Friday July 8 2011

DREAM: It’s a movie starring Anthony Hopkins, myself, Owen Wilson, and a few other renowned actors. All of us are gathered on the patio outside of a mansion. Something is wrong with Hopkins—he’s possessed—his eyes turn white and hollow—his skin wrinkling—veins protruding through—his body disappears and he becomes a floating head with a partial neck attached. Turns out he’s actually a sorcerer of some kind and his goal ever since he was born is to infiltrate our group and commit some diabolical destruction. This is towards the end of the movie and for some reason I’m holding in my hand a thick blue novel version of the story. I flip to the last page of the book and read the last few paragraphs. Ahh. The ending is already written. It says here that my character is supposed to start a chant that goes like this: Lu La La. I try to say it discreetly at first so Hopkins doesn’t suspect anything. Lu La La. It only slightly affects him. All of a sudden I’m time traveling into the past when all of us were younger, even Hopkins. Another scene—all of us gathered together. Anthony, my roommate, is here now. But I don’t see Anthony Hopkins anywhere but I know he’s here among us. Next to Anthony—I whisper to him, “Trust me, okay? Just trust me. Follow me.” I start the chant, Lu La La. Lu La La. He joins me along with a few others, Lu La La. Lu La La. It progressively gets louder. An African American kid seems to be effected by it in an uncontrollable way. He starts losing his composure and begins to convulse. We keep chanting, LU LA LA! LU LA LA! Eventually, the black kid collapses to the floor. He’s dead. I realize now that he was Anthony Hopkins, in disguise. My mission is accomplished and the story from the book is fulfilled. But something’s wrong because people are chasing after me. I escape out the back door and into the courtyard. A woman clad in a cape looking like some sort of villain or superhero reaches out her hands but I hop up—flapping my arms, gaining altitude…

Waking up naturally at 11 a.m. just before my alarm goes off. I had a really heavy sleep.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

A father and daughter are sitting down in the restaurant eating their respective Chinese dishes. The little girl spills orange soda everywhere. Dad is calm. She’s calm but she has such a disgruntled look on her face. Cecily comes over to wipe up the sticky mess.

Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel Sandwich. Yucca Chips. Honey Green Tea. Strawberry Yogurt.

It rains briefly. It’s been raining here almost everyday!

The hot hot heat is drowning me while I drive around in this hectic and congested town. I’m a sensationalist and need a sensation, something that will excite me—an ecstatic escape—touch me—let me release, please!

“I don’t play hard to get. I play hard to keep.”

Getting a cold Caramel Moo-Latte from Dairy Queen, which was a mistake—way too sweet for my taste. Disappointed.

The workday is steady—good money—a few shit tips but a few extraordinary ones to counteract.

A few songs stick out to me while I’m driving around…especially this Chris Garneau song called Island Song

“And oh, the wretch is gone
And oh, the sorries begin
And oh, the drinking has thinned
Oh, still I wrestle
I wrestle within
And then to you
I don't look so good
Like I did what I felt like
Like I did what I would
But I don't have my dog
And I don't make a sound
I live on an island
In the middle of town
And then to you
I don't look so good
Like I got what I asked for
I got what I deserved
But I don't have my dog
And I don't make a sound
I live on an island
In the middle of town”

and Bowl of Oranges by Bright Eyes…

“So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone.
And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to grow.
But when crying don't help and you can't compose yourself.
It is best to compose a poem, an honest verse of longing or simple song of hope.
That is why I'm singing...
Baby don't worry cause now I got your back. And every time you feel like crying,
I'm gonna try and make you laugh. And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad,
then we will wait for it to pass and I will keep you company
through those days so long and black.
And we'll keep working on the problem we know we'll never solve
Of Love's uneven remainders, our lives are fractions of a whole.
But if the world could remain within a frame like a painting on a wall.
Then I think we would see the beauty.
Then we would stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges,
like a story told by the fault lines and the soil.”

Finally home…

Dinner: Sweet & Spicy Black Beans with Brown Rice and Broccoli. Budweiser.

Turning on the electric organ that’s hardly ever played—belching out that Island song and singing to my heart’s content.

Eating a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Going over to Margot’s place. It’s a little later than I expected to be seeing her because she was out with some old friends she hadn’t seen in a while. I complained at first because we had planned on meeting earlier and I thought that was important to her. I made the wrong move though, because now she’s in an irritable mood for saying what I said. It’s partially my fault. I could’ve just restrained from saying anything when I walked in and saw her giddy I’m Happy to See You face. But no. I had to put my two cents in and ruin the mood. Whatever. We’re both tired. We end up just lying next to each other in her soft bed and falling asleep.

3:30 a.m.

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