Thursday November 8 2012


Around noon I wake up in Margot’s bed. Everything’s normal and natural. No sex. It was just a proper sleepover.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

At random I get a message from Octavia, the African beauty I met briefly at the Halloween ball. We’ve only exchanged a few casual messages through Facebook. She happened to be on this side of town and asked to grab a bite to eat with me. We meet up at Rick’s Café. I sip on Coffee while we do the get-to-know-you chat. I didn’t know what to expect because the first time we met she was wearing a unicorn costume. Dressed in spunky street attire and talking with a shade of apathy, I get a glimpse into this girl’s outlook on life. Half Hawaiian and half African; she thinks my face is handsome.


Me: “So what is your expertise? What do you do?”

Her: “I used to play guitar. I used to play the piano. I used to play the clarinet. I used to do a lot of things. Now I’m just boring.”

Me: “Well, what does a boring person do?”

Her: “Boring things.”

Me: “Boring things?”


Me: “Well what are boring things, though? I’m not familiar with this boring philosophy.”

Her: “I’m not either. I’m still tryna get used to it.” 


She describes something strange she finds herself doing on occasion...

Her: “I’ll be skating around Ghent. Like, I’ll stop at a 7-11, grab two 40’s, skate around and find the first bum. If the first one is nice to me I’ll sit down and give them a 40 and I’ll have a 40 and vent to them about my life.”

Me: “I mean, that’s really cool. They get the free 40. They get the company. I mean, I’d be honored to be that bum.”

Back home Anthony is engaging in his regular crank-up-the-music-workout-time. I slip on my pajamas and join him in song and dance – jumping off the couch cushions and onto a mattress – spinning Jupiter inside a clothes hamper – dizzy – dizzy – jumping jacks – twirling arms – stomping up and down the stairs.

Egg Sandwich with Hummus and Tomato. Tortilla Chips with Salsa and Guacamole. Honey Oolong Tea.

Practicing some songs at the storage unit.

There’s a medium-stakes poker game I heard about through Mike Gombas that takes place weekly. I invite Art to join me. This is an extremely different crowd of people than I’m used to hanging with, the Natty-drinking sports-watching type, but the vibe is hospitable and I learn to adapt quick. One of the dudes even has each individual card suit tattooed on his knuckles. All of us packed in a cozy heated garage space. I sip consistently on bottles of Killian’s and snack on Goldfish. I last for a good while until about two hours in when I’m pushed all in on a confident pair of tens that loses to a two pair. These guys aren’t babies; they’re men. They know the game well and know how to work you if you let them. I enjoy the atmosphere for a while and wait on the sidelines rooting for Art to push through but he doesn’t make it. I spent $10 to start and bought $10 more after half time. I wouldn’t say it’s a terrible loss. I’ll make up for it next time.

Back home. Some of the kids arrive home. Rachel and Wyatt hang out in my bedroom while I eat a big bowl of Black Bean, Corn, and Pepper Rice Soup. Wyatt shows me some critically acclaimed French film called Fantastic Planet from 1973. We continue sharing recent movies we’ve discovered. I take the two lovebirds home.


At “The Rephan Safe House” as Rachel so lovingly calls her new condo abode. I get the tour. The upstairs bathroom has a mural above the tub that gives you the impression you’re in paradise. I encourage Rachel to pose for a phone photo op. Her and Wyatt’s room has a pleasant aesthetic to it. She’s excited to show me her feature in this art zine that was published in Richmond. Salvaged Artist Interview: Rachel Rephan. I get a free copy. I can really appreciate the beauty of her world and the fact that Wyatt, who is also a wonderfully artful companion, is a part of it makes it all that much more beautiful. I peruse the artwork that both of them are doing and it makes me proud to be so close to all this creativity. 

Back home.

Sipping on Chocolate Milk and watching Max (2002). The art themes in this movie are spot on.

Sleep 5 a.m.

[i] Image by me.

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