Monday August 29 2011

(Jamaica Dyer

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.

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