Oblivion: Stories by David Foster Wallace

Author:David Foster Wallace [Wallace, David Foster]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
Tags: Literary, Short Stories, Short Stories; American, Short Stories (Single Author), Fiction
ISBN: 9780316010764
Google: 9U5v5GNfB2kC
Amazon: 0316010766
Publisher: Back Bay Books
Published: 2004-06-08T07:00:00+00:00

light recording to the relevant stage Four or ‘Paradoxical’ interval just prior to (one would presume, based on the Sleep specialist’s ‘prolegomenon’ or gloss [physiologically, I myself still remained ‘At attention,’ one might say]) a sudden, aggrieved and high volume accusation of ‘snoring’ on my wife’s part.

Whether seemingly somewhat forebodingly or not, both all exterior or extraneous noise and my own neglected pager itself — as well as the swart, handsomely dressed Medical administrator’s audible imbibation or ‘slurping’ of his hot tea (a personal pet peeve of mine since childhood, followed as it was by the somewhat affected knuckle across the upper lip) — appeared at this point in time to cease, producing a sudden and somewhat dramatic or unsettling silence or distended ‘pause.’ Meanwhile, on the room’s Monitor, the video recording, which formed or comprised a diptych or ‘Split screen’ image, showed Hope and myself ’s darkened Sleep chamber in a low amber light which was evidently distinctive of the appearance of low light film, the screen’s upper left and right corners displaying both the relevant date and ‘0204’ (or, 2:04 A.M. in scientific or ‘Zulu time’) along with each successive second and decimal increments of same, with the (from our perspective) dextral or right hand side of the video display being comprised of a sustained, Infra-red close up (or, ‘tight shot’) of myself in the bed, deeply asleep, supine on my back with my hands on my chest, and — far more unsettlingly — of my own face, asleep. I myself had, not, of course, surprisingly, never seen or observed my own ‘unconscious’

face prior to this time; and, in the Monitor’s diptych’s recto or, as it were, right or

‘starboard’ portion’s unblinking close up, it was now revealed as being not a face I in any way recognized or ‘knew,’ with its slack jaw and protrusive jowls, hands on my chest spiderishly twitching, lips fishily loose or agape; and, although there was (to the Sleep team’s consternation and whispered colloquy among the aides and technicians at the Monitor’s rear, with which there was evidently some technical ‘glitch’ or malfunction) no audible sound (Hope, gazing in rigid fascination or horror at the dextral display right along-side myself, herself was silently ‘frozen’ [or, ‘paralyzed’ ( “or hurt you if ” )] in mid gesture, her pupils quite large and liquidly black), the flaccid mien, gaping mouth, slack jaw and puddled and quivering jowls I’d never ‘envisioned’ lying down (for, as with most husbands, I had, of course, only seen my face when seated or standing erect at the mirror, as in shaving, removing unwanted nasal or auricular hairs, masturbating with a saffron scented under-garment, tightening the knot of my tie and so forth), as well as, despite the recording’s defective audio portion’s absence of sound, the variably changing shapes and contortions of my unconsciously open mouth in the close up sleeping shot or wee hour

‘scene,’ as Hope and myself watched in rigid fascination (as when passing the wreckage and prone, twisted

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