Thursday November 1 2012


☼ ○ ▬

A stream of dream sequences all inter connected with the same repeating characters and stories that progress. I’m a cop arguing with other cops inside the office about a buddy of ours that recently was dismissed from his police duties because he was gay. I opposed all the other’s snide remarks about him and demand, “Why can’t there be a cop that’s gay? What’s wrong with that?” Octavia, the African beauty I met last night at Lola’s, is here by the front door. It’s understood we’ve eloped, like she’s my girl and all. She’s wearing a short thin dress, orange-red in color. A mother and a young daughter walk by her to exit the building. She lifts her dress up to where one can see her ass in full bloom. The mother doesn’t pay any mind but the daughter grins and looks at me. I dart over and embrace Octavia.

▬ ○ ☼

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

Recuperating from yesterday.

Margot calls me and we share our Halloween experiences like old friends.

Naan Bread with Hummus, Cheese, and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Watching The New Daughter (2009).

Editing some old blog entries.

Basketball shenanigans with Anthony.

Black Beans with Onions, Garlic, Kale, Carrots, and Quinoa.

Margot requested some casual interaction. I borrow Kevin’s road bike and haul over there. It’s a nice chilly ride. I don’t stay too long, just long enough to watch a few clips from Friends and share mild affection. It feels like second nature. Part of me feels off and not in the right place but the other part of me feels like its harmless. I can’t avoid the fact that I feel dead in a way, mostly from this week’s personal existential struggle. But even this feels dead to me. I leave her to go to sleep.

Back home.

Bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar and Milk.

I get lost in reading for a little while and then revert to watching the first episode of The Wonder Years (1988 – 1993), the classic American sitcom that aired when I was a kid, an inspiration to any suburban middle class kid.

It was the first kiss for both of us. We never really talked about it afterward. But I think about the events of that day again and again and somehow I know that Winnie does too, whenever some blowhard starts talking about the anonymity of the suburbs or the mindlessness of the TV generation. Because we know that inside each one of those identical boxes, with it’s Dodge parked out front, and its white bread on the table, and its TV set glowing blue in the falling dusk, there were people with stories, there were families bound together in the pain and the struggle of love, there were moments that made us cry with laughter and there were moments, like that one, of sorrow and wonder.

Sleep 4:30 a.m.

[i] The Wonder Years (End of First Episode).

No comments: