Thursday, Sept 27, 20:35. Consciousness gradually overtook the brain, inaudible tones still engulfing the mind -- an overpowering undercurrent of haunting melodies which echoed the essence of the empty soul beneath. A state of awakeness only made the patterns stronger. Look at the clock. 8:37.

It's still open.

An impulse decision. Only if I get going NOW. Put some pants on. Socks. Shoes. Run upstairs (where the bathroom isn't being remodeled). Take a piss. Throw a handful of water on the sculpt of hair which was molded by a pillow with a mischievous sense of humor, thereby foiling its sinister plans.

On the way out of the house, the other family members are all sitting in the living room. "Are you going out?"

"I gotta get to Best Buy before it closes!"

They laugh. They know he's the crazy one, and have almost come to expect such deviations from normalness. (Especially with regard to the little trips to this particular retail outlet, which he has demonstrated a strange affinity for, which is odd, since it happens to be one of those "evil" corporations. Somehow, the abundance of mind candy available there has managed to nullify that idealogical distaste in this particular case.)

In the car, on the way. Minimal traffic. Stoplights blur by through the darkness. The radio pours out the music. Turn it up.

Arrival. 8:57. The neon "Open" sign is illuminated. In through the auto-opening sliding doors. To the cd section. Quickly find "R". Scanning... scanning... There's the artist. No, I don't want that album.... or that one... or that one... Do they have the one I want, even though it's not the latest? Ahah!

To the checkout line. Pay with a 20. Screw plastic. It's overrated.

Back in the car, reading 9:02, the "Open" sign is no longer lit. A minute later, and it might have been too late. The unconscious mind has a funny way of timing things.

Back home. Open tray. Insert. Play. Open lyric book, and follow along for an hour in a way that could never be done with divided attention.

Radiohead. OK Computer.

If anyone ever asks, I say, "The jukebox made me do it."