Here the author as such attempts a spontaneously composed novel, one damned thing after another with hopefully some semblance of entertainment to the reader and writer…me, myself and sole puppeteer, Jim Stallings. This follows the previously demonstration of a string of spontaneously written short short fictions, entitled DIFFICULT PEOPLE, forthcoming by publisher CreateSpace, a division of Amazon.com. The storybook of adult flash fictions will be available by the end of April 2009.
Here we continue the use of improvisation, with slight or no revision, to break free from the suffocation of critical thinking that denies or inhibits the joy of playfulness in literature…storytelling. Here we eschew in this initial draft the great concern with “higher standards” and the cross of sacrifice of infinite revision. I suspect that revision as a way of life, while valuable in and of itself, is also a ploy of a publishing system overloaded with supply of manuscript material. This may indeed be the thematic underbelly of this novel on the fly…Narcolept, a free blog serial novel composed by an alter-ego fictive authorial self.
And Free. Exactly. Free.
Now, let us begin this absurd exercise in playfulness free from careerist and capitalist intentions.
1880, from Fr. narcolepsie, coined 1880 by Fr. physician Jean-Baptiste-Édouard Gélineau (1859-1928) from comb. form of Gk. narke “numbness, stupor” (see narcotic) + lepsis “an attack, seizure.”
A disorder characterized by sudden and uncontrollable, though often brief, attacks of deep sleep, sometimes accompanied by paralysis and hallucinations.
nar’co·lep’tic (-lěp’tĭk) adj.
Chapter 1. Fuzz Center.
You begin with the fact of not enough sleep.
Fuzz center. Smack dab in your brain stem.
Never know what hits you.
One minute you’re watching a re-run of the Cone heads. Next minute something’s invaded your corpo, a reel of feelings and unctuous gooey liners from alternate dream realms? Goo with a purpose.
In short, the stuff takes over. You’re somewhere else.
Thank god you’re propped up in front of your TV and not behind the wheel of your shitbox from Star Used Cars, right off Loop 410, twirl of the index finger, setting off a protological itch. Hope she trims that long blue fingernail.
Oh, yeah, there are causes for narcolepsy. Exhaustion, boredom, brain fry…and believe me there are cures as such. Napping highly recommended. Middle of the afternoon. A cot, a pallet on the floor, dim the lights, cut the sound, lock the office door (if you are lucky enough to have privacy, most narcolepts don’t earn such privileges for one of the greatest crimes in society is to doze on the job…not give enough of a shit to keep the job). The aforementioned, initial indictment parenthetical is enough for now. This isn’t a legal brief. I’m not looking for victims. Enough of those. I’m here to tell one small leptic tale.
Lept Frazier’s tale, my pseudonym.
Right there. I slipped off. Saw a carnie’s display of cheap bracelets, false gold plated ringlets and the smell of sawdust, the taint of shoving crowds. Lept is in some sense the very opposite of Frazier’s problem. Fact is the boy never lept into anything with full vigor. He held back. Maybe waited too long. Weary of life from the beginning.
Where do we start this dismal tale of modern hypocrisies?
The damage is done. What’s the point?