He was, after all and instant kind of guy. Not that you would ever be tempted to hold that against him. It was always now or never, here there or everywhere. Sit him down and he’d fidget, start by wriggling a toe, the toe would then set the foot into motion, which, in turn brought the leg too life. And there he’d be, a lanky leg swinging from a lanky body. The movement would then cascade in a wave of flesh and bone through his body till he was rapidly and imperceptibly vibrating, eventually it would get too much and in one convulsive shudder, he’d explode, his body would lift two inches off the seat and he’d be on his feet. He’d leave if he could, but if required to remain in the vicinity for instance if he was in the midst of a conversation he couldn’t postpone, he’d pace violently around the room bouncing from wall to wall and occasionally off pieces of furniture.
He lived a fast paced, half-baked abbreviated life. He cooked only instant meals, drank only instant beverages and accepted only the easiest of tasks to finish. He gave up watching movies in theaters and on the telly since he couldn’t fast-forward to the credits. He gave up on relationships because after the initial high they gave him, he had to work to make them work.
He gave up sleeping because his mind never gave him the opportunity to do so any more. He’d lie in bed for a couple of hours, the lights out, holding his eyes shut, making effort to try fall asleep. It never worked and soon he’d be out of bed with a leap and light up an endless chain of cigarettes, till dawn found him pacing up and down the hall his brain working in overdrive, flitting from one line of thought to the other.
Occasionally, the urge to accomplish something long-term would over take him and he’d strap himself into a chair and list out an action plan that should have in theory got him where he needed to be. He was dedicated, for a week he’d stick religiously to his objectives and then suddenly something would happen, he’d spend a weekend drunk, shack up with a girl he’d met and suddenly another set of long-term goals seemed more attractive and he’d set off in pursuit of them and so on ad infinitum.
He’d been like that since he was ye high (palm held somewhere in the vicinity of the knee) he’d always preferred the adverts over actual programming on the telly, mainly since they got to the point faster and never left you hanging till next week. Next week? Who knows where you’re going to be by then, he needed the plot resolved in 30 seconds or less or it was a full 30 seconds wasted.
He was proud of it and inordinately so. He’d boast about it for a full five minutes till his concentration gave way and something new popped into place. He was brainy, his head buzzing with ideas, occasionally he’d swat one down and lay it bare but mosquito sized bites never make for a mouthful and that’s all there is to say about that.
He didn’t let emotion bother him, that’s not to say he never felt it, anger, love, jealousy, greed were as real to him as they are to any man, only he never felt them too long. Pangs, like hunger and a needle in the arse, short intense bursts of emotion that were quickly replaced and forgotten. They’d flow over each other in waves one often riding on the crest of another while he played in the surf.
It was all good, the world was made for him, for the likes of him, geared for people who would not and could not give a fuck. For those who would flit from one trend to another, from one orchard to another, not even bothering to pick the fruit.
It was a disease growing progressively worse as time bounded forward. His ability to do, to think and feel anything for a period of time grew shorter. To keep up, he began to think, speak and feel faster.
Now he’s alone, locked in a room, bouncing, straight jacketed. He doesn’t speak anymore. All you hear is an unintelligible monotone. He doesn’t think, his brain gave up a long time ago, all it processes now is a continuous stream of words mostly monosyllabic. He doesn’t feel, his emotions overlap and he is ecstatic, enraged, lusty and repelled all at once all the time. And that’s when he’s sedated.
He lived a fast paced, half-baked abbreviated life. He cooked only instant meals, drank only instant beverages and accepted only the easiest of tasks to finish. He gave up watching movies in theaters and on the telly since he couldn’t fast-forward to the credits. He gave up on relationships because after the initial high they gave him, he had to work to make them work.
He gave up sleeping because his mind never gave him the opportunity to do so any more. He’d lie in bed for a couple of hours, the lights out, holding his eyes shut, making effort to try fall asleep. It never worked and soon he’d be out of bed with a leap and light up an endless chain of cigarettes, till dawn found him pacing up and down the hall his brain working in overdrive, flitting from one line of thought to the other.
Occasionally, the urge to accomplish something long-term would over take him and he’d strap himself into a chair and list out an action plan that should have in theory got him where he needed to be. He was dedicated, for a week he’d stick religiously to his objectives and then suddenly something would happen, he’d spend a weekend drunk, shack up with a girl he’d met and suddenly another set of long-term goals seemed more attractive and he’d set off in pursuit of them and so on ad infinitum.
He’d been like that since he was ye high (palm held somewhere in the vicinity of the knee) he’d always preferred the adverts over actual programming on the telly, mainly since they got to the point faster and never left you hanging till next week. Next week? Who knows where you’re going to be by then, he needed the plot resolved in 30 seconds or less or it was a full 30 seconds wasted.
He was proud of it and inordinately so. He’d boast about it for a full five minutes till his concentration gave way and something new popped into place. He was brainy, his head buzzing with ideas, occasionally he’d swat one down and lay it bare but mosquito sized bites never make for a mouthful and that’s all there is to say about that.
He didn’t let emotion bother him, that’s not to say he never felt it, anger, love, jealousy, greed were as real to him as they are to any man, only he never felt them too long. Pangs, like hunger and a needle in the arse, short intense bursts of emotion that were quickly replaced and forgotten. They’d flow over each other in waves one often riding on the crest of another while he played in the surf.
It was all good, the world was made for him, for the likes of him, geared for people who would not and could not give a fuck. For those who would flit from one trend to another, from one orchard to another, not even bothering to pick the fruit.
It was a disease growing progressively worse as time bounded forward. His ability to do, to think and feel anything for a period of time grew shorter. To keep up, he began to think, speak and feel faster.
Now he’s alone, locked in a room, bouncing, straight jacketed. He doesn’t speak anymore. All you hear is an unintelligible monotone. He doesn’t think, his brain gave up a long time ago, all it processes now is a continuous stream of words mostly monosyllabic. He doesn’t feel, his emotions overlap and he is ecstatic, enraged, lusty and repelled all at once all the time. And that’s when he’s sedated.
1 comment:
And yet another piece of awesome writing... Cool story!
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