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I spend too much time in my brain. It's an occupational hazard, for writers. Late nights, when the dogs are dozing and Kate's asleep, it's just me and Hunter (my computer) trying to create some twisted vista for my mind's eye to see.
Occasionally, I pause at the keyboard, to allow time for my brain to drink deep of the cosmic chowder that is my creativity, the heady stuff that sustains my soul and puts the words on the page. While my subconscious keeps sorting through the files, my conscious brain slips into neutral. Casually, without even thinking, I pick up the cable TV remote and flick through the offerings.
CNN to TNT to HBO to TBS.
Now, I've noticed that sometimes, a certain trance level can be reached and the tube's regurgitations, channel right into cerebral matter, forming a direct connection.
Electrical impulses flow to a passive receiver. I absorb the power of the tube and find that I'm able to create my own TV programming by the digital divining of the cable remote.
PBS to NBC to WGN to CBS.
As the channels pass, images flicker across the screen; strobe like, hypnotic. Partial sentences combine and form an altogether different dialogue. Cautiously, I journey through the channels; slowly at first, unsure, hesitant but gradually gaining confidence, my speed increases. Feeling more attuned, I begin to adjust the direction of the flow, first forward, then backward, then forward again. As I master the meter, the rhythm, a feeling of power nudges my ego. I become obsessed with my manipulation of the media.
I control the horizontal.
I control the vertical
This sudden feeling of worth is...overwhelming. It takes me
over the edge and I tube-out. Suddenly, I'm careening
through the channels wildly out of control.
CNN to TNT to HBO to NBC to
TBS to CBS to CNN
Madly up and down the dial in a suicidal charge, a veritable tubing frenzy. Not content with just scanning up and down. I began to randomly select.
72 to 39 to 17 to 64.
Finger to the touch-pad I go for it, shocked at my own abandon! I can feel the tube, sucking at my mind; hungry, cold, indifferent. But, I am powerless to stop the inevitable. My senses glued to the tube we become one; locked in a psycho/techno embrace, virtually violating all sorts of inter-species prohibitions. Power boosting each other towards a channeling climax...
Suddenly, a dog, awakened by telesthetic impulses, howls, sinks its teeth into the sweaty touch pad, wrestles it from my grasp and I come screeching to a halt smack dab in the middle of...Larry King. The TV's back to generating white noise in the background. I sit frustrated, wanting a cigarette but not sure I deserve one.
