The Sequel is never as good...Unless we're talking about Aliens or Evil Dead 2.
I woke up in the morning with a thunderous headache for the third day in a row. The arteries in my neck were visibly throbbing, and felt puffy and constricted, like Day 5 of a massive MDPV binge. I went downstairs and made myself some coffee, then sipped on it while hugging a klonopin under my tongue. The caffeine alleviated my headache, but it intensified the mild buprenorphine withdrawals I experience every morning before I dose. My legs felt as though the thin layer of adipose that resides beneath my epidermis had turned into a lubricated form of sand paper, which is an uncofortable sensation. So I cut off a piece of suboxone and stuck the film under my tongue. I sat down in a recliner as it dissolved, and felt the events of the previous night sweep over me, and I felt sad so I put on Sweet Jane by the velvet underground. Once the film was gone, I got dressed and left for school. I was sure this week to bring my P.E. shorts.
The Auditorium was empty when I arrived, and for a split second I was elated at the possibility that my class might have been canceled. However, upon surveying the set-up net's I realized that yes, I would be playing volleyball.
Once I got changed, I laid down on the cold wooden floor, and did this thing where I squeezed the front and back of my torso with my hand. I could feel my finger's touching eachother through the organs and the flesh, and it sort of freaked me out, but then I thought "whatever". Our coach read off the attendance and then divided the class into four groups, two to a net. We were instructed to practice our over and under hand serves. The coach did a demonstration for the overhand, where he bent his right arm behind his neck, and with his left, threw the ball into the air at a perfect ninety degree angle. As the ball plummeted back towards the earth, he extended his right arm, in a seemingly effortless way, and hit the ball with the heel of his palm. The contact sound was a sattisfying "thump"" and the ball arched perfectly as it was propelled back into the air. His form was exquisite, like a Greek statue showing off a beautiful Contro-Posto; I admired the man.
I'll do a brief segway here: one thing that I've come to find really fascinating, is that in nature, for certain things there does seem to be a "right" and a "wrong" way to do it. It's easily explainable with art, for instance, perspective is a solid mathematical tool that works, period. There is no if and but's about it. With music it's the same, you have scales and time signitures, applied rules that serve as a guideline to making something wonderful and creative. You have to be original of course to make great art, whether your a master draftsman or a guitar virtuoso, skill doesn't necesairrily mean talent. But the most talented artists always follow some kind of pattern or blueprint, from which within they make something unique. However, this doesn't really just apply to creative art. With sports it's the same thing, there are correct ways to do something, ways that are always "the best", some of them just havn't been found yet, but they exist out there...weird thought, but anyways...
So after the demonstration, we practiced our volleys for about 45 minutes. My underhand serve was pretty bad ass, but my over hand left a lot to be desired. I also tend to do this lame thing where I sort of leap on one leg and flap my wrist upon making contact with the ball, and it really doesnt look too cool. Eventually we were instructed to join up into two teams for a few real games. At this point, the suboxone I had taken earlier seemed to be coming on full force, and I was actually getting a little bit buzzed off of it, which was nice, but the timing wasn't too perfect.
All in all, I played my positions rather well, and even scored a few points for my team, and pulled off some daring (or as daring as can be in volleyball) dives to save a loss. A few time's though, I ran once again into the problem where the ball was heading in a questionable direction, where it could have been mine, or any of the two girls to the side of myself. I would try to say "I got it", but like I said in my last post pertaining to this subject, I have a real problem raising my voice, so what came out was more of a mumble. Once again, this agressive girl became annoyed at my percieved apathy regarding the game and shouted "YOU GOT TO CALL IT!!!", which pissed me off. I imagined myself screaming FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU-FUCK THIS STUPID GAME! I kept my cool though, as I comforted myself by the fact that this individual was obviously inferior to me artistically and intellectually.
As the game wrapped up, the suboxone was really coming on hard. For those who dont know, less is more people. I felt like my limbs had been wrapped snuggly in a warm blanket and my eyes were having trouble focusing. I thought about the second Human Centipede movie, a truely sick and depraved piece of cinema, and I started toying with my own perverse idea's. Since I was experiencing an abnormally strong reaction to my buprenorphine, I started wondering if everyone was connected to my blood through a long interconnected network of I.V's, if they would all get stoned, like a Human Junky Centipede..Just one of those things..
So the game ended, my team one, and I went back into the locker room to change back into my clothes, went outside and rewarded my two hours of physical excersize with a ciggarette.
-on a not about the drawing, I don't like the tear, it's corny, but it was commisioned, so there's nothing I can do about it. I'm really loving using inkwashes though, they're fun as hell