pwndcake

it's 6am Monday morning, April 13th 2009. I am sitting in a vibrating chair next to a sliding glass window. Out of the window is South West Portland. Located in Northern Oregon. Just South of Washington, which is the Northern most state on the West side of the continental United States. We are South of Canade, but this is North America.

I'm not looking at the window though. I'm staring at a wall. A blank wall. The area above me is open, and stretches about 15 feet above my shaking head. The chair, I mentioned, is vibrating. It does that with a push of a button. It's also heated. It also rotates. On a x-axis no less. It doesn't recline, it turns. My head is at a 45 degree angle from the ground, and my feet are about equal height as my head. I am staring up at a 10 foot expanse of plain white wall. My ass is hot. I don't get to say that a lot. It's also shaking. This is a rare morning.

I am staring at a huge blank wall imagining all the things that should be painted on it. A miniature reproduction of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. An enlarged version of Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. The dunes of the Sahara at night, covered in stars. As many stars as anyone could think to draw on a plain white wall.

I have never seen any of those things up close, or in person. I have seen too many plain white walls.