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PSYCHOPOMP - CHAPTER SEVEN (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shousetsu)

To start at Chapter One, click here

Selected Entries from KG’s Dream Journals

June 11^th

I’m in the City. I’m at an outdoor café, and it’s daytime. I meet a man there. There is something wrong with his eyes. We talk for awhile (don’t know about what) and although he smiles the entire time, I’m pretty sure he wants to hurt me. I wake up upset, like the dream was somehow scarier or sadder than it was.

February 18^th

I go to see Mom in the hospital. She’s really pleasant, acting happy, but we both know she’s going to die. Her nurse comes in, blonde, very beautiful, but I think she is retarded. She keeps spilling things, knocking Mom’s tray over. I ask Mom if she wants a new nurse and she just shakes her head and smiles. The nurse replaces her IV, and although it goes into the tube okay by the time it reaches her arm it is gray and polluted. Mom starts shaking, seizing up, her eyes roll back. I scream at the nurse to stop it, I get up and try to pull it out of Mom’s arm but it won’t come. The nurse just giggles. I wake up crying.

April 24^th

A party in some attic. Dave and the rest of the band are there, and things are good between all of us. There aren’t many people, but the girls whose house this is are pretty and nice. For some reason, someone goes to the window and says the ride is here to go to the other party. I look out the window and the guy waiting by the car we’re supposed to take is all black with weird white tattoos all over. I don’t want to go with him. The rest of the band leaves and so do the girls. I’m left alone in the attic and I start walking through the house, which is huge with really narrow corridors. I find a girl there and she seems scared and upset that I’m still in the house. I apologize and try to leave. I can’t find a way out.

November 28^th

I’m in the industrial part of the City, outside of a bad house (Joe’s house?). I want to go in but I’m afraid to, but I still want to know what’s in there. I walk up to the front, but there’s no windows to look in. I try the door; it’s locked. I start feeling really exposed, start walking away quickly. I hear some people behind the house, and I turn back. They come from around the corner, pointing at me. I start running down the street toward the factories. They chase me. I wake up.

October 19^th

I’m at Emerson. It’s a party outside the Student Center. Elliot is there, and he’s talking to that black-haired hippie bitch that cock-blocked me at the last Tent Party. They are pointing at me and laughing. I can’t find anyone I know and when I do they’re not interested or don’t remember me. I think it’s the Menage a Trois party because some people are wearing costumes and I am too, but mine doesn’t fit. This guy and his girlfriend (I don’t remember either of them from Emerson) come up and tell me there’s a better place we can go. I’m so lonely and uptight that I go with them. There’s something wrong with the guy’s eyes. We walk over to their car and the driver gets out. He’s black and gray and has these weird tattoos all over. I get scared and go back to the party; they yell after me. When I come back around the corner the party’s over, but there’s a movie playing outside on the wall back by the Music building (what movie?).

March 27^th

I’m hanging out with Mark at a record store (high school?) in the City. It’s not the Record Mine, it’s a lot bigger, but its got the same kind of posters (Blondie, Rundgren) on the walls and the ceiling. I find all the old Funkadelic records, great condition, but I don’t have any money. Mark buys this Electric Prunes record, a double album of “Mass in F Minor, Second Movement” (doesn’t exist). We go back to his mom’s house to play it and there aren’t any records in the jacket. It’s too late to go back, the record store’s closed.

Go to Chapter Eight

PSYCHOPOMP - CHAPTER SIX (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shousetsu)

To start at Chapter One, click here

So it’s a 20 minute trip into town, 45 minutes in the waiting room, and now 35 minutes so far in the little examination room KG was led to through the maze of prefab hallways and computers and med carts behind the Checkpoint Charlie of the front desk. And then, Doctor William Hennig sweeps into the room, deftly checking the chart as he pirouettes to close the door. He beams at KG as he takes a seat and clicks open his pen.

“Hello, Mister...Granta! Would you rather I call you Kevin, or..?”

Shrugs amiably. “I usually go by KG.”

Makes a quick note on the file. “KG? You got it. You can call me Doctor Bill.”

KG gives him a weak smile. “Okay, Doctor Bill.”

Eyes dart back to the chart. “So you-are-in-for...a med change.” The doctor turns slightly, pulls his most sympathetic face, touches KG lightly on the arm. “The Paxil’s not working for you anymore, huh?”

“No, like I told the nurse, it’s been working less and less all the time.”

“Yeah, it’s been...what...” Again Doctor Bill looks at the chart. “5, 6 years about?”

“About that.”

“It’s pretty typical for that medication to run its course in just about that time period.” Doctor Bill rips the Velcro on a blood pressure sleeve, gestures to KG’s right arm. KG pulls up his shirt sleeve and offers his arm to the doctor who wraps it in one quick motion. “The question now...” The doctor pumps, holds, releases. “Good! The question now is: what next?”

KG shrugs. “You tell me.”

“You’re looking to continue on medication.” More a statement than a question.

“Yeah. Yes, absolutely.”

“Well, then you’ve got two choices. On the one hand, we’ve got Lexapro. Same family as Paxil, same basic results, fewer side effects.”

“No vivid dreams?”

Doctor Bill grins. “No. None of that on Lexapro.”

KG grimaces. “No, you misunderstand. I want that. I’ve really missed that since the Paxil started becoming ineffective.”

Doctor Bill raises his eyebrows, tilts his head in a very parental manner. “KG, I’m in the business of prescribing medications, not side effects.”

KG, embarrassed: “I...used a lot of the stuff from my dreams in my work, that’s all.”

“That’s right, you’re a...musician?” Looks at the chart.

“Right.”

Chipper. “Well, sir, you’re just going to have to find your inspiration elsewhere.” The glib way he just dismisses what was, to KG, incredibly important. “Your other option, which, unfortunately for you, also does not result in vivid dreams, is Effexor. With Effexor you get a combination effect because it consists of an SSRI and an SNRI.”

“Another type of reuptake inhibitor?”

“That’s right. Norepinephrine.” Impressed that KG knows the terminology. “Again, far fewer side effects compared to Paxil, but it’s a gradual slide in compared to the Lexapro, which should kick in pretty quickly.”

“Which is...which is going to help more with the Paxil withdrawal?”

“Hmph. Well, I mean...”

“Because from what I’ve read, it’s a real bitch.”

“Ha ha. Well, yes, it’s...there is going to be a certain level of...discomfort...with the change. That-is-not...something you’re going to be able to avoid.”

KG sighs. “Right. So it really doesn’t matter.”

“Not for that part, no. But you should see a quicker turnaround on Lexapro, or a more gradual, gentler intro with the Effexor.”

“Hmm.” KG is just afraid of the Paxil withdrawal, and is having difficulty making any choices. Doctor Bill mistakes his silence for something else.

“We-e-ell, there is something else we could try, but although the test results were all very effective, the jury’s still out on the long-term effects. But the side effects should line up nicely with what you’re looking for.” Smiles. “All kinds of dream-stuff going on with this one. Of course, most people don’t want that, but in your case – hey, to each his own.”

“What’s it called?”

“Comaxyn. I’ve got some literature on it, and we got a bunch of samples when it was approved earlier this week, so if you want to give it a try it’s very possible for us to make that happen.”

“I’ve never heard of it except for an item I saw online just this morning.”

“As I said, it’s real new, just approved, so I don’t have the kind of long-term studies available that I have for the other two. But again, vivid dreams are the only noted side effect so far, so it may be just what you’re looking for.”

KG thinks for a moment. The doctor gets up.

“So, is Comaxyn what we’re going with?” He looks at KG expectantly. KG never fails to be amazed by the speed with which medical personnel expect patients to make decisions about incredibly powerful drugs which can literally change your mind. He sighs.

“Sure, Comaxyn. That’s fine.”

Doctor Bill smiles. “Okay then. Now, I say this to all my patients taking psychiatric medications, and you are no exception: a combination of medication and therapy has consistently proved to be...”

KG waves him off. “Yeah, no, I’m good. I mean, I’ve tried it a bunch of times. I’m kind of...therapied out. You know?”

“Okay, then.” That obvious requirement out of the way, the doctor moves to the door. “The nurse will be right in with the samples and the brochures, and I’ll want to see you back in...three weeks?” He looks back at KG, who nods. “Just drop the Paxil by 100mg everyday for the next three days, then open with the Comaxyn starter pack on Thursday.” He puts out his hand to shake; KG takes it. “Just make your appointment at the desk on your way out.” Doctor Bill smiles. “Stay well.”

“Right.”

The doctor spins out the door and into the claustrophobic maze of the receiving rooms.

Go to Chapter Seven

PSYCHOPOMP - CHAPTER FIVE (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shousetsu)

To start at Chapter One, click here

KG sits back from the computer and sighs. 6 months of work equals 2 stars. If this anonymous punk even knew how much KG had literally taken out of the mix in order to achieve the balance that he wanted...“uninspired and uninspiring”. Jesus. He scrolls down to the comments, and unfortunately there are few fans of “The Narrow Way” to be found there either. In fact, most of the comments are about how a review this negative shouldn’t get two stars – “I mean, that’s a one-star review if I ever read one!” Seething, KG begins to post a comment of this own and realizes after about a minute and a half of composing how pointless and sad this endeavor is, how embarrassing it would be to see his bitter response to his own bad review. Better judgment kicks in, and KG erases what he has written, clicks off Ambient Wavelength and over to the anxiety/depression boards.

KG pokes around for a bit and doesn’t find anything new except for an entry headed “Anyone Heard Anything About Comaxyn?” when the phone rings. KG sighs, looks over at the ID which reads “Matthew Stokes”. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, lets the phone ring two more times before he picks it up.

“Hello.”

“What’s up, Cage? Matty here."

“Hi, Matty. How are you.”

“Good, man, good! Just got back in from Rome.”

KG rolls his eyes, plays his part. “Really. How was it."

“The food, man, the food! Amazing – you would’ve loved it. The calamari’s like nothing you can get in the States.”

“Hmm. I’ll have to get over there sometime.”

Matty chuckles. “Yeah.” He pauses, the false bonhomie weighing on them both. “So, uh...have you been reading any of the reviews of ‘Narrow Way’?”

KG sighs. “Yeah. In fact, I just read one.”

“So how do you think it’s being received?” Way too formally phrased.

“Okay, I guess.”

“As good as you were hoping?”

KG takes a moment before answering. “Um, are you trying to ask me something else, Matty? Something that you’re...like...not actually asking me?”

“No, Cage, not at all. Just trying to get the lay of the land, you know.”

“Uh huh.”

“See, the thing is, and I’ve talked to Bill and Sandra about this, you know they love ‘Narrow Way’, I love ‘Narrow Way’...hell, Elliott loves ‘Narrow Way’ and you know how competitive he is!” Pauses. “But it has not been selling. You know this. When you removed the rhythmic underpinning, the shit just sort of...floated out into space. It doesn’t come across on the edits satellite has been playing, and the New Age stores are complaining that when they play it it’s putting the customers to sleep.”

KG grits his teeth. “Matt, this isn’t Muzak. You have to pay attention. That was the whole idea of ‘The Narrow Way’. To get people to really listen.”

“You’re preaching to the converted here, Cage. But if we can set something up, nothing serious, a couple high-profile DJ gigs, maybe something at the Float On festival, or the electronic day at Seamless, you might be able to get people in a setting where they could really listen. Now that might do something to even out the sales situation. It certainly wouldn’t hurt your back catalog either.”

KG shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow, Matt, you know touring isn’t an option for me. We discussed this, Bill and Sandra and I discussed this, before you even joined Abstrakt. I make this kind of music so I don’t have to tour. That’s my deal.”

Matty exhales. “Okay. That’s okay. But if we can’t generate more revenue from touring for ‘Narrow Way’, we’re going to have to think about moving a hell of a lot more units of the next product.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, basically, that it might be time to think about ‘Desert Music III’.”

KG exhales. “Jesus Christ.”

“Cage, I know you can’t make too much money because it’ll endanger your insurance setup, but Abstrakt needs to make more money to stay afloat. Abstrakt needs to make more money to continue to allow you the artistic freedom that produces something...majestic, like ‘Narrow Way’. And I just happen to think that revisiting your greatest artistic peak would be a great way to...purchase yourself the kind of...creative currency that would allow you some leeway, some room to make more work that is as...challenging as ‘Narrow Way’.”

KG has barely heard the last half of what Matty said. He is shaking with rage, nearly speechless. “Why are we...why would you even bring up my ‘insurance setup’? What the fuck does that have to do with ‘Narrow Way’ or my future with Abstrakt or anything?”

In the ensuing silence, KG can almost hear Matty wince. “Cage, I just meant I know it’s important, for...you know...”

KG stands up, begins pacing. “No, Matt. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Be specific.”

Matty sighs. “I know you need to keep the SSD and the SSI because it keeps you eligible for the health insurance. And I know that you need to limit your income from Abstrakt or it endangers your SSD and SSI.”

KG waits. “And? What else, Matty?”

“There is nothing else, Cage. I feel stupid for bringing it up.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s what makes me feel stupid.” KG is so angry he is losing track of what he is saying. He doesn’t have a follow-up for the last remark, but then suddenly it comes back to him. “That I can’t get through a conversation with my record label without them making snide comments about my mental health.”

“Cage, you know I didn’t mean anything by that...”

KG couldn’t stop himself now if he wanted to. His blood pressure is raised, skin hot and prickly, the anxiety on him like a thing alive. “No, I don’t know that Matty. I started doing this kind of work to help myself, to heal myself. And now you’re using my honesty against me? What the fuck is that about?” He is almost shouting now.

“Cage! Jesus! I just meant that...some commercial potential in the music isn’t a bad thing. I didn’t mean to imply anything about your...we’ve been friends awhile now, KG...”

“Have we, Matt? Have we really?” And then he slams the phone down. He raises his fists to either side of his head and presses them hard against his temples. He stands like this for several minutes until his breathing slows, until he is able to think clearly.

Then the self-recriminations begin. Did Matty really deserve that? Was he really making unfair reference to the anxiety/depression stuff? Or were you completely on edge because you just read that shitty review of ‘Narrow Way’ and some of the stuff that Matty was saying about the sales of it were true, and it hurt? KG sighs sadly, sits back down.

“Fuck.”

He feels immature, pathetically out of control. Considers calling Matty back immediately, then thinks better of it. Considers an apologetic e-mail, then nearly jumps out of his skin when a car horn blasts twice outside. KG looks at his watch - it’s the cab he called earlier, for his appointment with the new doctor. He laughs to himself - at least he’ll have something to tell him if he has any questions about the intensity of the anxiety or the waning effects of the Paxil.

Go to Chapter Six