Wednesday August 4 2010

DREAM: Walking around near the pool of the neighborhood I parked in last night in waking life. My dad is there. We’re putting together a plan to play some kind of sports game. I’m wading my bare feet in the pool. The water is muddy and green. People are fishing in it. I’m fishing myself, pulling on the line and catching fish. One is really heavy and has only a skeleton for it’s body and no meat. I show my dad. Something strange is happening in the water because it feels like an unknown creature is swimming near my legs. It’s uncomfortable. I hear it breathing near me. Finally, I jump out of the water. There’s a smear of purple covering all over the pool.

Waking up at 9:15 a.m. It’s hot and stuffy in the van. I’m half-naked. And I’m now 26 years old. Happy Birthday, Robert.

30 minutes until Marshall, Virginia.

Eating two Plums for breakfast.

Arriving at Phil’s place at 9:54 a.m. The parade of dogs welcoming me with their obnoxious barks and friendship. Phil is standing there with the water hose on wearing that mischievous smile of his. I’m happy to see him. He directs me to his room and tells me to re-enter. He’s now lying on the bed pretending to be my dead father. There’s a note by his bedside that reads:

“Robert, I leave the farm to you. Goodbye Son. [Signed Phillip Gray]”

After this, he tells me to re-enter the room once more. Still pretending to be my father, he coughs as if he is sick and is on his deathbed.

He then shows me my quarters, where I will be sleeping, treating his house like a bed and breakfast or a hotel, fully equipped with all expected features including a fitness room, which is basically an exercise bike next to my bed, and even a library.

We hop in a truck and deliver stomach tubes to The Veterinarian Clinic where he works through out the week. He’s not used to driving such a big vehicle and it makes him uneasy. Caitlin’s new album playing in the CD player.

On the way back, riding through town, we pass LA Palmita Market. He tells me about a really cute Mexican girl that works the register. Sometimes, him and others will go there and buy something just so they can see her.

He explains to me how stories are the new currency and that’s what he focuses on when he writes songs.

Eating an Egg Sandwich with Orange Juice for Lunch.

Drawing on notebook paper with black chalk while Phil reads to me his recent dreams, to which he’s been training himself for lucid dreaming.

Enjoying a slice of Phil’s homemade Peach Pie on the porch, then napping.

Waking up to a lovely view of butterflies fluttering around a flower bush.

Picking tomatoes and catnip out of the garden.

Phil introduces me to

He puts on this pre-recorded breathing exercise. I sit there on the couch legs crossed Indian style focusing all my attention on breaths. I doze in and out of consciousness.

Swimming in the pool.

“A storm’s coming!”

Sitting on the back porch at the wooden table, lantern lit, wind blowing strong – I can hear it rustle through all the leaves of the many trees surrounding the house. The sun is setting with a beautiful pink and purple haze. Playing Phil’s guitar vamping in and out of a blues pop chord progression. The mood is right. Being here in this exact moment is the reason I came all this way. I needed this.

Phil is cooking us dinner in the kitchen: Pasta with Tomato Sauce from scratch with all kinds of spices. Curry Naan Bread. Yuengling in a can.

Watching We Live in Public.

Phil falls asleep with Chub Chub, the jack russell in his arms.

I retreat to the back porch reading The History of Love, falling asleep myself shortly after.

Waking up, my eyes and body feeling heavy. It’s only just after 11 p.m.

Eating more Peach Pie with Soy Milk.

Lounging in my quarters.

Going to sleep around 1 a.m.

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