"A mile a minute." My mom always said when talking about the inner workings of my mind. Oh, what a frightening place that is, my mind that is, not my mother; well maybe my mother too. Even as I walk into this quaint diner on the corner of first and third, I can't help but wonder what the fascination was with trolley car diners in the 50's. Why build your business inside a gigantic steel twinkie? Also, why the hell must every diner contain the three essential components? Component numero uno, a cacophony of dishes. Is Hitler's long lost son pissed and hellbent on revenge in the back washing your coffe cup?
Shit, are my keys ok? What do you mean are your keys ok? Are they dangling over a fire pit being circled by magma eating lava sharks? Of course they're ok, they're in your car where you left them, locked inside. Damn.
Anyway, diner component number two, Brenda, the midde age single mother whose trying to quit smoking and having hell of a time remembering to refill your coffee. But who could blame her? She's trying to buy her spoiled son an XBox with tips alone, and as of right now, my cup is bone dry and her son is on his way to spending his free time with one of those R.L. Stine Goosebumps books, bored out of his mind.
There she goes! "Miss, coffee please!" She didn't hear me. Damn you Hitler's son in the back.
Number three, the food. Between burnt toast, a puddle of grease comparable to a great lake, syrup containers God only knows who has licked, those stringy hashbrowns with no flavor, and...
Here she comes, here she comes. "Miss, very thirsty, coffee please!" Gone.
... and no Goddamn coffe!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Saturday, October 13, 2007
[Untitled]
The television clicked on with that the familiar sound of static discharge. People were flooding the local electronics store like it was Black Friday--however, there were no discounts, no giveaways, and no frantic mothers ready to pounce on other defenseless shoppers. No, today was a day that would go down as the day to end all wars, a day that would end life as we knew it.
Today started out normal enough. The citizens throughout the country woke up like they would any other morning; stumbling out of bed like mindless drones, the drool still crusted on their cheeks nearly fossilized in place. These people doing everything they can to get that first cup of coffee so they can begin to function--A cup of coffee with a side of disasters in the day's newspaper. Everyone looking for that one story they can carry out the door with them.
It wasn't until 2:00 P.M. that the news was released, and quickly spread like a flesh eating virus. This news was the kind of story you did not want to miss. No, if you wanted to move up the social totem pole, you wanted to be the one telling the story. After catching wind of the news, people began to leave their office buildings, their factories, their cars, or wherever they might be to get to a television.
In the back of the electronics store on Seventh and Tenth street, the people huddled together and just finished watching a commercial for a new prime time drama about to start in the coming month. Something about a boy waking up and having to go to high school as a 40 year old woman, the chatter about this flowed like a wave through the crowd, and for a short time took over any worries concerning the broadcast to come. A stream of music with a quick beat played while showing a montage of military fighting, earthquakes, car accidents, and fires, all glamorized with fancy digital text and colors. The people's eyes were almost falling out of their skulls in anticipation as they gazed at the screen.
The music kicked off and the expected image of a man in his late 50's seated behind a desk appeared. People nudged closer as if he was about to feed the masses.
"As most of you know Russia and China have been in a dispute over undisclosed military actions in South Eastern China which began over three years ago.
To be continued...
Today started out normal enough. The citizens throughout the country woke up like they would any other morning; stumbling out of bed like mindless drones, the drool still crusted on their cheeks nearly fossilized in place. These people doing everything they can to get that first cup of coffee so they can begin to function--A cup of coffee with a side of disasters in the day's newspaper. Everyone looking for that one story they can carry out the door with them.
It wasn't until 2:00 P.M. that the news was released, and quickly spread like a flesh eating virus. This news was the kind of story you did not want to miss. No, if you wanted to move up the social totem pole, you wanted to be the one telling the story. After catching wind of the news, people began to leave their office buildings, their factories, their cars, or wherever they might be to get to a television.
In the back of the electronics store on Seventh and Tenth street, the people huddled together and just finished watching a commercial for a new prime time drama about to start in the coming month. Something about a boy waking up and having to go to high school as a 40 year old woman, the chatter about this flowed like a wave through the crowd, and for a short time took over any worries concerning the broadcast to come. A stream of music with a quick beat played while showing a montage of military fighting, earthquakes, car accidents, and fires, all glamorized with fancy digital text and colors. The people's eyes were almost falling out of their skulls in anticipation as they gazed at the screen.
The music kicked off and the expected image of a man in his late 50's seated behind a desk appeared. People nudged closer as if he was about to feed the masses.
"As most of you know Russia and China have been in a dispute over undisclosed military actions in South Eastern China which began over three years ago.
To be continued...
Monday, October 1, 2007
Cracked
As I sit reclined on the black leather couch the stench of leather and window cleaner is all that occupies my mind. I listen to a muffled voice but can't stop myself from counting each miniature chasm in the ceiling staring back at me. If I look to my left I'll see a frame with a degree from Harvard occupying the residence of the glass window, but I choose not to look because it only makes me think less of myself.
I quickly interrupt the continuous voice when a thought barges into my mind. I begin to spew my thoughts from my mouth, "I've been having these dreams where I'm in a grocery store looking for Power Bars, I have no idea why, I don't even like Power Bars." I say confused. "Anyways I always run into a short stocky woman with short black hair styled into a mullet." I explain. "Then I proceed to ask where one might find the power bars? As if rehearsed a million times for this moment the stocky woman always replies by saying, down isle ten on your left."
I continue my story with enthusiasm, "here's where things get strange, my body always turns to head toward the isle but only my head goes! Yep, that's right, my head plops on the floor with a sickening thud followed by repeated plopping as my head rolls away from my body toward the power bars. My head eventually rolls into the display featuring a cardboard cutout of Bill Cosby displaying a Power Bar like he's on The Price is Right. Then I wake up but never before I notice they're all out of chocolate peanut butter flavor!"
The voice continues on with a tone of reason and concern. I reposition myself so I'm further relaxed into the couch, I become amused by the unpleasant noise the leather makes as I readjust myself. 152, 153, 154, I continue my project in progress. As I continue to count, 155, 156, I wait for the next thought to enter my head that might help me get "back on the fast track to recovery" as they say.
"RED! RED!" I say excitedly jolting up. The sound of the couch makes me embarrassedly look down, and I lay back into my previous position as easy as possible. "Red." I continue as I adjust my suit jacket. "Just recently I had this uncontrollable urge to paint the walls of my apartment red." I said eagerly as if looking for an answer. "I remember grabbing a can of red paint in almost a panic and blacked out. When I woke up everywhere I looked was red, I even managed to paint my fridge and everything inside of it. You could imagine this whole episode presents a big problem. How am I suppose to know which bottle is ketchup and which is salad dressing?"
The air around me is still and the room feels empty accompanied by silence. I wait for an answer, a sign, any sort of diagnoses from a stranger that's suppose to be so much better than I am. Someone who is trained to know anyone and everyone. As I wait in the deafening silence my head begins to ramble as soon as my so called savior begins to speak, possibly ruining any chance of salvation I might have had. 173, 174, 175, the counting continues. I start to picture myself jumping into each miniature crater as I continue to count them one by one. I hope that each leap leads me cascading down a pit of unending freedom and exemption from natural life, 192, 193, 194.
"Just last week I tried to sabotage the local burger joint." I say interrupting the counting, the voice, the salvation. "It started out innocent enough, I was bored out of my mind, and I'm not talking normal boredom. I'm talking the mind racing, psychotic inducing, I'd rather die type of boredom." I explained with my eyes bulging. "So I got this idea to entertain myself, very innocent, right? I was at work photocopying some documents about a patient and I heard that familiar jingle in my pocket." I exclaim innocently. "So I reached into my pocket and plucked out a quarter and centered it in the machine and made 40 copies. I spent the next two hours cutting each quarter out to perfection until I had 40 perfect paper quarters. I grabbed the stack of counterfeit quarters and went on my way."
"I arrived at Burger Town with my stack of quarters in hand and made the quick jaunt to the counter. I slammed my quarters on the counter and waited for the pimply teenager to notice my hot off the press fortune as I began to order a cuisine made of processed meats and lard." I continue further. "The boy picked up the paper quarters and informed me politely that they can't accept these." "I remember looking around for a moment and then back at the boy in the paper hat--I got you good, bitch! You won't believe this, the manager actually turned toward me and told me to get the hell out! Pretty rude if you ask me. If anything I gave them something to talk about, something they can go home and tell everyone about as if their life is suddenly more interesting than anyone else's."
Almost pleading I go on, "I don't have a clue why I would ever do something like that, it's nothing like me. It's almost like I forget I'm doing these things, or having these episodes as you would call it. My brain is telling me no but it doesn't matter, I do what I want when I want anyways."
201, 202, 203, what could all this mean? When did it all start? I can't be crazy. This has to be some kind of post traumatic syndrome. Yes, that's it! But what have I lost? 221, 222, 223, my dog Benny when I was ten years old, yeah that must be it! I'm having repressed anger and sadness manifesting itself through dreams and what experts call episodes. I'm saved!
The door to the office swings open and startles me. "Your ten o'clock is here Dr. Sturges, shall I send them?" The blond, bubble gum chewing woman says. Her name tag reads Sheryl and denotes her as a secretary.
I let out a sigh and answered, "yeah, send them in, I'm ready."
Written by Conrad Smith - 10/02/2007
I quickly interrupt the continuous voice when a thought barges into my mind. I begin to spew my thoughts from my mouth, "I've been having these dreams where I'm in a grocery store looking for Power Bars, I have no idea why, I don't even like Power Bars." I say confused. "Anyways I always run into a short stocky woman with short black hair styled into a mullet." I explain. "Then I proceed to ask where one might find the power bars? As if rehearsed a million times for this moment the stocky woman always replies by saying, down isle ten on your left."
I continue my story with enthusiasm, "here's where things get strange, my body always turns to head toward the isle but only my head goes! Yep, that's right, my head plops on the floor with a sickening thud followed by repeated plopping as my head rolls away from my body toward the power bars. My head eventually rolls into the display featuring a cardboard cutout of Bill Cosby displaying a Power Bar like he's on The Price is Right. Then I wake up but never before I notice they're all out of chocolate peanut butter flavor!"
The voice continues on with a tone of reason and concern. I reposition myself so I'm further relaxed into the couch, I become amused by the unpleasant noise the leather makes as I readjust myself. 152, 153, 154, I continue my project in progress. As I continue to count, 155, 156, I wait for the next thought to enter my head that might help me get "back on the fast track to recovery" as they say.
"RED! RED!" I say excitedly jolting up. The sound of the couch makes me embarrassedly look down, and I lay back into my previous position as easy as possible. "Red." I continue as I adjust my suit jacket. "Just recently I had this uncontrollable urge to paint the walls of my apartment red." I said eagerly as if looking for an answer. "I remember grabbing a can of red paint in almost a panic and blacked out. When I woke up everywhere I looked was red, I even managed to paint my fridge and everything inside of it. You could imagine this whole episode presents a big problem. How am I suppose to know which bottle is ketchup and which is salad dressing?"
The air around me is still and the room feels empty accompanied by silence. I wait for an answer, a sign, any sort of diagnoses from a stranger that's suppose to be so much better than I am. Someone who is trained to know anyone and everyone. As I wait in the deafening silence my head begins to ramble as soon as my so called savior begins to speak, possibly ruining any chance of salvation I might have had. 173, 174, 175, the counting continues. I start to picture myself jumping into each miniature crater as I continue to count them one by one. I hope that each leap leads me cascading down a pit of unending freedom and exemption from natural life, 192, 193, 194.
"Just last week I tried to sabotage the local burger joint." I say interrupting the counting, the voice, the salvation. "It started out innocent enough, I was bored out of my mind, and I'm not talking normal boredom. I'm talking the mind racing, psychotic inducing, I'd rather die type of boredom." I explained with my eyes bulging. "So I got this idea to entertain myself, very innocent, right? I was at work photocopying some documents about a patient and I heard that familiar jingle in my pocket." I exclaim innocently. "So I reached into my pocket and plucked out a quarter and centered it in the machine and made 40 copies. I spent the next two hours cutting each quarter out to perfection until I had 40 perfect paper quarters. I grabbed the stack of counterfeit quarters and went on my way."
"I arrived at Burger Town with my stack of quarters in hand and made the quick jaunt to the counter. I slammed my quarters on the counter and waited for the pimply teenager to notice my hot off the press fortune as I began to order a cuisine made of processed meats and lard." I continue further. "The boy picked up the paper quarters and informed me politely that they can't accept these." "I remember looking around for a moment and then back at the boy in the paper hat--I got you good, bitch! You won't believe this, the manager actually turned toward me and told me to get the hell out! Pretty rude if you ask me. If anything I gave them something to talk about, something they can go home and tell everyone about as if their life is suddenly more interesting than anyone else's."
Almost pleading I go on, "I don't have a clue why I would ever do something like that, it's nothing like me. It's almost like I forget I'm doing these things, or having these episodes as you would call it. My brain is telling me no but it doesn't matter, I do what I want when I want anyways."
201, 202, 203, what could all this mean? When did it all start? I can't be crazy. This has to be some kind of post traumatic syndrome. Yes, that's it! But what have I lost? 221, 222, 223, my dog Benny when I was ten years old, yeah that must be it! I'm having repressed anger and sadness manifesting itself through dreams and what experts call episodes. I'm saved!
The door to the office swings open and startles me. "Your ten o'clock is here Dr. Sturges, shall I send them?" The blond, bubble gum chewing woman says. Her name tag reads Sheryl and denotes her as a secretary.
I let out a sigh and answered, "yeah, send them in, I'm ready."
Written by Conrad Smith - 10/02/2007
The Lost Art
Do you remember when you were a kid and the world around you could be manipulated into anything you dreamed of? Your mind was like a castle building, chimera fighting, back to the future traveling device.
It takes me back to one of my favorite childhood books, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Reading the very first chapter can sum up what I'm trying to describe. In the story the Narrator describes himself as a young boy. He reads that when a boa constrictor swallows their prey it must hibernate for six months in order to digest it. The boy was astonished by this fact and proceeded to draw a snake swallowing an elephant, it was simply named "Drawing Number One." When presented to grown-ups they didn't see a snake at all, they thought the drawing was supposed to be of a hat.
Where in our life do we completely lose our childhood imagination? As the years press on it slips away unnoticed. We begin to look at objects for only what's on the outside and then we simply discard it into the back of our mind. In our society the easiest way to expand our imagination and overcome this change of life is through literature. That's why it is my goal to spark people's imaginations, cast a flow of wonder and difference through the veins of those who read my stories.
Written by Conrad Smith - 10/01/07
It takes me back to one of my favorite childhood books, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Reading the very first chapter can sum up what I'm trying to describe. In the story the Narrator describes himself as a young boy. He reads that when a boa constrictor swallows their prey it must hibernate for six months in order to digest it. The boy was astonished by this fact and proceeded to draw a snake swallowing an elephant, it was simply named "Drawing Number One." When presented to grown-ups they didn't see a snake at all, they thought the drawing was supposed to be of a hat.
Where in our life do we completely lose our childhood imagination? As the years press on it slips away unnoticed. We begin to look at objects for only what's on the outside and then we simply discard it into the back of our mind. In our society the easiest way to expand our imagination and overcome this change of life is through literature. That's why it is my goal to spark people's imaginations, cast a flow of wonder and difference through the veins of those who read my stories.
Written by Conrad Smith - 10/01/07
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