Remember to Blink
by Jason M. Heim

Way back when I first managed to get on-line I found heaven in the form of IUMA and Mp3. Remember the good old days? Sure, you had to sift through hundreds of bands that reeked up the joint but ahhh; some of those gems (Atomic Karma, Dharma Sons, Bucket) were well worth getting stinky fingers.

That’s how I imagine the world of P.O.D. books: Pastures of horse flop with maybe one-in-a-hundred being something that isn’t pretentious crap or just plain arrogant nonsense.

“Oh, you’re a published writer?”

“ Yep!”

“Well, who’s your publisher…?”

“ Err, well…ME!”

OK…color me impressed. I wouldn’t really know, as I only own one title that’s a P.O.D. and that’s Remember To Blink by Jason Heim. Singer/guitarist and now, yes, writer, Heim is a self-admitted control freak. That was his reasoning for going the cursed-by-association P.O.D. route and I can dig it, especially after I read it: He’d be hard-pressed to find a publisher who’d take the subversive ending without notifying the Feds. He also designed the creepy, understated cover and layout.

I won’t bore you with the details as to how I came about holding this gem in my hands but I will bore you with how freakin’ good this sucker is. It’s one disturbing little item. I just hope a decent editor/publisher takes a look at it someday as it deserves a wider audience.

First off I’d like to do something here that’s probably never been done in the review of a book and that’s give you the last page:

“I am turning over the responsibility for how my life turns out to you, the beloved reader. You can tell everyone you know to read this fucked up book, or tell them to avoid it like the plague.
Or you can plot to kill me.
No matter how I look at it, publishing this book is a mistake.
I could become famous, or even infamous, but it doesn’t matter.
I could fail miserably, but it doesn’t matter.
I could put my own life in danger, but it doesn’t matter.
I could lose my precious job, but it doesn’t matter.
I will break my parent’s hearts, but it doesn’t matter.
Free will, in the end, is the power to make mistakes.
Thanks to this power, whatever happens, I win.”

First discovered while mowing the lawn as a boy, this autopilot became essential when working or performing meaningless tasks. Tune out, think of other things and soon the job is complete without even really being present, and it’s time for play. Autopilot got better and better but it did get a little feisty one day, a bit arrogant and the narrator pushed his arm through a glass window. He woke up in a hospital with no memory of the day and all the work he did for dad nor of the accident. His autopilot was working for him. He wasn’t there.

We all do this, right? Work in a zombiefied state; drive a long way in a daze. Everyone tunes out. Well, this guy’s got us beat by a long shot. Autopilot is there his whole life and Heim switches from the here-and-now to childhood, back and forth effortlessly and smoothly with no jarring speed bumps. Like he mentions at the start:

“If I straightened this all out for you, you wouldn’t understand. Fuck it. I don’t have time for that.” So we’re treated to back flashes that are oftentimes laugh out loud funny and full of little snippets and phrases of razor sharp wisdom you’re going to want to read to friends, particularly the Cobain page.

The book really kicks in when the narrator’s estranged brother comes into the story. The savage, hysterical dialogue between the two is wonderful and I wish there was more, it’s that good. And this is also when you feel something’s not quite right and something very bad is going to happen.

When it does, it comes in a lightning flash and Heim bitch slaps you silly.

The only problem I had with the book is Heim’s crash-computer course he throws in but, trust me, it’s essential. I just got kind of bogged down as that stuff makes my head swim but the narrator does apologize to the reader, even though he hates you.

Heim gives no names either to his main character nor the character’s brother so reading this, it is almost impossible to think of it as fiction. That’s what makes it so damned chilling. It’s one of the most real and personal novels I’ve ever read. You’ll feel like a shrink listening to a disturbed patient lying on the couch. First, everything is fine but then the patient sits up a little...

...then starts tapping his feet a bit and staring at you with bugged-out eyes until suddenly he’s pounced, knocked you to the floor and is straddling you chest, screaming down your throat.

BLINK