Tuesday June 21 2011



DREAM: I’m living in a house in a rural area where most of the homes have 5 acres of land to speak of and there’s plenty of space between the neighbors. Except, I have a neighbor who is excessively close. She’s an old lady. Kenneth is out back moving junk around. At some point, he loses his temper over something the lady does and begins to hoot and holler, running around like a maniac. Snickering, I creep back inside my house trying to stay away from the commotion.



Waking up somewhere between 1:30 and 2 p.m.



Cleaning up the kitchen. Anthony’s in the living room listening to Bob Dylan and announcing the lyrics to the song before they’re even sung as if he was just having a conversation with me.



Brunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Chai Coffee.



Anthony says we can come by the thrift store and pick up anything we want after 5.

Darren: “We don’t hang out enough. I’m coming in your room at 5:15 and we’re going to the store. It’ll be a date.” He does this grunt/snicker thing that’s a trademark Darren laugh.



Business. Tweaking stuff on the HHO system in my car.



One of the maintenance guys drives by in his golf cart smoking a big stogie. He confirms with us that Chanticleer is haunted—apparently our court has the most history—describing some of the tenant’s stories where they heard doors opening and shutting repetitively and the sounds of people running up and down the stairs that weren’t there. Here’s one of those accounts: http://www.apartmentratings.com/rate/VA-Virginia-Beach-Chanticleer-Apartments-902707.html



With Darren riding in his Audi.

Dropping off cash at the bank.

As we walk into Target I inform Darren of how inevitable it is to spot cute girls in here, employees and customers alike. Chomping on a peach. Our quick paced conversation never stops as we browse through the food/produce sections. Picking up some OJ, tomato sauce, and a bunch of gallons of distilled water. On the way out…

Me: “You’re just a lot of talk…egotistical thinking…you think you can get whoever you want.”

Darren: “I can…”

Me: “Because you’re human just like everyone else. You have emotions…”

Darren: “No dude. I’m from the future. I’m a time traveler.”

Me: “What are you telling me humanity evolved into some primordial mass of non-emotion or non-existence?”

Darren: “Nah. The universe is just one big computer. This form of reality is like a hard drive—”

Me: “No. We are not a part of a computer. Time doesn’t have the risk of randomly stopping like a hard drive. It just keeps going.”

Of course none of these things we’re talking about is taken seriously—just opening our mouths and letting out a mush of words and ideas and nothingness.

Picking up some neat things from the thrift store.



Watermelon and a Peach.



Cj comes over and we crack down on Musicplayer songs. We spend about 3 hours straight. He’s on overload and feels overwhelmed. I know I would if I had to learn 6 new songs from scratch in only a week.



Carrot and Salt n Vinegar Chips.



Darren enters my room going on a rant about his knowledge of drugs and his philosophies on the absurdness of marijuana being illegal—how suppressing the people’s choice is directly associated with the increase in crime and creates a dangerous underground culture. It really boils down to the abuse of it, or anything for that matter. Too much of alcohol, drugs, food, television, etc. can have adverse effects. Moderation is key.

Art stops by after his bowling league game. Smoking cloves out on the back porch. He’s terribly scared of the water bugs crawling around us.



Dinner: Spicy Beer Glazed Black Beans with Rice and Onions.

Finishing Four Boxes [2009].



It’s Kevin, Darren, Anthony, Rusty, myself, and Skippy—we all hop into the big red truck and head to the courts off First Colonial and Mill Dam for some Night Ball—probably one of the most frustrating and stupid games I’ve ever played but a good time nonetheless. 3 on 3 with a glow in the dark basketball. Skippy hurts his knee twice—Darren and Kevin both sport green shirts resembling leprechauns—Rusty hops around with such vigor and uses tickling tactics to keep me in check. In the end our team wins and we all leave with sweat on our bodies and love in our hearts.



Noodling on the guitar.



Sleep 5:30 a.m.

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