Tuesday August 30 2011

DREAM: Weird sexual tension in China Wok with my boss, Cecily…☼☼☼ A pile of miscellaneous clothing and things from a closet. I’m on a team whose goal is to identify an item that starts with “Z”. Sifting through the stuff. Shirt. Pants. Shoes. Duffle bag. Socks. Hangers. Stuff. Stuff. Stuff. Nothing. This is so difficult. I hear a whistle go off in the other room. We’re out of time. But wait! I found it! I snatch the duffle bag up and run into the other room. It’s labeled “Z-NITE” which is the brand name. I attempt to show the judges. And that’s it.

One p.m. waking up after a much needed slumber…

Orange Juice.

It’s a weird feeling when someone blocks you from Facebook, someone who has always been so incredibly close to you, even if it is within good reason. It makes me sad. It’s all a part of the process of letting go, a part of separation. To be cut off. To be banned from someone’s life, even if it is by choice, is a powerful and unwelcoming feeling. I know you won’t see this or read this. Maybe you are, in secret. And I believe I’ve said plenty to express my affections and thoughts about you…You…You…You…whose been a part of me for a long long long time. Miss…Miss…Miss…I will miss you. In this moment…I miss you. A new age is commencing…and I pray for you…I pray for your health, your happiness, your love. You will grow strong. You will always be who you are, which is a beautiful creature of the earth…and whenever I think of you I will see you as such. I will remember you fondly and not with regret and disdain…I don’t doubt these will not be my last words in regards to you…but that is all for now…


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

Inspiration to organize the house—rearranging the dining room and living room—less stuff—less junk equals more space and room for more stuff…

Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Raven, it’s good to see your faceon the back patio sharing smokes with her, Stef, and Calum.

Chili Beans and sharing Perogies in a Yogurt Dill Dip.

Congregating in the dining room around the card table—and so begins the revival of Poker Night…Myself, Calum, James, Darren, Ben (Skippy’s brother), and Dustin…drinking an okay Passion Fruit Wheat Ale. Anthony walks in with one of his greatest finds ever from the thrift store: a vintage Motorola record player with built-in speakers that swing out. A Motown record on the needle makes a pleasing and jovial atmosphere. I’m out after a straight in Ben’s favor, and on the river. The noise is a little much for me as people are walking in and out…words are tossed everywhere…no opportunity to focus on anything for more than 5 seconds…I retreat to my room to get some space and silent air…reading The Prophet…

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

We’re not fooling you. But we are. And we like this mystery. I know I do. And you theorize and estimate the outcome like you would when watching a movie, based on context clues and perception. But you don’t know our dialog. You don’t know what really goes on between the paragraphs and the ellipses, and the black and white space. It is something special and important, very important to the story. I’ll give you that. But there are obvious reasons for reservation to not enlighten you on the romantic visions and the tribal fire breathing. It’s too delicate. And by exposing too much too soon it could ruin the beginning………

Sleep sometime after 6 a.m.

Monday August 29 2011

(Jamaica Dyer http://www.jamaicad.com/)

DREAM: I’ve sauntered off the path, away from everyone else—through the small tree bushels and right out on the shore of a beautiful and vibrant lake. It feels like I’m in a Thomas Kinkade painting…I hop across a small ditch and plant my feet into the ground. Snow! The outside temperature isn’t even cold. It’s supposed to be autumn. But somehow the ground is caked in snow. I tip toe carefully and make it to the edge of the water. Kneeling down. I drop my glasses into the water. Shit! I’ll never get those back. I reach my hand down into the water—searching. There’s other pairs of glasses crumbled together in a pile in the sand/dirt. I keep pulling out pairs I think are mine but aren’t. I even try them all on but none of them fit. Half aware that I’m dreaming, I keep thinking in my mind there must be something symbolic about this. I make a note in my head to look this up later…

☼ ☼ ☼

Witnessing a harpoon competition in a harbor of sorts—more like a beach scene but it’s not very sunny. I watch as Rupert Grint (famous for his Harry Potter character) shoots a harpoon across the water attempting to hit a target. Up close these harpoons look more like syringes or a needles. I pick one up but toss it back into the water—it floats to the right catching the eye of the person next to me. All of a sudden I’m sitting down—water covering up to my waist. I feel the presence of a shark or some big fish nearby. Everybody surrounds me as if we were filming a scene in a movie. The water subsides and disappears revealing a limp catfish, perfectly still as if dead. But it could be alive. Its face is turned to me but still no movement. It’s understood in the script that I’m swiftly pulled away by an unknown force as the water rises and the catfish is supposed to swim after me. This is exactly what happens but everything stops when I step out of bounds…I’m freed from the scene.

Wearing glasses—intuition—how well am I able to see things. Putting on other people’s glasses—maybe I need to look at things from a different point of view. But none of them fit. Losing my glasses could mean I will reveal my intentions and devises.

Dream Moods says, “To see a catfish in your dream symbolizes someone who may not appear to be who they are. Their true self may not be obvious or immediately apparent.”

Waking up after 11 a.m.

Breakfast: Hard Boiled Egg. Orange Juice. Zinc.

All day shift at China Wok.

Usually they only let me keep the coin change but the British kids on Hood Court surprise me with a generous tip.


Drunk guy on the third floor of The Alamar Inn on 16th street orders Chinese food—He takes at least five minutes signing the credit receipt. I can see a table full of empty Heineken bottles…

Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Snapping the peas…

I am………moldable…adaptable.

Just drivin’ around

in this hell-hole of a town.

These precious Journals! Supposing I lost them! I cannot imagine the anguish it would cause me. It would be the death of my real self and as I should take no pleasure in the perpetuation of my flabby, flaccid, anaemic, amiable puppet-self, I should probably commit suicide.

This makes me feverish, living as I do in Armageddon!

---W.N.P. Barbellion

Ice Cream Cone.

Busy. Busy. Busy. Delivery. Delivery. Delivery.

Ling lets me try the Lemon Chicken, which is basically a chicken tempura wrapped in lettuce leaves and dipped in a spicy lemon sauce. Yum.

Delivering my last order of the night off Harper’s Road. And I have to say she was the most beautiful black girl I have ever seen in my life. It doesn’t even bother me she decides not to tip. Her physical appearance makes up for her lack of generosity.

I say upon leaving, “By the way, you’re very pretty.”

Her: “Thank you!”

Brown Rice and a Kirin Ichiban.

Stephanie’s here in my room (without film crew) shooting the scene where I sit at my computer in purple underwear and ichat with Rex’s character in the movie…

This is my fake typing…

hey res good evening well storm torhfonkblahjh eys and gopd nihgu

hey rex food venvinn

osdoooofnoofofijsohand hgoodh kkdkkkdkreirnjr

It’s midnight. Anthony and company just arrived from New York at the China bus near Rick’s Café. It’s a hailstorm of people as we congregate inside Rick’s…

Anthony IS a little boy who acts like he just got back from Kings Dominion or something and he literally can’t contain his excitement—sharing stories, but mostly quoting some of the ridiculous things Kevin said over the weekend, but he also describes a moment in New York when an impromptu hockey game goes on right in the middle of Times Square at the height of Hurricane Irene’s storm…

Anthony. He facilitates LIVE, and facilitates our lives.

Lindsey and Corina, who have been visiting this past week have this to say about our group of friends: “Virginia Beach should have their own reality show.” (just based on hanging out with us.)

Josh is tumbling around the crowd all boisterous and careless…

Leisa: “Josh and Anthony. They’re like crack to each other.”

Back home—hibernating in my room…

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Sleep 4 a.m.

Sunday August 28 2011

Waking up just after 11:30 a.m.

Breakfast: Two Hard Boiled Eggs. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok—just another day living and working in the sprawl.

Delivering an order off Westminister Lane. In response to the $1.75 delivery fee the lady responds, “That’s stink-o!”

Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

A fairly busy afternoon and evening…

Refuel with a Starbucks Coffee Frappuccino from 7-11.

Snapping the peas when there’s down time.

There’s a few songs that come up on my ipod—nostalgia for old feelings of intense longing—I can’t fight the reminder of her in these melodies. It’s amazing the stains of emotion that can make a permanent home in music…How can I forget you? Don’t worry. You’re ghost will always be engraved here…

A beautiful Post-Irene sunset…

Delivering an order off 21st street. The guy gives me a generous tip along with a can of Bud Light. I accept but have to decline the Slurpee shot he offers along with it.

Back home—James Graves makes an appearance. I miss that kid.

Dinner: Brown Rice with Mixed Vegetables and Edamame. Kirin Ichiban.

People in the living—Tosh.0 on the TV—eating a little bit of Sherbet and Ice Cream.

Margot keeps texting me. Her house still has no power and she’s uncomfortable and hot over there—guilt-tripping me into allowing her to come over here and spend the night—assuring me she wouldn’t make moves on me (and we could put the stuffed shark between us as a boundary). I’m trying my best to be sensitive but at the same time firm. I say no, in so many words. But of course this is followed by a 40-minute phone conversation—needing more explanations—denial of separation. I feel her eternal disappointment and anger and pain. It seems eternal….I hate putting her through this…but I know what the right path is for me.

Eating some pizza that James brought over…

Browsing my bookshelf and feeling drawn to The Prophet so I pull it out and begin to read, randomly choosing page 52. Kahlil Gibran’s words speak mountains…

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

Continuing my read…and meditating…

Sleep 3:30 a.m.

Saturday August 27 2011

Waking up just after 11 a.m.

Breakfast: Bagel with Peanut Butter. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Driving to work—crazy winds—cows and donkeys flying in mid-air! I arrive. But the China Wok light is off—nobody there. Cool.

Back home…preparing for house arrest.

I receive a heart-wrenching message from her…

…I feel like im dying; like im living as half a person…

…And I know you said it will pass but I don’t even want to go through with it!

…Why are you killing our love!?

…I know you say we’ve had lots of chances but PLEASE PLEASE give me just one more. I cant live without you. I wont!

…Baby you have to believe me when say I will do anything for us to be together again. I want to be your girl. I cant let go of you, I’m sorry. I know I won’t give up and I will turn into that pathetic girl that just is stuck on her ex when he has lost complete interest in her. But I just cant accept this. Please, I wish you could feel how horrible and empty I feel. There’s a hole in my heart that was just for you but you’re not there to fill it anymore. It’s just empty and consuming…

I feel your heart, darling. I feel it intensely…in the chorus of that song you sent me…I really do. It’s breaking…and crumbling…this world we built just for us…and I am responsible for it. Well, really we are both responsible. Its just I’m the one taking the steps to leave…And it pains me to know you’re in pain. Just know I feel your tears. I feel your touch, your warmth, your eyes…and last night I felt the inside of you like I’ve never felt before…how easy it was…how natural it was. I know you feel a sense of exclusivity in your love for me, like I’m the only one for you. All you’ve ever known is me, and for a long time all I knew was you. You’ve always been a beautiful enigma to me, a queen of sorts in my life, a dazzling and sexy thing of beauty…

I already told you this feels like the right thing to do…for me. And the more and more you express yourself to me the more wrong it feels. But I can’t turn back from this decision. I know deep down within me that this is the path I need to take. Despite the beautiful connection we’ve had (and it was lovely and yes we did have some invigorating times together), I must move forward. In the end…and in time…(Time IS The Great Healer)…this will all settle (I know you don’t believe that, but I know this)…and new life will form…new things will start. It is okay to open up your heart a little to someone else, but only to someone that’s deserving, someone that can help carry some of the burden and at the same time fulfill some of these special emotional needs. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Don’t forget that. And I won’t forget that you “love me forever.” Margot, I will never forget you. You are not just another EX. You were the biggest adventure of my life…please be strong…Even though I know it’s not such a good idea I want to be here for you as much as I can…

The winds are strong—80 mph to be exact. This storm. This hurricane. It’s obviously symbolic. This storm will pass, darling. The lights will go out. The darkness will prevail…but only for a time…only for a time.

It’s just Darren and Polish Greg and I in the house. We get in the Bronco that Skippy left here and browse around Hilltop—Kroger is closed—Kmart is closed…we run into Kenneth (and his whole house on wheels) and two homeless dudes…

Margot is without power in Bay Colony. She wants to be over here. She’s insistent even though I don’t think it’s a good idea. But it is nice to see her—to just hang out.

I pick up Little Birds by Anais Nin off Anthony’s bookshelf. Randomly opening up to page 35…“We went out together and I admired the woman who was singing in the little café. Lina got drunk and was furious with me. She said, ‘If I were a man, I would murder you.’

I became angry. Then she wept and said, ‘Don’t abandon me. If you abandon me I am lost.’”

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Sitting down on the bed with her—she’s got on an episode of Monk. It’s extremely comfortable lying beside her—all warm and snug…feelings of passion arise like I knew they would. Just each other’s presence is enough to make me horny and desirous for her. Lovemaking is something familiar to us—it’s what we know…and I knew this would happen if she came over. I’m not sure how I feel about it but that’s not crossing my mind during those moments. She’s always pleased me, always satisfied. This is okay for the time being…this is okay.

Irene howls and whines just outside my window—the trees all-swaying in a unified agitation. Listening closely to the wind gusts striking the leaves. It’s a tense and at the same time comforting feeling to know everyone else is holed up just like me somewhere in their living room or bedroom…

Reading some essays by various writers online…

To while away the idle hours, seated the livelong day before the ink slab, by jotting down without order or purpose whatever trifling thoughts pass through my mind, truly this is a queer and crazy thing to do!”

Of all things that lead astray the heart of man there is nothing like fleshly lust. What a weakly thing is this heart of ours. Though a perfume, for example, is but a transient thing, and though he knows full well that incense is burned to give an odor to garments, yet a man’s heart will always be stirred by a vague perfume.

---Yoshida Kenko

Cooking up a storm in the kitchen…haha. Darren is the ultimate cynic.

Sharing dinner with Darren, Greg, and Margot: Brown Rice with Mixed Vegetables and Edamame, Roasted Garlic, and Baked Sweet Potato Wedges. A can of Milwaukee’s Best.

Watching Revolver [2005].

More reading—consolidating files on my computer…

She wanted to spend the night—but I’m insistent that she goes home. We stand there downstairs, almost two hours of explanation and her seeking more understanding as to why I would leave this, why I would want to separate from her. She’s baffled how I can say, “I love you” and yet am willing to exit. It’s disheartening to stand next to her, all the while the power is cutting in and out allowing us moments of complete darkness. She’s such a fighter, just like I am. She won’t accept it. She won’t give it up. This process will be long and strenuous…and so it goes on…

The power actually goes out for a good 30 minutes…

Cinnamon Toast Crunch (in the dark).

One quick phone call to Dominion and 10 minutes later, we’re up and running again.

Settling down with a some good books before I fall asleep…4 a.m.

Friday August 26 2011

Waking up at 11 a.m.

Breakfast: Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

All day shift at China Wok.

Slow and steady—hurricane on my mind—family on my mind—loved ones on my mind.

Phone conversation with mother—she’s going through a sense of separation like I am but in a different aspect…similar process.


Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Napping with my head on the table…

It’s unusually slow for business tonight…reading Adbuster’s…

Ice Cream Cone.

Big tippers in the north end.

Taping down the windows outside the restaurant with my bosses. Cecily laughs at the idea cause we’re using cardboard boxes rather than the thick ply board like all the other storefronts. Of course that costs money. And we’re Chinese. We don’t spend money unless we have to. We’re thrifty and frugal.

Ling: “See! It’s good.”

He bangs his arm against the cardboard wall we created proving that it’s impenetrable.

Dinner: Vegetable Lo Mein. Kirin Ichiban.

I told her she could come over and we could talk again…but it’s the same conversation with the same pleas and explanations…

She’s In Shambles.

“I’m just so sad!”

I Feel So Responsible. I Am.

“I hate everything without you!”

She’s In Pain. Utter Bloody Pain.

“I feel like a Siamese twin but my twin’s been cut off…”

She says she loves me and that should be enough.

Catching the tears falling down the center of her chest and into a dark space between her breasts…I’m quiet. Only speaking when necessary but most anything that comes out of my mouth just revs up the salty water machine…I choose my words wisely, but not my touch, at least not as much.


Subtle touch. A fiery vibration introducing her familiar touch—her beautiful image—her role as a lover………what we once were………what we won’t be anymore…it’s a shame that an intense lovemaking such as this will have to cease. I have my doubts. But I have already chosen my path…my path to new things…my path to separation. Is this the key to success? We shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t even mutter a word when she fondled me, just closed lips and short breaths. I couldn’t say anything. I was entranced. Do you even know how long it’s been? Too long…

Me: “Should we be doing this?”

Her: “Probably not.”

But the movement continued—it pressed on…it was not in vain…the fantastical escape was thoroughly impressed into the present moment. Ecstasy. A pure exchange of pleasure like never before. My legs go numb…Afterwards…Her goal to remind me what I’m losing. “Why would you want to lose this?” she asks. “Why won’t you let me be with you?” My reply: “It’s not that simple.

We both knew that shouldn’t have happened. She leaves into the trickily rain and whooshing baby hurricane wind. I’m disappointed in myself. It’s not a relapse. But it doesn’t help even as much as I’d like to think it was necessary, like a last and final session…like maybe we both needed to feel intimacy with each other one last time.

This isn’t going to be simple. I think I said this once before. But I know it is the right thing for me. She may not see this now, but for her too. This is the only way…the only route for me…I can’t turn back, darling…I can’t change my mind…I have to move forward…Don’t worry…I won’t forget.

Sleep 4:30 a.m.

Thursday August 25 2011

Waking up really early. 8:30 a.m.

Breakfast: Mango. Orange Juice.

Road trip with Anthony and Greg (Polish couch surfer whose here for a few weeks). Picking up Anthony’s friends, Lindsey and Corina, from the Norfolk airport. They just arrived from San Diego. Then…Richmond-bound…driving in high spirits—good music on the stereo…making good traveling time.

Peanut Butter Sandwich. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

There. Familiar cobblestone streets and historic living quarters. Hello, Richmond. Raven and Rachel hook up with our crew and we traverse to many different spots…from Raven/Michaela’s place to Rachel’s loft…a few thrift stores on Broad Street, another store called Diversity Thrift on Sherwood Avenue—a good day for exploring, in more ways than one…warm feelings exchanged—it’s not often I have the opportunity to just get out of town, or really I just never take the opportunity…I’m glad I did today…

Eats at a vegan restaurant called Strange Matter—feeling frustrated and a little uncomfortable because Margot is calling non-stop for whatever reason. Apparently, she is at my house at the current moment wondering where I am and wanting to talk to me. The space decision is still in action but something is really wrong and she’s sick with worry and needs some resolution. This is out of nowhere, especially after no communication for a long while. I’m really afraid to answer and it just scares me when she calls so many times in a row. I turn the phone off. It’s like I just turn to defense mode. Continue on with the nice day it has already been. Bad timing (or perfect timing). The day I decide to escape Virginia Beach is the day she decides to confront me and seek peace and understanding. There’s something sacred about the space we’ve had from each other. It’s been important—a development. As much as I’m feeling more and more withdrawal and loss, I’m also building up strength to press on…

Falafel Pita with vegan Mac n Cheese.

It’s pouring rain now…

Meeting up at Paige’s place—playing with her rat…

Anthony has a friend that works at a coffee shop off Lombardy. There. Drinking Coffee with a Coffee Crumb Cake…

Goodbyes can be tedious and overwhelming…

Heading back to VA Beach…

Anthony’s in the passenger seat—everyone else asleep in the back. Talking about the invisible empire of songs or ideas that we as musicians of our nature like to build, the melodies that never get heard (invisible), the melodies that only get played once by it’s maker or discoverer (I) and never heard again…

The stereo blaring the whole way—sharing old recordings I did a few years back…and sharing Josiah’s old music projects—such amazing jewels of songs that seem lost forever except on my ipod…

As soon as we pull up into the driveway, Margot is waiting on the sidewalk. This is not how I wanted to see you, in tears again, and upset. I couldn’t even have a break to reflect or chill out for minute…

“I’m sorry for ignoring you today…”

I gotta take the kids to the China Bus by Rick’s Café so our talk isn’t long…She continues to read the blog and see my thoughts, plans, ideas, and feelings. I try to explain that it’s not fair for her or myself that she has a connection to my life like this. There can never be any kind of distance or space. It’s only hurting us and setting us back from any kind of healthy separation. It’s still so disheartening to see her in such pain…

Back inside…

Sharing raw cloves of garlic with Carmen and Greg—making a toast as if we were doing shots…

“Here’s to the hurricane, to our health, and our survival!”

Dinner: DiGiorno Pizza with Red Peppers. A can of Milwaukee’s Best.


Sleep 5 a.m.

Wednesday August 24 2011

DREAM: In a warehouse. I’ve obtained “the spirit of ice” in my hands—an invisible human-like figure—a midget. I’m approached by another being called The Ice Man—he’s more reminiscent of the character Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat. He’s impressed with my possession. All of a sudden we hear an obnoxious pig noise on the other side of the room.

Me: “Oh, that’s probably just a manifestation from him. Or maybe I did that…”

I look over and it’s understood that a monster (the one creating that pig noise) found our enemies. Robert DeNiro comes running out. He’s supposed to be playing the role of Hitler. Rachel is supposed to be his wingman or sidekick or maybe a secretary or just a pretty lady or girlfriend. The goal here is to find a common ground not through violence. The people on my side have managed to corral everyone in a circle in order to have some kind of peace talks. I’m the last one to sit down. There’s a spot next to Hitler (DeNiro). Just as I’m about to place myself down, Rachel dives into the spot causing me to relocate on the other side of the circle. Peace talks commence.

Waking up…getting out of bed around 12:30 p.m.

Breakfast: Rotten White Peaches. Orange Juice.

Trader Joe’s trip. I get back home to find Anthony sprawled out on a blanket in the backyard. I toss him a banana to which he catches as if already expecting it.

Later…Anthony: “Thanks for that banana. It was providence.”

Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade. Green Figs.

Playing around with a few melodies on my Yamaha synthesizer.

Cleaning out my computer—rearranging files—organizing—making more space.

Working on Ableton.

Bike riding to the storage unit—entranced by the piano—working on a drony new song. Every time I sit down to play piano something just takes me captive. I’m put in such a soothing state of mind. Re-learning a Beethoven song I used to know. After a while I hit a certain point…I can’t go on…leaving…

On the ride back home something boils up inside me—a pain—a longing—but not an affection for any person……feeling weighed down with obligations and responsibilities and manhood and adulthood and…well, I have to scream, out loud…because all I want to do is play music and make music and live in music. I’m entrapped in this desire to make melodies…and there are too many obstacles. I don’t want to stagnate. I want to develop!

Dinner: Beer Battered Cod Filets with Rice and Broccoli. Kirin Ichiban.

I’m restraining myself in many ways…out of respect…I want to respect you. I want to do what’s right. I don’t know what you expect to happen. But I expect a change. I expect a new path. I expect a new season. I’m fending for control. I’m also wallowing in what once was, well, not really wallowing—but it’s on the tip of my mind perpetually: everything I will lose. You, I will lose. I’m prepared. I wasn’t before. Distractions. Healthy new distractions. Long lasting and edifying distractions help. I’m dabbling in something new. Something I’m not used to. Something fresh. I find it appropriate for me. Paving the way………Sexuality is an animal. We Are Animal. Or Are We Human? More Than Human. I Am Man. I Am.

Earlier I sent Anthony an email of a Craigslist ad for an awesome house on 26th street. I saw the ad and just had a wishful thinking moment like, If only we rented this place instead.

He replies with, “We'll always be looking for places to start our Spartacus projects...someday buddy, someday.”

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Watching Wild Target [2010]. Emily Blunt—exquisite beauty.

Sleep 3:30 a.m.

Tuesday August 23 2011

{found this floating around}

DREAM: In a convenience store. Felicia and Loren Barton are roaming around. I haven’t seen them in a long time, not since I used to go to church. I walk up to Loren, who looks slightly different…

Me: “Isn’t it strange how time has passed? Like, soooo much time has passed.”

He responds with a smile but I can’t remember what he says…

☼ ☼ ☼

In a theater hall…I’m watching the rehearsal of a musical/play. A big harp is set up with two people plucking the thick strings creating these weird harmonic semitones. But in front of the harp is a glockenspiel of sorts—someone is hitting it with mallets—simple melodies. At one point everyone is lined up to sing or recite the last lines…which are…


This is the part where I join them. I turn around and slowly inch back into the group. One of the girls places her hands on my shoulder—feeling a comforting sensation as she caresses my backside. We all point out that this is appropriate for the scene because we’re singing LOVE LIFE and by touching one another it’s representative.

☼ ☼ ☼

An apartment complex—an ancient one. Exploring a bathroom where the flooring is intricately built with multiple steps and grooves making it unusually difficult to walk around in. I have this desire to draw water in the bathtub and drown myself in it before I wake up, or in order to wake up. So I start removing everything in the tub. There’s too much stuff in here. Felt mats. Cassette tapes. Towels. Pillows. My pants are off. There are radios, alarm clocks, and CD players off to the side plugged into many outlets and power strips. I’ve already turned on the faucet—checking to make sure it’s the right temperature. Concerned about being electrocuted…so I relocate the power cords up on the windowsill. There are no drain stoppers though and the water is clearly draining down the side into a pit. I climb down to the bottom—finding more items along the way. I crawl in through an opening and into this large basement room—a big wooden structure in the center, kind of like a stage, maybe used for a carnival or freak show. Someone else is here. A man. He’s in charge.

Me: “Wow. I didn’t know this was here.”

I open up a latch built into the wooden stage—long metal rods similar to a stick shift—I grab them and begin to control an animatronic white horse or kangaroo in the center. It has boxing gloves. The man takes notice and doesn’t seem to think I have the skills for a marionette.

Me: “No. I’m getting better. Watch!”

I keep playing with the rods and find that, with practice, I can maneuver the horse to box with the man and it’d realistic.

Waking up just before 1 p.m.

Breakfast: Mango. Red Plum.

There’s purple window chalk on the driver’s side window of my car…I miss you too…very much ♥. I woooonder who that’s from…

Trying out Hot House Yoga around the corner—it’s been a while since I’ve done a session. After I get out I’m informed through friends that we had an earthquake…What? I recall earlier when waiting at a stoplight­…my car wobbled ever so slightly. I thought the engine was just rumbling a little more than usual. I looked at the other cars around me to compare. Now it makes sense. That was such a strange feeling…to know that the earth was shaking violently somewhere beneath us…

Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Kettle Cooked Potato Chips. Honey Green Tea. Strawberry Yogurt.

Meeting up with Mark Padgett at his studio. Teaching him piano lessons and showing him finger techniques.

Secrets. I love secrets. But I hate keeping them. I’m learning more and more everyday how important they are. My life, completely bare—having no mystery…can be misrepresentative. I want to value the mystery. Sometimes the only way to do that is to keep it close…

Dinner: Chili Beans with Rice and Mixed Vegetables. Kirin Ichiban.

Anthony corrals a bunch of ballers for basketball across the street from Wawa…“Welcome to the MBA, gentlemen. The Midnight Basketball Association!” A few games of 3 on 3 and knockout, skins vs. shirts. Using the headlights from our cars to light up the courts. Tristan and Rusty, an unlikely duo…

My favorite quote of the night: “Space Jam on Ice. The best thing that never happened!”

Hydrating with some Lemonade.

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Watching Jack Goes Boating [2010]—warm moments—warm feelings.

Google work.

Sleep sometime before 4 a.m.

Monday August 22 2011

Waking up around 11:10 a.m.

Breakfast: White Donut Peach. White Nectarine. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Blueberry Yogurt.

Reading Dostoyevsky…napping…

…but I never noticed in them those bursts of cruel sensuality which overtake almost everybody on our earth…

Oh, how I longed for Truth—no, not called upon it, but wept. Rapture, infinite and boundless rapture intoxicated me.

Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

At the house…A few days ago Darren cut his finger really bad at work, like so much a nice chunk of it is gone. In the kitchen he mumbles something about drinking some alcohol to help cope with it…

Me: “Are you one of those stupid people that thinks alcohol is the remedy for everything?”

Darren: “Are you one of those stupid people that thinks the internet is the remedy for everything?”

It’s a slow afternoon at China Wok—no orders—soI decide to relax on the couch for a bit. Anthony peeks his head at the bottom of the stairs. He just woke up from a dream where he was driving in a car with his father. He plays “Second Chances” by Peter Bjorn & John on the stereo in hopes to open his dad’s mind to modern music, attempting to get him to listen to music with fresh ears instead of being overly critical, much like in the way Anthony can listen to the music his father prefers with fresh ears. The sunrise in the distance was vibrant with color, vivid, beautiful. This sticks out to him the most. Another dream involved him being a drug dealer and selling basketball shoes. In another, he was receiving angry texts from Margot exclaiming that Anthony ruined her life.

Lately, Anthony’s been playing Tokyo songs in the house. He texts me lyrics to the song Bridge to which I’m assuming he’s playing at the current moment: “We’ll fly back to bay bridge island.”

Me: “its Bain Bridge. its in seattle.”

Him: “That’s where the drummer and faye, in that thing you do, end up living.”

Me: “and he starts his Spartacus project.”

Him: “I love you man. i really do.”

Me (as a joke, in reference to the accusing customer text from the other day): “Ur a dam liar! im not stupid. Ur probably a homo.”

Him: “Was it my shorts?”

Me: “the chucks”

Pulling into the Hilltop plaza, I spot Leisa waiting by the bus stop in front of Borders. I park and run over to chat a bit.

Her: “It’s such a gorgeous day!”

Me: “I know…”

Chocolate-filled Cookies.

While filling up the fortune cookie box I discover an unsealed one. I crack it open. It’s fortune says, “You can only treasure what you cannot posses.”

Ice Cream Cone, I love you.


Good lord! China Wok is slow tonight. Only 18 orders all day as opposed to the usual 30…Surprisingly not as disappointed as I’d usually be. I feel relaxed and unfazed…

Back home…settling down at the dinner (card) table with Baked Cod Fillets, Steamed Artichoke, and Thai Noodles—Darren joins me on the other side with his own version of Ramen—sharing bottle PBR’s. We sit there sarcastically bickering and prying into each other—criticizing the other’s personality and stupidities and temperament. All the while Amanda and a friend of hers amuse themselves by observing from afar.

“Darren, you’re the most cynical person I know.”

Any conversation had between Darren and I is blatantly entertaining to anyone listening. We’re the perfect yin and yang, the black and white, the logic and the heart. We still have yet to put into action our idea to conduct a bi-weekly talk show featuring us, just talking, about anything. Eventually…

But for now Amanda and I are planning a DIY venue together where we hope to host SHOW N TELL and other shows…

After dinner and entertainment, I grab Carmen and Jonathan from upstairs and all of us venture to the Friend’s School rope swing. Talking about the decline of wooden playgrounds and the rise of plastic, and the decline of inventive play places like Discovery Zone and the old rock playground that used to exist off Shore Drive and Kid’s Cove at Mt Trashmore being reconstructed. It’s sad times for kids these days.

Analyzing the struggles of being single and deprived (of a woman’s touch) and how to cope without relapsing. I’m having a lot of restraint here. Trust me. I know you’re only one phone call away. And my desires are almost overwhelming. The withdrawal is hard to bear. But this is important.

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Sleep sometime after 4 a.m.

Sunday August 21 2011

DREAM: The ocean flows into a harbor—tall hotel buildings, beach city, collides on a shore—a tourist trap, but an exotic scene. Observing a guy ride the waves but not in a conventional surfing manner. He’s got a small board in hand, maybe a boogie board, and soars across the edge of the water—across the wave ripples—eventually reaching such a fast speed that he loops up into the sky and falls back down into the water. I am him. I perform this trick several times. As I’m high up in the air, shooting so high that I max the altitude of the surrounding buildings, I experience that excited nervous feeling you get similar to when you dip down on a rollercoaster. I reconvene back to a boat with two other guys, one of them is Anthony. There’s three white rope strands tied from three different points on the boat. We have to undo them if we want the boat to move. Each one of us takes responsibility for each rope. We hear people of authority back on shore yell out something about not using any form of light—Anthony holds a flashlight in hand and flickers it on and off.

I warn him, “We can’t even use a flashlight…”

After a few difficulties we finish untying the rope and we’re ready to move ☼☼☼ Switch to another scene………Cecily, my boss at China Wok, has gathered people into a circle encouraging us to pray… ☼☼☼ I receive a white envelope with a card in it, maybe from Hallmark, maybe it’s my birthday, or some special occasion. It says it’s from Michaela. I don’t open it. I don’t know why. But it’s understood it’s an extensive letter. I’m afraid of what it says…

Waking up at 11:30 a.m.

Breakfast: Cinnamon Toast Crunch Cereal.

All day shift at China Wok.

It’s a slow start at work—sitting there reading The Dream of a Ridiculous Man by Dostoevsky. This is good writing. Then, it hits me again amidst the flowing words of Fyodor…

That heat. That murderous feeling. That damn lava lake passing through my bloodstream……I don’t understand. But maybe I do. I know these sensational feelings all too well…It’s just so overwhelming at times—pushing me to do things I would normally be able to restrain myself from doing, not necessarily harmful or destructive things, but…ah, well, they’re just thoughts—just feelings—just a state of being, but an all consuming one at that. It will come and pass like it always does. Season after season…

“Dreams seem to be induced not by reason but by desire, not by the head but by the heart, and yet what clever tricks my reason has sometimes played on me in dreams!”

- Dostoevsky

Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

In front of the line of cars waiting at the stoplight, intersection of First Colonial and Laskin. Every time I see a Kia Optima I think of you but this time it’s yours. There you are across the way. It’s undeniably yours via the MARGOAT license plate. The light turns green—we go. I have no choice but to cross your path. I can’t turn and look. I just can’t. I can’t even look at you. I don’t need to. I know what your face looks like and I know what expression it’ll have…pensive, sad, awkward. Why look. Mine will be the same. I miss you.

Chocolate-filled Cookies.

It starts raining like crazy…the Nostrum kids at Stephanie’s house place an order…

The restaurant is slammed…the phones ringing nonstop…the online orders pop out of the printer like hotcakes…and the walk-ins pile up inside. It’s mayhem and I end up having to call 6 or 7 customers to warn them their food will take longer than projected—offering them free 2-liters and free spring rolls with their orders. Most of them are understanding. I have to use my delivery guy super powers…

Dinner: Vegetable Lo Mein. Mission Street Blonde Ale.

Commotion and shenanigans at 1435…

With Skippy and Anthony—we take the Friend’s School shortcut to get to Kmart (Milk Adventures). Of course just as I predicted and expected, we run into complications. They can’t take the Oberweiss glass bottles after 10pm, meaning I can’t buy milk. I settle for some plums and mangoes. Mission failed…

Not doing much…except thinking…longing…missing…

Sleep sometime after 3:30 a.m.

Saturday August 20 2011

Waking up just before 11 a.m.

Breakfast: Plain Bagel with Cream Cheese. Orange Juice.

I get a text from an unnamed number: 757-XXX-XXXX

X: “Who is this”

Me: “more importantly, who is this?”

X: “No u called me”

I had to think for a minute…and remembered this was probably a customer that I delivered to yesterday. I sometimes call the customers to confirm an address or when they don’t answer the door…but this number never answered thus when seeing my phone number on their call list the next day, probably got confused as to who and why I was calling them…

Me: “oh. duh. im the china wok delivery guy. i probably called you yesterday.”

X: “Ur a dam liar! im not stupid…Ur probably a homo”

What? I’m not sure how to respond to that.

Me: “haha”

Either his response was a joke, or this guy is truly convinced I’m gay. The first is more likely. I’m okay with whichever. But people never cease to amaze me with their inability to jump to conclusions. Context clues are huge…

After a delivery I arrive back at the restaurant. A girl with a buzz cut is roaming around in the restaurant. It’s Zana! She cut off all her hair…“The Lord told me to…” Her mother is here with her and she’s just as sunny and friendly as her daughter. They’re enthralled with the contrast of the huge dark storm clouds in the distance with the sunshiny skies…they’re taking their Chinese food outside to observe it while they dine…

Me: “She knows everybody.”

Mother: “I mean, she’s so friendly.”

Zana: “Life is far too short not to be.”

Me: “You’re right.”

Zana: “Alright. Goodbye, love.”

She calls everyone and everything, “love”, with that British twang.

Me: “Okay. See you later.”

Zana: “I mean, I don’t believe in goodbyes.”

Me: “I know what you mean.”

The mother walks back in to retrieve some forks and spoons.

Her: “This seagull just flew by. It was like this white beautiful speck in the sky…”


Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Joanne Zysk: “Friendship blossoms among the upheaval.”

Attempting to nap in the car during dead hour.

Chocolate-filled Cookies from Target.

Busy evening for Chinese food.

Delivering to 1625 Michigan Avenue, which is right next door to 1623. Nostalgia. Everything looks the same. Still not rented out to anybody else yet…

“The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.” --- James 5:16

Ice Cream Cone, thank you for stimulating my taste buds and being the cherry on top to my successful work shift.

The tips were surprisingly generous tonight and I made way more than I made yesterday. That picture song by Filter is the soundtrack to my victory. In this moment. Everything is in its right place. The music. The attitude. My morale is high. Stoked on life. I feel happy, satisfied with my labor. If only I had someone to have sex with when I got home…I could. But I can’t. I’m not.

Back home. Settling down with a Mission Street Blonde Ale…having an extensive phone conversation with Raven—she’s been playing a unique role in my life and I appreciate the connection and the nurturing…

There are few things I’m dead certain about. And most other things I like to see as a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Ideals. Expectations. What’s the point? Allow movement. Allow unrestriction. Be strong. Be careful. But be free………That is my vision.

Dinner: Spaghetti with Onions and Peppers in Tomato & Basil Sauce.

Starting Blue Valentine [2010].

Sleep sometime after 3:30 a.m.

Friday August 19 2011

Alarm goes at 10:50 a.m.

All day shift at China Wok.

Orange Juice. Coffee Roll and Milk from 7-11.

Waiting for orders…reading a few enlightening entries in this Rootless & Restless zine…feeling terribly tired…napping in the car, underneath the shade of a tree—windows down, cool breeze on my face…and then…phone rings [strings: duh duh duh]…

Me: “Yeah?”

Cecily: “You have order.”

Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

I’m suppressing these feelings of disconnect, of loss, of your absence. I recognize that.

Lunch: Chicken Sandwich from Chic-fil-A with Waffle Fries and a Sweet Tea. (I can only eat egg sandwiches for so many days in a row.)

Getting frustrated because I keep getting stuck with shit tip deliveries and all the orders are completed in perfect time for the other driver to take a bulk sum while my work is dwindled down to one or two at a time. I just feel cheated.

So much anxiety builds up in me while I’m driving—determination to get back to the restaurant as quickly as possible. Get it done! Get it done! One minute lost could mean one tip opportunity lost.

Ice Cream Cone, stimulate my taste buds and soothe my inner being…pleeeease!

Just delivered to a Roller Derby rink I didn’t know we had off Lynnhaven Parkway.

Joanne Truitt makes a surprise visit—ordering Chinese Tofu.

After counting out and calculating almost nothing compared to what I usually make in a day, I drive home feeling defeated—it’s like I’m not even capable of smiling…I just want to cry…but I don’t.

Dinner: Spaghetti with Onions and Peppers in Tomato and Basil Sauce. Garlic Bread. Mission Street Blonde Ale.

Finishing Triage [2008].

You were more than just a thought tonight, baby. I know, I can’t call you that anymore. I shouldn’t. But I don’t know what else to call you. It’s the only name that ever fit. The only word that defined it just right. I really am thinking about you hard. I’ve been putting on a pretty good front for everyone. I’ve surprised myself.

Right now there’s some sad Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s song on repeat guiding this mood. I’m just sad. Really. Really. Sad. Heavy eyes. I see your face. That was my face. That. That was mine. And I know you would respond with, “I’m still yours.” I know you would. You would. I’m sorry for the distress I’ve caused you. I’m sorry for this abrupt ending. I don’t know if it was all that abrupt. But I know I surprised you with my steadfastness. I got the Hello Kitty note you left me at Rachel’s party…“I was here. miss u” You’re still here. In my mind…

Downstairs—I put on the Tokyo DVD that Chris Cloud just sent me in the mail. It’s the master copy of it so we can now mass print it whenever we want. Anthony sits there and watches the whole thing. I walk in the kitchen to find Old Fashioned ingredients sitting out on the counter. I make myself a glass—it’s a little stronger than I’m used to but it matches my mood. A nice night walk around the neighborhood—carrying my drink—letting the cool breeze sift through the pores in my skin. Nobody around. No cars moving. No computer screen. Nothing but me. Just me. I make it to the rundown volleyball courts by the school. Talking to myself. Talking to God. Reiterating the ideas that surround me daily. Longing for a reset. Then, the water from the heavens begin to sprinkle over everything…

After he finishes the viewing, Anthony writes a review for the Tokyo DVD and hands it to me,

“A tender hearted, bittersweet reminisce of a young band dealing with 3 important questions: Where did we start? Where have we been? And where do we go from here?


There are secrets and there are confessions. But secrets have to come first.

Sleep 4 a.m.

Thursday August 18 2011

DREAM: It’s one in the morning—taking Kelly Suddeth to my old church, Freedom Fellowship on the corner of Regency and Wolfsnare. She has her own car and I have mine—we park them right at the entrance to the parking lot. The side door to the church is open. I’m there because I want to load some musical equipment into a room downstairs or maybe I’m there to just practice. Before we head in, a cop rolls by…slowly.

I whisper to Kelly urgently, “Kelly…C’mon. Before he sees us…

She takes her time, half-worried about the cop. But it’s too late. The cop pulls up, gets out, and questions our presence here. I’m having a hard time explaining that I used to attend this church and that our intentions are harmless. He’s being uncompromising…and an asshole about it. My mom shows up. I attempt to get help from her end but she seems to be on the neutral side and only points out that I’m at fault. A few other church members show up too. It’s understood that I overstay my welcome…and take too many liberties…it’s as if this is a common condition I have in waking life, but not really. The cop escorts us downstairs to one of the classrooms and holds us there as punishment. We have until 7 a.m. The cop waits by the door—falls asleep. 7 o’clock comes around and I pack my things up. He wakes up, a little disoriented.

Me: “Alright! I’m ready. You have to let us go now.”

He escorts us back outside but our vehicles are gone. It’s understood they got towed because of a sign that says it’s private property. At this point, I’m at my limit. I’m in a terrible state of mind—I start crying in anger—stomping my feet—yelling at the cop, showing no respect at all for his authority because he’s the reason my life is ruined…

Me: “Fuck you! I don’t have the money for this. FUCK COPS!”

I demand that he takes us to the precinct where our cars were being kept. He’s reluctant..

Me: “It’s the LEAST you could do, man!”

I wake up as if I just got out of coma. That dream was so emotionally distressing—it felt real—my emotions were more vivid than usual.

Arising out of bed just before 1 p.m.

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Business—things here and there…

Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Watching Triage [2009].

Nostrum film shoot for the show scene of Dream Girl…It’s fun playing the same 2-minute song 20 times in a row…

It’s past midnight and I’m finally back home after almost 5 hours of Nostrum stuff. It feels like I’ve been working all day. And I haven’t eaten properly all evening except for a Coke, a Zebra Cake, and an individual bag of Sun Chips. Luckily, there’s some leftover Lasagna in the fridge that Anthony’s parents made using an authentic Spanish recipe—a tad bit sweeter than usual lasagna. Settling down at the flimsy green card table with my meal—Anthony’s reading a book across the way—he’s playing a Willie Nelson cassette tape on the stereo. He can’t get over Willie Nelson’s story to fame and how he got so discouraged with music he quit and became a pig farmer for 5 years. Then one day he struck up the musical wind again and became the famous country singer we all know him as.

Him: “Five years, man! To me and you that’s just a figure…”

Me: “Yeah I know. Five years. That’s a long time…”

Him: “Imagine some kid going through all of high school and then heads off to college in that time frame.”

What’s your pig farm?

I always know exactly what Anthony means before he even tries to speak his mind. I get it. I get him. I know him. I just sit there sipping on a Mission Street Blonde Ale. Kelly Suddeth is dancing gracefully on the other side of the room to the country rhythms, clad in a brown dress that falls down to her ankles and barely a piece of floral cloth covering the top of her chest…

Me: “This is what a man really needs, Anthony—to watch a woman dance. Not women. Just one woman…”

Kelly has been a pleasant accompaniment to the house as of late. She’s couch surfing off and on here and other places. As we watch her move I take notice to the subtle sensuality in her movement. There’s a sense of freedom in her step. Anthony and I both need this…

Sleep 4:30 a.m.

Wednesday August 17 2011

DREAM: I went to the gym to play some basketball. I brought my own basketball, which is a little soft but pumped up with plenty of air. Shooting around with whomever else—using the other balls provided by the gym, which are exceptionally bigger than mine. Some time has passed. I discover my ball has been wrapped up in a clear plastic bag half full with nasty brown juice from the trash or something. I’m disgusted by it and confused as to why this happened.

Waking up just after 1 p.m.

Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

There’s countless cans of PBR in the recycle bin, overflowing into black baskets—remnants of the night before…cleaning up.

Google work.

Lunch: Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

At Rachel’s place—everything is packed and ready to go—helping her dad move a big couch and dresser into a U-Haul. Catching kisses with Kino…

White Peach. Strawberry Yogurt. More Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Nostrum film shoot at a convenient store off North Hampton…

Chocolate-filled Pandas Cookies and a quick stop at McDonalds for a Fish Filet Sandwich and Fries (guh).

Shooting in an apartment off Bonney Road—thoroughly impressed with the eclectic décor surrounding us—the scene being shot in a small room reminiscent of Spencer’s, complete with handcrafted art projects—glamorous mannequins—collectibles and gag novelties.

Back home, we’ve got 5 couch surfers staying for a few nights—two from Hungary, two from Poland, and one from England.

Eating a Carrot.

Sharing Popcorn with people downstairs—tossing pieces into each other’s mouths…

Sharing a pint and half of Belgian Pêche Lambic Beer with Kelly Suddeth while she finishes the Blankets book. My fingers smell like they’ve been plucking guitar strings…feeling loose and ready for bed…

Sleep sometime after 4 a.m.