Chapter I.
I woke up from the shakes. Not seizures. My mother was shaking me awake as she said, "You're late again!". At the hearing of the adjective "late", a jolt was run through my body and all semblances of somnium were rendered vanquished. 10:48 AM, the clock said. I was supposed to wake up at 5. From having to wake up stupidly early, the reality has shifted to waking up stupidly late. By now the auction was perhaps over, no that's unlikely. But the thing I was after might had been handed to someone else by now. Am I pessimistic or realistic? Surely that's got to be one of the highly sought-after ones in the whole auction and no one with enough cash could possibly be dumb enough to pass on that. Ughhh... How did I fall asleep and why did the alarm not go off? I checked and found out that I had disabled it after deciding that the window of sleep was far past the feasibility and I would stay awake for the rest of the night. Surely, I could have left it on and stay awake anyway but I did not want to defile the glorious silence with its sudden, ugly sound. When I am asleep, the situation is quite different of course, because beautiful stasis cannot be prolonged to eternity, maybe I would find it suitable to kill myself if too much sleep was the goal. It wouldn’t work out well because to appreciate sleep, you have to appreciate wake, or tolerate it I suppose. And putting beautiful sounds as alarm defeats its purpose. An alarm reminds me: wake up to this odour of pus that is the world and step outside, into the world filled with the deplorable mankind, the microsolids floating on the pus. It's a preemptive sound, that you should hear it and remedy yourself to face the far more repulsive scenarios; or it can be a cautionary one too, I suppose, a synecdoche, where the mere seconds of torturous looped-sound represent the day at large. I should head to the auction anyway. Not like there are better things to do.
Funtitled #4
In memoriam Clayton Counts & For Neil Keener Mk. 2 V / A Beautiful Dog II