Blind.Faith 2.0.50. Tomasz Tatum

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СКАЧАТЬ against the dictates of his circadian rhythm–began to involuntarily drift, slowly but surely, back again into the arms of another round of uneasy and unauthorized slumber, his leaden eyelids falling firmly shut once more as he succumbed to the weight of his head sinking back tiredly into the pillow, slightly yellowed as it was, a tad musty and obviously quite old. Its genuine hypoallergenic Na.Choo!No.Sneeze Styrofoam pellet filling had been mercilessly flattened through many long years of use.

      As his head settled back onto the pillow and sleep threatened to lure him back into its comfortable void, the synapses of his brain suddenly rattled back to life again, driven now by a veritable firestorm of bioelectrical activity prodded on by something that immediately manifested itself in the form of a two-headed demon consisting of fear of consequences as well as a potential bout of simple bad conscience.

      And so, in a concentrated flash of cold, hard rational thinking, he forced himself into admitting that there was no point in further procrastination now. He was going to have to have a serious go at this.

      He was going to have to get his butt out of bed, he thought. It was now or never.

      As he did on almost every morning at some point in the laborious process of waking up and just prior to rolling out of bed, he drew a single, sharp deep breath. Although Ch.ase himself was unlikely to have registered it at such an unholy hour, the sound he actually produced in that instant as he mobilized his resolve would have proved to be quite revealing if there had only been someone around to hear it. It was the same kind of quick breath that one might take immediately prior to being forcibly tossed overboard from an ocean-going vessel and submerged into the cool waters off the shore of a somewhat less than delightful archipelago such as those bordering the Bering Sea during one of the more frigid seasons. In winter, the time of year that was once generally referred to as January, February or March, for instance. That was way back in that diffuse era before the Gregorian calendar was unceremoniously canned, having been rendered obsolete by the almost complete demise of any truly linear notion of time.

      Thus, following only the briefest of respites, Ch.ase soldiered on through his private purgatories that unfolded in rapid succession within his head in these wee hours, drawing back the sheet and blanket in a concerted display of sheer determination, focused on now rising with a passable attitude of resolve and vigor to greet the new day head on.

      And then, despite his having finally gotten this far, he stopped abruptly short.

      The birds were back.

      He couldn’t believe his ears. It was inexplicable!

      Ch.ase exhaled loudly, his determination to rise from his bed dissipating as rapidly as the flatulent air that escapes from a children’s balloon once the knot at its base is untied. He simply fell back into his pillow while hastily yanking up the blanket to cover his naked shoulders again.

      This had nothing to do with slumber anymore. He was wide awake now, but suddenly plagued by the deep fear that he was in danger of losing his mind. Ch.ase started quivering at this thought despite the fact that he was straining hard to simply lie quiet and motionless on the mattress now, doing his utmost to stay calm and commanding every single voluntary muscle in his body to relax without further ado.

      All without success, as it seemed.

      Stifling a dark panic that he could feel bubbling forth within him, Ch.ase hastily covered his eyes with the crook of his arm, as if he could hide in this fashion, as he lay there stationary in the near total darkness that still prevailed. As incomprehensible as it seemed to him, the room was now rapidly filling to what felt like the bursting point with some strange gargantuan swell of avian noise. An immense chorus of chirping birds seemed to flood the world outside his window. Their twittering quickly filled his room and even his head with song. He wasn’t sure where they were, but these birds were presumably gathered somewhere just beyond the barely discernible boundaries of his still-gloomy bedroom, singing loudly and boldly to proclaim the onset of this brand-new day about to break.

      After a short but oddly indeterminate period of time had elapsed, Ch.ase slowly lifted his arm, uncovering his eyes again. Still flat on his back and nearly unmoving, he cautiously opened them while struggling to lie as still and silent as he possibly could. From his vantage point, his still-sleepy vision was directed vertically upward, interrupted only by what might just as well have been a stubborn stratus layer of uniformly diffuse gray cloud. He continued looking upward as he allowed himself the luxury of a few additional seconds during which his head began to clear and his senses subsequently finished rebooting somewhat. As everything gradually came into focus, he found himself staring at the off-white plaster of a bedroom ceiling which was still shrouded in a state of semi-darkness.

      He was completely motionless now but listening attentively. Despite his most concentrated attempts at achieving a state of total relaxation as he lay here, he knew deep within that he was too nervous to relax now. His entire body was still rigid with the same tension that had quickly seized possession of him when the birds had launched into song. Since that moment, and in just one single instant, he could sense how every solitary nerve in his body drew as taut as the horsehair on some vintage concert violinist’s bow. His arms and legs seemed to him to be locked so rigidly that he could neither command them to move nor could he actually get them to hold still. With his arms shivering ever so lightly then, Ch.ase felt as helpless as he reckoned a quadriplegic might in such a situation. A pronounced ache began making itself noticeable, arching upward through his shoulders and neck, spreading speedily into and across the back of his head. As he concentrated on taking another series of deep breaths, exhaling long and hard each time as though he were in labor giving birth to a nightmare, Ch.ase shut his eyes tightly again and continued to do his best at yet another attempt at relaxation. In between breaths, he reached for the tablets and opened the vial. He tapped two pills onto the palm of his left hand and swallowed them without water.

      And, of course, all the while he could not stop listening.

      By this time, however, he wasn’t really sure of what he was hearing anymore, as the rising tidal rush and roar of blood in his ears was actually just as deafening to him as the perceived chatter of the birds. It sounded to him like a fast-running stream gushing forth, circulating erratically and splashing wild foamy corpuscles through the countless tiny canyon-like channels that this river had eroded within the cavities of his skull.

      Was this maybe the heavy metal version of tinnitus? Or was he only slowly but surely losing his mind? Maybe this was what the Big Eddy of nervous breakdowns felt like when it came on?

      Slowly, though, he regained the upper hand and sensed himself capturing control of his body again. Ultimately, he succeeded in returning to a state of lying completely motionless on the bed. The shaking was done and over, things were going to be alright after all. He was doing his utmost to retain control over himself, determined to face down the last of the still recurring waves of tension that braced his body, albeit in diminishing cycles.

      He lay there, just listening. Just closing his eyes.

      Breathing in deeply.

      Exhaling slowly, as though he were trying to blow out a candle that was a mile away.

      In situations like this, he was often tempted to finally try some form of stronger meditation or perhaps astral traveling. He longed in such moments to possess the ability to simply sever all the bonds to his own body and self at will, straining hard to imagine what it would be like to allow his mind the luxury and the freedom to simply wander off–examining, for example, the prodigious assembly of colorful songbirds which he thought could be found gathered in the apex of a lush canopy of green foliage directly outside the open window of his bedroom.

      He seldom got very far however. In fact, he usually tended to spend most of the time pondering СКАЧАТЬ