Breakbeat Science Phorum

[cormoll]

this is my friend jaret. he is a great guy, very talented. this is his first published book. if anyone deserves this accomplishment, its him.

he also takes some badass photos too
http://www.corpseonpumpkin.com/





only 14 bucks! show some support!
http://www.brownpaperpublishing.net/catalog3.html



read a chapter from the book!
http://d853000.u41.acomhosting.com/gpage2.html


exerpt from chapter

Later, drinking at Pill’s, I realize I haven’t slept in days. This fact hits me with a supremely horrific chill that I’m sure has left claw marks on my spinal column – if not pushing a few of the discs askance. It also dawns on me that instead of sleeping, replacing the dark hours when my eyes should have been nailed shut, that I’d been in the subway, watching other people doing it – sleeping – on benches, or leaning against the passenger windows as trains chugged by, hacking the tracks in a click-click-click click-click-click lullaby. Before the sun would rise, I would find myself at my own place, between the two large hedges outside my apartment, looking over how the last stragglers from the street would pull in after dark, pop a light on somewhere up in the house and then promptly take it away again, fast asleep in a matter of moments while I sipped from a glass of beer in the darkness, watching dust motes settle on the moon, with my head whirling, dizzy from lack of sleep.

Not a single table out of the ten or so at Pill’s is occupied. I walk between tables and empty chairs, up to the front.

The bar is sleek and black, lined with polished chrome, all the way down. In the glow of a television set, there are small spatters of cigarette ash and handprint smears. I rest my bare elbows on the chrome, watching my reflection distort in a red glare from the murky overhead lamps.

When I sit down, a small lady hobbles over from where she’s been rinsing out glasses. The front of her neck is wrinkled well into her shirt, skin folds concealing more wrinkles in the shadows. ‘What’ll it be, kiddo?’ And just like that, skipping reels, several drinks later my mind blinks like the subway film reel, but there is no color and no people occupy the trains and my body goes from a pained rigidity to being formless as jelly, in seconds, sliding down over the stool. Relief coils around me until I pass out cold.

When I woke, it was at a small table by the wall. Had I been picked up and nestled into a seat? I don’t remember. I was passed out.

But the booth I was in now was not unoccupied. Someone else was resting his head in the chair at the other side of the table, passed-out, too, looking to be in the shape I’d just woken from. Actually, sleeping in the same position I was, too. His short, wavy hair had fallen into a mess over his head, haphazardly covering his face. I looked around. There was still nobody at the pool tables. Three people up at the bar, though. The same small old lady, rinsing shot glasses. She didn’t look up at me when I stirred. From the looks of the occupants of the table – myself and the other – I deduced maybe this happens here every night.

Fumbling through my pockets for some cash to pay the tab, I scrutinized the young man sleeping in front of me. Something about his coat looked familiar. And his hair. Perhaps I knew him.

Still quite drunk, but reasonably amplified by the mysterious spasm of being jolted from such a sudden catnap, I reached over and gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. For a moment only, his torso expanded with the intake of a heavy breath, soon let out. The breath of his sleep then returned to a quiet pattern. I patted him again, using slightly more force, but he could not be roused from his dozing.

I’d known such slumber myself, once or twice before. Tonight, as a matter of fact. Better to let him wake up on his own or when the barkeep was ready to close the doors and call it a night.

‘Have a good one,’ I whispered to him.

Rising to get the tab taken care of and also eager to head back to Alice’s house to find if I could actually sleep the whole night through again like I hadn’t done in days, I took one last glance at the sleeper before parting ways. I couldn’t pick out why, but he looked awfully familiar in a very peculiar way, although I could not catch much of his face other than a cheekbone.

The way his arms curled inward and overlapped as he slept was too fucking familiar.

The impression was uncanny, giving me a sharp chill. And for some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that if he was someone I knew, this would perhaps be something I would not want to know.
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