Thursday December 23 2010

DREAM: Wearing the thick brown OP jacket my Mom got me a few years ago. I’ve got my phone, keys, and camera. I’ve joined up with two people for what seems like a crime job with the actor Philip Baker Hall and another distinctive actor who looks like Mos Def. We’re chillin in the street when all of a sudden the Mos Def guy pulls a gun on me and steals a copy of my van key, my camera, and phone. Hall and I escape to the van. Hall is driving. I’m talking to him, “We’ve got to get to a safe place so we can think.” Going to his house doesn’t seem to be an option. I suggested somewhere more public. The city skyline appears out on the road. Something doesn’t feel right. Why are we going here? As we drive deeper into the maze of the city, we stop at a warehouse building and head inside. There’s a crowd of people, like a business party of some kind. The Mos Def guy is here! Hall steps over and hands Def the keys. I can’t believe it! Hall was in on this the whole time. Def walks over to meet me at a bar table. I grab the keys from him so I can keep the original copies of my house key, safe key, and van key, and letting him keep the copies. I realize he’s a part of a gang and I’m surrounded by gang members. Somebody hears through a transceiver that the cops are coming. He shouts some coded number. Def grabs me and we all make way to the door. The FBI and Police are waiting to crash this shin dig. It’s a confusing mess. Def yells something in attempt to incriminate me to the cops. My rebuttal, “I’m just a delivery boy. I was delivering a pizza and they kidnapped me!” Everybody splits and is let go. I don’t see Def and his boys anywhere so I scram. I open the driver’s side door of my van and notice an unusual pile of jackets on the floor on the passenger side. There’s small movement underneath it. Assuming one of his men is sitting there waiting to attack. I throw in the jacket, slam the door and start running down the street. I hear them not too far off trying to catch up with me. There’s a few lights on in a house off to the right. Climbing up the hill covered in soft brown moss, seems more like hay. After finishing the climb, a fairly young couple in their 30’s greets me at their door. Laying low on the porch, the man is holding me. I’m crying as I show them my passport papers. “I’ve been kidnapped. Please help me.” I feel like a lost dog.

12:20 p.m. I wake up.

Breakfast: Oranges. Aloe Vera Mango Juice.

Mom and I driving by Jimmy’s work. She’s on the phone with him. They’re cute. The romance and desire for each other has never diminished. “I just called to holler at you…okay…I love you…bye.”

Hanging out at Pat and Teresa’s place.

Eating a bowl of Homemade Chili with Cheese and Crackers. Fried Green Tomatoes. Cupcakes.

Mariah shows me some of the drawings she did at school. She gets a little offended because Robby and Josh claim she traced them instead of doing it from scratch. “I don’t do that anymore,” she exclaims.

Drawing a collaborative picture with Robby and Mariah.

Noodling on the guitar.

She writes a short letter made out to me:

“Ill miss you

when your gonn.



Snacking on a Pear.

Attending one last night of church with Mom and Jimmy.

Backing up the band on drums again—Teresa on bass, a woman named Joyce on piano. Pumping the 2-step and 6/8 rhythms.

After the music, Teresa’s spirit is on fire—voice shrilling through the speakers at top notch …“What would you do if Jesus walked in the room right now?”

Observing my Mom in the front row—nodding her head, genuinely engaging in the strong words penetrating the air—tapping into a power of a supernatural kind.

These are the kinds of churches I grew up with—loud, no apologies, alive with charisma and vigor—an old fashioned Pentecostal enthusiasm. This place is just getting off the ground. It’s good to see Mom back in her game and involved with something like this.

A lady spontaneously leaps out of her pew and begins a graceful monologue, repeating the phrase, “Let the trumpet sound! Let the trumpet sound! Praise your holy name!”

Paulina, a black Tanzanian woman with a thick Swahili accent gets on the mike to preach a sermon about forgiveness—long-winded and a personality that requires your full attention.

Salt n Vinegar Chips.

Talking with Mom on the way back to the house. It feels weird leaving and thinking about Virginia Beach again and everything that’s involved with my usual routine.

Life is different here. Florida is a strange place, but refreshing to visit.

Drinking Coffee with Honey and Milk.

Mom: “Don’t blog everything you hear. It’s almost annoying.”

Heading off to drive the 11-hour trek to visit my Dad in Goldsboro, NC. I’ll probably stop somewhere along the way and sleep.

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