Author Topic: the middle of knowhere  (Read 1541 times)

Maxwell

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the middle of knowhere
« on: May 02, 2008, 06:45:46 PM »
so this is the first chapter of a new project I'm working on, it's a stream of consciousness journal entry style piece meant to log my travels through the midwest, some feedback would be appreciated.
chapter one: cadmium yellow and dry lips.

It's four-thirty in the morning and I'm awake again, this isn't unusual, in fact it's necessary, it's a way of life for us smart-ass nocturnal psuedo-philosophical children of some imaginary second tier revolution, you know the one I'm talking about, the nineties, veritable transcendental mediocrity at it's finest. I've long been of the opinion that human life, by which I mean humanity, is always, and I can't stress that word enough, always better viewed at night. Daytime is all well and good, if you want to watch people pretend, the light of the sun is too judgemental, every word and action is as fake and forced as sixty percent of all orgasms on this blue little planet, no, to get to the core of people you need to do it in the dark.
Lets start from the beginning, seven in the morning, this is when I'd wake up if I wasn't already awake from the night before. I shower, shave, take my standard issue american morning meds, then throw on some jeans and my formal houndstooth slippers and mosey downstairs for some breakfast. The dinning hall is provocativley colored and styled to look like some sort of late nineties night club or coffee shop, but the illusion is incomplete and nobody is really fooled, it just smells too much like the midwest. Which reminds me, the midwest, hell of a place, eggs from cartons, biscuits and gravy, but not just any gravy, white gravy. Yes truly this is a wonderland to me, my childhood in california taught me nothing of these things, my nostalgic breakfast is one comprised of starbucks.
Eight in the morning, I go for a long walk because I don't have class until eleven, which I will no doubt sleep-walk through before selling the rest of my daylight hours away to the darkroom, this works for me, it prepares me for the real start of my day, seven at night, when I emerge from the chemical rich darkness into the sodium rich twilight of saint louis. I go for another walk, just to get a feel for the night, then I convene with others not entirely unlike myself, people who don't question my navy pinstripe blazer and round dark glasses as I wander through the darkness. It's now nearly one in the morning, we never do anything specific but there is a rudimentary pattern we follow as if led by instinct to an ancsestral watering hole, metaphorically speaking of course, in actuality it tends to be some slap dash steak and shake, maybe a waffle house, or some other flourescent yellowed diner. We sit on quaint fifties style stools, served by people in little paper hats and aprons. The sick cadmium yellow light flickers and shines on their skin, and on ours too, at this time of night all are equals, we become no different than the faux-soda jerks and the waitresses named marge, time will eventually turn us into them, or something else equally bizarre, so we sit. Dani will order eggs and waffles, Manda will try to convince herself she isn't hungry but eventually gives in and orders the same, while I sit quietly content with my burger, we discuss our exploits for the day and at some point either Manda or Dani will whisper something to the other, they will both shoot me a look, and I will on cue inquire as to the nature of said look just like i did the night before, and just like the night before they will both say nothing and laugh, and then life will continue on, just like the night before.
Tappin my feet the the beat of original sin.
http://thenauticalcamel.blogspot.com/