Friday February 25 2011

Waking up around 6:30 p.m.

Breakfast: English Muffin with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc, Vitamin D.

Editing footage from an old Tokyo trip back in 2006—it’s going to be a short film on the DVD.


Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

James is with me in the kitchen, “It’s never too late for regret, Robert.”

We head to Norfolk to get our boogie on at The Wave club. On 264, sitting in the passenger seat. I challenge James to get at least one girl’s number tonight. Even as I’m saying this to him, Margot’s texting me…

Her: “Have fun! Get dem digitz.”

Me: “Uh sure. But I have yours already so I don’t need anymore. ahhh.”

Her: “Haha cute.”

I really wish you’d understand how in it I am with you. I feel forced by the mental version of you I made up in my head to stay devoted to you. But it’s not just force. Gosh, it’s fucking love!

We stop by Elliott’s apartment for a bit. All of us sitting on the couch watching him play GoldenEye on N64. “You hit a certain wall with this game but I like to just run through the levels as fast as I can.” Listening to a special edition of Weezer’s Pinkerton on vinyl, which according to Elliott has unreleased songs I’ve never heard before. He was right.

At The Wave now. Reminding myself what this place was like cause it’s been a while. It’s not like any other nightclub. It’s geared for the younger 20-somethings—non-exclusive though. There’s an undignified freedom to dance and I like that. Tyler Yowell and Will show up, and a few other familiar faces. Sipping on a PBR bottle.

Hanging out on the smoker’s patio. Jesse Phipps approaches me with a bear hug. He’s consoling me. “I heard your breakup on Facebook.” He’s telling me how the audio clip I posted reminded him of textual studies for some reason. “It’s not art…it’s textual studies. I thought it was kind of postmodern.” His wife Kelly is trying to pull him away. “Don’t worry Robert. You’re a cool dude. And cool dudes always find a way.” He’s able to get out some last words as he drifts off, “Oh, and always wear protection or you’ll have a kid. I did.”

Smoking my last Indonesian cigarette. Corey Dixon, a friend from back in the day, and Megan Maeang are standing there. I mention how Corey looks like a Rockabilly kid, more specifically like Johnny Depp with his black-framed glasses.

On the dance floor. It’s a jubilee. It’s a celebration to our oblivion. Moving bodies. Moving souls. Ahh. It feels wonderful to unlock my legs and arms to a musical pulse and bounce. I’m watching the faces and bodies that surround me. Everyone’s attitude is adamantly displayed in their dance. You’re on my mind. I can see how you would be dancing if you were here. I love watching you dance. I didn’t see that enough. Making my way to different parts of the crowd. I notice a slender girl, attractive in the face—a glare every now and then. At one point she unexpectedly moves herself into my vicinity—communicating through dance. I like her scent. I speak up, “Hey! You smell really good.” It was a safe compliment I thought. “What’s your name?” I could barely understand her, something that starts with the letter J. Later, I notice some interesting tension with another guy and her—he seems like a boyfriend or an ex or somebody involved because he’s got her head in his hands and they’re just staring at each other. Look at that.

Still going at it on the floor. A girl with glasses, a red and white striped dress, and some cute black stockings approaches me for a hot second, “Hey! I just wanted to say I think you’re adorable.” Who doesn’t want to hear that? “Oh. Thanks.” We continue on with our individual dances.

Okay. Okay. I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying to open myself up to other possibilities but it just doesn’t feel right. All I can think about is you. I compared the others I saw tonight and nobody competed or even matched the affection I feel for you. I WANT YOU.

On the drive back home talking with James. He didn’t get any numbers. I guess I had the chance to but didn’t. Who cares anyway? We had a good time. We should do this more often.

Warming up some dinner to go: Navy Beans with Rice and Mixed Vegetables.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast AM radio is scaring everyone about the New World Order and the dollar crashing within the decade.

Coffee Roll and Milk from 7-11.



Playing music.

Sleep 9:30 a.m.

No comments: