doingitagain
05-30-2011, 03:48 PM
The inspiration for this piece was the photo of a messy bed. Any kind of feedback would be appreciated. Thank you.
It’s ten o’ clock in the morning and Ryan’s eyes slowly break apart, and are instantly bombarded by the blitz of lighting fast light that those who have risen with have grown accustomed to. He did not wake to an alarm, though he should’ve because he had class at nine that morning, but he feels the security of his room is more important than what the Man has to say. He lays in bed, moving his body, his head, his legs side to side the way dogs pace before they lay down on their beds, and finds that the valley it creates is like a full body hug – comfy -- “Damn this morning is great.” Though he genuinely likes the songs, he ironically starts the first two tracks from Kush and OJ to be the soundtrack for this feather down comforter morning, “Wake and bake. Gotta keep up the player lifestyle,” he says, and thinks about the silver Caddy he has parked downstairs; you know, the one with the tint. The kick drum from the first song punches the air with a scattered rhythm that keeps it a part of the music, but not as chest caving as 64th notes from metal. Bom-bom-Bom-bombom. He could probably write it out as sheet music, but he never will. “It’s time,” and with that he reserves his first steps of the day for a later time, and merely props up his pillows to a sitting position. His bed has four pillows: two fat ones and two thinner ones; each possible pair is necessary except for when he wants to change it up and sleep underneath both pillows and rest his head on the bed itself. Two pillows make sure his posture is taken care of while he sits in bed. Ryan’s always had lung problems. When he was 14 years old he went to a doctor that ran extensive asthma-finding tests on him, but found nothing- it was probably COPD; he’s always been a smoker. Perhaps it was the meditative breathing that accompanied inhalation? Maybe it was that when he smoked weed it got him high? He never stopped smoking, but made sure to take care of himself when he did- keep the inhaler handy and the airways open. To Ryan, good posture meant an open trachea, and that was important right now more than ever because he was going to be ripping his pipe; the fattest hits are dependent upon deep, stomach inhalation a.k.a. open airways.
It’s 10:45 in the a.m. and the first wave of his high is in full effect. For 20 minutes he entertained himself by rapping Biggie songs in his mirror, but even though ganja takes the edge off of life, it cannot transform lame from lame. He’s out of bed now, but still in his pajama pants. The curtains on his windows are thrown wide open and the white paint on his walls reflects every sunbeam into an absorbing part of his room; brilliantly illuminated. He sits at his desk; for a song’s length four minutes he thinks about his past. Specifically, he thinks about his past lovers (the song is Usher’s “U Remind Me”). The beauty of the Internet is that it multiplies nostalgia by multiples of one million, and in seconds he’s logged into Facebook; fate couldn’t have planned it better- the moment the next song plays (Usher’s “U Got It Bad”) he sees a recent update from one of his most significant others- April. All of this is overwhelming to the now impressionable Ryan and he thinks this is a sign to check in with how she’s doing…via Facebook. Her profile picture is the first thing he sees and that’s all he needs to see. There she is: posing by a tree in a modestly revealing brown dress, she had cut her hair since they dated, the left part of her hair was held back by a hair clip that had a daisy on it, and the other side covered her right eye, giving her a mysteriously beautiful look. She was sitting down, and luckily for his heart, she was alone. This Mexican beauty had the smile that expressed curiosity and invited friendship. She was looking over her left shoulder, but was in the dead center of the photograph. Her eyes were fixed on the lens and it gave her an appearance of aiming that smile at you, and your body couldn’t help but react; your heart beat faster, your eyes squinted as you smiled at the screen, it was almost awkward how at that moment you realized this photograph is not only a picture of a former companion, it is a work of art!
What he attached to the picture was a different story all his own. The first thing he noticed was that she was still a beautiful woman, and at that moment, in a fit of immature hormones, he remembered all the times they had been intimate. Looking at her profile a bit more, he saw that she is close to graduating college and moving to the northeast to pursue her career. As he looked into the eyes of that smiling angel he remembers playing the game where you try to slap your opponents hands before they can move them out of the way and was amazed at how far she had come. He remembers the smart, quiet, almost nerdy girl he wooed in his younger days, and what looked back at him at the moment was a full-grown butterfly of beauty, intelligence and personality. He had known her, had had her, before she was famous, and in this way he found himself special.
He peeled himself away from the screen, and paused the music. He sat there, high, and wondered why he didn’t go to class that morning; he wasn’t going to get girls like her staying home all day. “Wait,” he thought, “I already have a girlfriend.” At that moment he wondered if he was an honest man, not just in what he told Sue, but in the lifestyle he was living, because April had liked him once, but not anymore.
It’s ten o’ clock in the morning and Ryan’s eyes slowly break apart, and are instantly bombarded by the blitz of lighting fast light that those who have risen with have grown accustomed to. He did not wake to an alarm, though he should’ve because he had class at nine that morning, but he feels the security of his room is more important than what the Man has to say. He lays in bed, moving his body, his head, his legs side to side the way dogs pace before they lay down on their beds, and finds that the valley it creates is like a full body hug – comfy -- “Damn this morning is great.” Though he genuinely likes the songs, he ironically starts the first two tracks from Kush and OJ to be the soundtrack for this feather down comforter morning, “Wake and bake. Gotta keep up the player lifestyle,” he says, and thinks about the silver Caddy he has parked downstairs; you know, the one with the tint. The kick drum from the first song punches the air with a scattered rhythm that keeps it a part of the music, but not as chest caving as 64th notes from metal. Bom-bom-Bom-bombom. He could probably write it out as sheet music, but he never will. “It’s time,” and with that he reserves his first steps of the day for a later time, and merely props up his pillows to a sitting position. His bed has four pillows: two fat ones and two thinner ones; each possible pair is necessary except for when he wants to change it up and sleep underneath both pillows and rest his head on the bed itself. Two pillows make sure his posture is taken care of while he sits in bed. Ryan’s always had lung problems. When he was 14 years old he went to a doctor that ran extensive asthma-finding tests on him, but found nothing- it was probably COPD; he’s always been a smoker. Perhaps it was the meditative breathing that accompanied inhalation? Maybe it was that when he smoked weed it got him high? He never stopped smoking, but made sure to take care of himself when he did- keep the inhaler handy and the airways open. To Ryan, good posture meant an open trachea, and that was important right now more than ever because he was going to be ripping his pipe; the fattest hits are dependent upon deep, stomach inhalation a.k.a. open airways.
It’s 10:45 in the a.m. and the first wave of his high is in full effect. For 20 minutes he entertained himself by rapping Biggie songs in his mirror, but even though ganja takes the edge off of life, it cannot transform lame from lame. He’s out of bed now, but still in his pajama pants. The curtains on his windows are thrown wide open and the white paint on his walls reflects every sunbeam into an absorbing part of his room; brilliantly illuminated. He sits at his desk; for a song’s length four minutes he thinks about his past. Specifically, he thinks about his past lovers (the song is Usher’s “U Remind Me”). The beauty of the Internet is that it multiplies nostalgia by multiples of one million, and in seconds he’s logged into Facebook; fate couldn’t have planned it better- the moment the next song plays (Usher’s “U Got It Bad”) he sees a recent update from one of his most significant others- April. All of this is overwhelming to the now impressionable Ryan and he thinks this is a sign to check in with how she’s doing…via Facebook. Her profile picture is the first thing he sees and that’s all he needs to see. There she is: posing by a tree in a modestly revealing brown dress, she had cut her hair since they dated, the left part of her hair was held back by a hair clip that had a daisy on it, and the other side covered her right eye, giving her a mysteriously beautiful look. She was sitting down, and luckily for his heart, she was alone. This Mexican beauty had the smile that expressed curiosity and invited friendship. She was looking over her left shoulder, but was in the dead center of the photograph. Her eyes were fixed on the lens and it gave her an appearance of aiming that smile at you, and your body couldn’t help but react; your heart beat faster, your eyes squinted as you smiled at the screen, it was almost awkward how at that moment you realized this photograph is not only a picture of a former companion, it is a work of art!
What he attached to the picture was a different story all his own. The first thing he noticed was that she was still a beautiful woman, and at that moment, in a fit of immature hormones, he remembered all the times they had been intimate. Looking at her profile a bit more, he saw that she is close to graduating college and moving to the northeast to pursue her career. As he looked into the eyes of that smiling angel he remembers playing the game where you try to slap your opponents hands before they can move them out of the way and was amazed at how far she had come. He remembers the smart, quiet, almost nerdy girl he wooed in his younger days, and what looked back at him at the moment was a full-grown butterfly of beauty, intelligence and personality. He had known her, had had her, before she was famous, and in this way he found himself special.
He peeled himself away from the screen, and paused the music. He sat there, high, and wondered why he didn’t go to class that morning; he wasn’t going to get girls like her staying home all day. “Wait,” he thought, “I already have a girlfriend.” At that moment he wondered if he was an honest man, not just in what he told Sue, but in the lifestyle he was living, because April had liked him once, but not anymore.