Friday November 2 2012


☼ ○ ▬

We’ve all bought tickets to an amusement park that’s understood to be Busch Gardens, but it’s already 8 o’clock and they’re supposed to close at 10. The group I’m with is taking too long to make decisions and use the restroom so I ditch them and run into Elliott.

Me: “Hey! Do you wanna ride this rollercoaster with me?”

At first it seems like the ride is out of service but as soon as we creep around the corner we see the coasters whooshing by. For some reason I can’t stay on the walking path and venture off onto the grass where the rollercoaster track feeds directly above me. I hear the rumble of the coaster. I drop to the ground on instinct and stay low. The coaster zooms by. I can just barely feel the touch of a rider’s shoe. If lift my head up just one centimeter decapitation might be possible. Even after one coaster goes by, another one from another track comes just as close to my body. I’m scared. I have no control. Why wasn’t I paying attention to the path?

▬ ○ ☼ ○ ▬

I’m with my mom. We’re about to head out to the car to go home. I’m carrying an antique toy carriage about the size of a mini-fridge. We stop by a pawn stand where you can sell old items for cash. Apparently we’re in desperate need of the money. We’re able to reward ourselves with $300. We continue on our way out the double glass doors. Somehow I lose my mom. And I can’t remember where the car is. I’m forced to take a complicated direction around the main building. I step inside where a massive Star Wars convention for kids is going on in an amphitheater. I’m already at the top of all the commotion. I make my way behind the scenes through half constructed corridors and staircases. I’ve reached what I think is the bottom floor. On the way down the stairs I get tangled up in electrical cords and give up.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up around 2 p.m. to the sounds of Anthony strumming away on his guitar in the next room.

I find a text from my mom she sent at 6:33 a.m., “good morning son...this is a strange time for me to text you...but I have to tell you this. I hear the Spirit of the Lord say ‘get alone with Me in total is there in this intimate place with Me that you will be free...all the gifts still locked inside of you will begin to come forth’ says the Lord.”

My mom regularly sends me uplifting things of this sort but this one in particular grips me because it speaks somewhat of a solution to the personal emptiness I’ve been experiencing. I feel drawn to get away from this house. I need to go somewhere and restore my spirit.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice

Watching the second episode of The Wonder Years (1988 – 1993).

And in the end that’s as far as Winnie and I went that day. Maybe we both felt we’d already come too far too fast. Maybe we both realized that growing up doesn’t have to be so much a straight line as a series of advances and retreats. Maybe we just felt like swinging. But whatever it was Winnie and I made an unspoken pact that day to stay kids a little while longer. 

Anthony texts me, “Why is it that our own songs always sound the most awkward to us?”

Me: “because we are the voice of our inner selves and only we know the deeper meaning behind those lyrics and melodies.”


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

Watching Heavenly Creatures (1994).

Solo basketball time at the Mill Dam courts.

A big bowl of Salad with Mixed Greens, Spinach, Carrots, Onions, and Cilantro with Champagne Dressing. Miso Soup. Potato Bread.

Editing old blog entries.

Downstairs there’s social commotion going on. Some guy that lives across the street is here and seems to be putting off a semi-negative vibe on everyone, but only to the sensitive ones. He’s drunk and keeps calling us all hippies and saying we’re all from Richmond. When talking to me he’ll say, “Hey Hippie #5!” or “Hey Treeback!” I happen to be wearing this old jacket from high school and it has a painted tree on the back of it. “You’re really nice, man. You seem like the nicest one here.” “You guys think you’re all artists don’t you?”

Meanwhile, I bake some Pumpkin Muffins from scratch.

Eating quite a few of those muffins with some Milk.

Watching The Wonder Years.

I recline back in my computer chair and finish up on my reading of Franny and Zooey. And what a wonderful note to end on. I’m left in a deep thought world of personal evaluation – the reasons I do things – the reasons I say things – the reasons I am the way I am. Who for? What for? For the “Fat Lady” (a term mentioned in the book). For an invisible idea of perfection? Oh this spiritual journey is brisk.

“An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else’s.”

Sleep around 4:30 a.m.

[i] The Wonder Years (end of the second episode).

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