaps it sum's up the extent to which i am motivated. "im alive, what more do you want from me world?"
it's a glorious and underrated mantra regardless.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

spin magazine book club

modesty. click here to see my spin book club selection for this month. there is even a short video to check out that i did in seattle before bumbershoot.
happy thanksgiving!