Tuesday July 10 2012


☼ ○ ▬

My mom and I hop inside an ambulance but it’s the size of a trailer home with a lot of walking space. I start driving down Virginia Beach Blvd. It’s raining. Kenneth, being his normal self, is whacking a golf ball with a hockey stick in front of us as a kind of playful gesture. I’m having a hard time controlling the ambulance vehicle. It’s understood it belongs to Kenneth. But I notice a display of kitchenware that used to belong to me. I encourage my mom to help me collect all the dishes and glasses that look familiar.

▬ ○ ☼ ○ ▬

In my house at 1435 in Chanticleer. I’m being held hostage in my bedroom along with a few others, some friends, and some strangers. The captors aren’t very hostile looking, just normal folks. It almost feels like I’ve been put in a SimCity-like game where anyone can take on whatever role they choose. A pole has been set up and it’s understood we will be tied up on it and killed. It’s not time yet. And they’re letting us roam about the house. I’ve even been allowed to hold onto my phone.

I inform them, “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

I trot to the downstairs restroom. The light doesn’t work so I keep the door ajar. My goal is to contact the police. I decide that it’s safer to not make any phone calls myself cause they’ll hear me. So I attempt to text James Graves. I open up the messaging app and have a hard time typing the correct letters in his name. It becomes a struggle. Someone walks by. I give up and walk into the living room. One of the captors passes by and tells me they’re heading to the store to buy a listening CD and some drinks. He laughs. I guess they want our murder to be a celebration. I plop down on the couch. There’s a substantial amount of people here, acquaintances and friends alike. I realize its mid afternoon and most had spent the night. James is here but just now waking up. A movie is playing on the TV. I grab a denim bound notebook with a collection of comic pictures inside. I locate a blank spot and decide to write a help letter to James, since I couldn’t text and since I can’t talk about it out loud. The pen is losing ink but I finally finish the letter.

...being held hostage...go out to your car and call the cops...they’re going to kill us...you must call them now...

▬ ○ ☼

1:37 p.m. I wake up with dread and anxiety but soon realize I was only dreaming. This hostage dream is representative I think of an oppressive and unsatisfactory relationship.

Oatmeal with Brown Sugar, Raisins, and Banana. Orange Juice.


Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Tortilla Chips with Avocado and Salsa. Honey Oolong Tea.

Watching Hard Target (1993).

Catching up on writing.

Baked Haddock with Broccoli, Mushrooms, Onions, and Rice.

Watching Black Hawk Down (2001).

Margot calls me randomly wanting a partner to go to Wal-Mart with.

Me: “I’m gonna have to decline.”

Her: “Why?”

Me: “Because I have my own thing I’m doing. And I don’t really wanna go to Wal-Mart.”

Her: “You don’t wanna see me?”

Me: “I don’t know.”


Her: “What’s going on with you? You sound conflicted.”

Me: “Yeah you conflict me. You conflict my life.”

I start discussing my sexual frustrations and how I might’ve been disappointed we didn’t have sex the night before, even though she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place, and even though I don’t feel it’s right. However I explain that it doesn’t make sense to go against this natural biological desire between us when we do see each other.

Me: “It’s a big part of how I connect with you.”


Despite, I feel led to join Margot in her Wal-Mart adventures. In return she helps me drop off my car at the shop. I’m in a funk the whole time...as if there’s a grey cloud looming above my head slowly growing...and I don’t know why. She’s all peppy as we browse the electronics section. I can’t seem to share the same excitement to be here surrounded by a wall of flat screen $1000 TV’s and $50 Wii games. I’m in a weird mood.

Her: “Why are you acting so glum?”

I can hardly put out any words that describe how I’m feeling. I don’t understand it myself.


She drives me back to the house. Parked in a spot. The car is still running.

Me: “I’m sorry. I feel so disconnected. I don’t know what’s wrong. It might be related to you. But it’s probably a culmination of things.”

She grabs my hand and swings my arm around her, leaning into my chest. 

Her: “It’s okay.”

Me: “I do feel sad.”

Her: “If you need anything call me.”

Me: “Okay.”

I step out of the car...

I go for a quick run around the neighborhood, as fast as I can at first and then pacing myself. Feeling destructive. Picking up an unopened bottle of Dasani off the ground and slamming it with all my might across the street – bottle cap pops off and water soaring along Laskin Road.

This is what I’ve been aiming for. Independence. What am I pouting about? Discipline. That’s what I’ve been missing. I need to go on multiple fasts.


Trip to the CVS for milk and chocolate.

What is the key to happiness? You can’t be aware and happy. The key to happiness is unconsciousness.

Cinnamon Toast Crunch with Milk.

Watching Black Hawk Down (1993).

Sleep 4 a.m.

[i] Jacques Prevert collage.

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