Dark Side Of The Moon (338 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by worm (View user info) at 2004-10-20 07:22:46 EDT
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"Write what you know"
A crescendo of keystrokes.
"Show, don't tell"
Tapa-tap...tap.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this assignment?"
My pinky probed the Backspace key.
Tap and hold...
Time for the sacred closing dance of the internet junkie: Start, Shut Down. Yes, I'm sure. Hit the power button on the monitor and let the fans die down. Big sigh, stretch left and right. Rise slowly, hands on knees.
I dumped out what was left of my now cold beverage. "I'm going to be late for being early."
Morning dew and fingers of sunshine met me in the driveway. "Hello, Mr. I-Roc Camaro"
"Howdy"
The air was crisp and wet; a gaseous Red Delicious of morning vigor. I let it comb my hair and brush my teeth on the way 'home'.
Barnes and Noble.
Kill the engine, wait at the doors. Tapping my feet and playing my apple drumset, I gave an empty parking lot my favorite solo- heavy on the crash cymbal.
"Kaaaaaahh-wisten" I tipped an imaginary hat.
"Q..." She let her voice linger and fade into breath as her key spun, sending its brothers into melody.
Her personality was a bit sterile, but then so was the bookstore; marble entry, wood floors, ridiculous lanterns, pine shelves, and Caribou Coffee.
"Nothing new, so don't ask."
I put my finger down and closed my jaw.
Assignment: "Dark Side of the Moon"
I scoffed. "What do you want, Pink Floyd?"
"Well, it's a start." whispered the faded orange muscle car from the lot.
"Whatever floats your boat."
It was thirty-six skips, ten and a half hops, and zero jumps (I hate jumps) to Kristen's AudioHelp register. After extending my daily harassments to my maiden fair, it was a mere twelve skips to the rack labeled "P".
clickclickclick! "Dark Side of the Moon..." I threw it into my armpit and hopped to the AudioCenter, carefully putting on the headphones with my free hand before inserting Dorothy's Companion Disc for Stoners.
"Puh-lay"
Running feet, heart beats, wailing guitars, drugged-up Brits.
How very cliché.
Even so, it was soothing. The tension in my neck and shoulders melted like Country Crock on warm toast. I flipped the cd case and dragged my fingers over the prism. The visuals were as enchanting as the audio. Pink Floyd and mild psychosis need only drugs to complete an unholy trifecta of chaos, but Kristen wasn't selling... something about "Fucks up your life", or "I won't touch you there for a dollar."
I wasn't going to ask her again. She was too busy laughing at me because I got the AudioCenter's countertop all wet.
I hate this fucking mouthguard.
But it's orange like I-Roc (who actually only rocks seldomly) over there in front of Toys R Us, so I made it my second best friend.
"Right, MG?"
"Damn straight"
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, no drugs...
As I bathed in the aural fellatio of Pink Floyd and cleaned the drool with my right sock, the devil began to tinker between my ears. His handiwork produced a large smile and the theme song of its previous owner: "You're a sly one, Mr. Grinch..." Of course there was more than a facial gesture and thoughts of Whoville. There was a stroke of one-socked genius: perhaps there is a drug-substitute that could double as a feat of strength, ridding me of my sobriety and making Kristen want to touch my genitals in a single stroke, so to speak.
Well, I can't back out now.
Note to self and MG (but not I-Roc, he can't throw):
In "Tamagachi Pet vs. Glass Display Case", there are no winners. Tamagachi Pet cracks its purple casing, glass gets webbed, and Q has to go home or Kristen will call the fucking cops.
I didn't even get to finish the album.
"Rocky, MG... 'Home' doesn't like us anymore. Retreat back to 'house'." I hopped the door (one hop) and threw on my seatbelt.
MG saluted and drooled on my Led Zeppelin shirt.
"Just take your key and stick it in my ig-ah-nition." Rocky has been listening to R. Kelly.
The three of us invited Wind to rock out to the remix of the afore-alluded-to "Ignition". He danced a lot and combed my hair again. Wind is my third best friend behind MG and I-Roc. He's cool with that, though.
I'm pretty popular.
=====
"Dark Side of the Moon" I scoffed for the billionth time. "You actually thought I was going to write about Pink Floyd, didn't you? " I turned and gave Rocky and chuckle from my cushy chair. "Fuck that, I'm doing something creative."
Tapa-tap-tap.
"Q, you are writing about Pink Floyd."
I snapped out of it. The silence lasted only long enough for me to turn around and throw myself against the window.
"NO!!"
I knew Rocky was right, he never blanks out. I, on the other hand, was putting the finishing touches on a six page essay that I didn't even remember starting. I hated losing time more than anything, even jumping. As dusk prepared to lay its fuzzy blanket on our surroundings, I was throwing my eyes in every direction, trying to recall even a single breath that I had taken that afternoon.
Nothing.
My memory didn't even take me up to my daily lunch with Bob Barker, Mac and Cheese, and my skid-marked BVD's; late morning was gone too. What had happened since Wind left? My mind searched itself in desperation.
The faucets opened up and my arm hair stood on end.
It appeared that the only things that I did know were my intentions for the assignment, and I waved them like a wounded soldier.
"That's bullshit! I don't believe you!" I paused momentarily, seeking some form of restraint. Another fruitless search caused the air around me to freckle and burn. "I did research! I was gonna write about how there IS no 'Dark Side of the Moon' only a FAR side!" The words left like tears, falling from my mouth before I had the breath to speak them.
"How, while the Earth always faces the same side of the moon, the sun hits ALL SIDES, hence NO DARK SIDE! The two bodies have different perspectives!"
MG leapt into my hand and screamed until he was thrown into the wall. The carpet cushioned his fall.
"Dark Side of the Moon?!" My hands involuntarily repaired Wind's stylings. "Buzzwords!!" The trembling in my voice now matched the pace of my twitching limbs. "'...money back guarantee', 'keeping it real', country music! You can't make me write about Pink Floyd. You can't! 'Cause... 'cause I fucking refuse!"
Tilt-A-Whirl.
"Some people think I'm crazy, but that's not true. It's just different perspectives. Just
Different.
Fucking.
Perspec..."
I hadn't slept in nearly a week and "Big Red" (my Folger's tin) lay without contents or cover in the dying lawn. I barely had the strength to stay conscious.
Sparkle and Fade.
My face slid down the window and I opened my aching fist. Rocky waited for me to hit my knees before he responded from across the driveway. His patience and tone helped to collect my shattered dignity.
"Take a gander."
I picked up MG and apologized profusely on the crawl to the computer. After taking my position in my chair, I scrolled up.
'"Time" is the best song on the album...'
'"Money" is another classic...'
Scroll-scroll-scroll
'Greatest band ever...'
'Smoking weed in my parent's basement...'
Oh my god, 'The Wizard of Oz'? Look how low I've sunk...
Well at least I didn't-
scroll-a-roll
Oh shit.
Astronauts colonizing a place that doesn't even exist?! NO!
THEY COULDN´T USE SOLAR POWER?!?!?!
Start. Shut Down. Yes, I'm sure. I put my palms on my cheeks and stared at the wall as the fans came to a halt.
"Sorry, Rocky. I haven't been that angry with you since you stopped moving and demanded 'gas'." I chuckled after stumbling upon such a table-turning revelation.
Now who's crazy?
"You know I spent $20 on you that day?" His silence made me uneasy- almost guilty. I let go of my advantage. "Anyway, thanks for waking me up. I gotta pack up the Presario."
"Why?" I was already under the desk pulling at wires.
"I give up. No more assignments, Rock. I've sunk to a new low." Within five minutes, my mom's computer was boxed up and placed in the corner.
"Where are you going now?"
"I need an apple...and some other stuff." I grabbed MG and put him in my pocket before heading to the fridge.
"Does Wind still have those Red Deliciouses?" My car is pretty good at speaking through walls.
"No, only in the morning." I sighed, wiping the tears from my eyes. " That's okay, I'm gonna eat a Granny Smith"
"Granny Smiths? Aren't those the green ones? Red Deliciouses taste better."
"I know, but I just wrote a six page essay about Pink Floyd and astronauts. I think it's obvious that "great taste" doesn't apply to me today."
I took one from the fridge and began peeling the color from the moisture.
"Relief is on the way." I thought. "Let's just make sure we have the essentials before checking out."
After placing a damp orb on the counter, I wiped a fresh batch from my eyes and grabbed the phone book. "Chan's Chinese is open until midnight" I lipped as my fingers punched digits into the phone. "...and they deliver".
Kung Pao will arrive in thirty to forty-five minutes.
"Why Granny Smiths? What are they good for?" asked my best friend as the fingers of sunshine around him grew short and withered.
I grabbed a two-liter of Dew and took a pull, making sure to swallow with my chin in the air in the hopes that gravity would help absorb the shame that continued to spill from my eyes.
Satisfied with my preparations, I gave a final pout of protest and bit into my browning fruit, my eyes still spinning with the blades of the fan overhead. I answered matter-of-factly, trying (and failing) to weave my speech around the large chunks of apple that occupied my mouth.
"Baking"
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