This is an open and unfiltered diary-style journal
on the life of James Robert Smith.
This blog will contain sometimes graphic experiences (both beautiful and ugly),
sometimes stark insight, and all honest and factual documentation of dreams, diet, activity, and thoughts.
Suddenly I wake up at 5 p.m. on the dot. Realizing I have to be at work at 5, I snap out of it forgetting about my dream entirely. I jump out of bed, and grab an English Muffin and some Blueberry Tea.
Work at China Wok.
It’s a slow night.
Trying to figure out how I slept so long. I crashed around 7:30 a.m. last night making it about 9 hours of sleep. Maybe it was the combination of reading the DOOM novel and the beer I had with it. Alcohol tends to make your sleep heavy.
Having to deliver an order over near Harpers Road, so I make a quick stop at the house for a hard-boiled Egg, Salt N Vinegar Chips, and some Honey Green Tea.
Number of Non-Tippers: 0
My boss sends me home an hour early.
Shower.
Stretching and exercising while listening to the Surfer Blood album.
Learning Russian on Rosetta Stone.
In the kitchen. Anna is asking me about honey and what it means when it’s unfiltered.
Jamil hasn’t seen Apocalypto, so I put it on.
Eating leftover Shrimp Sinigang.
James and Rocky are commenting back and forth on facebook. I invite them over for Chocolate Chip Cookies.
I add a little extra flour to the mix, which makes them extra plump.
Anna puts on these new pink and white toe socks she got from T.J.Maxx made from this incredibly soft material. James gets inspired and wants a photo of it on his phone.
Dumpster Dive at Trader Joe’s (see above photo): Apples, Oranges, Green Peppers. Squash, Grapes, Plums, Apple Grape Juice, Hummus, Pesto, Spanish Cheese, Eggs, Soymilk, Raw Sugar, Chicken Breasts, Mahi Mahi, and Shrimp with Jasmine Rice.
James wants to watch Total Recall, so he puts it on.
He tells me about some dreams he’s had recently: waking up and somebody shaved his entire beard off, insects taking over the world, crying about a cat that’s about to be put to sleep.
Washing all the finds. Talking with Art in the kitchen. He tells me about a factory he used to work for in Belarus that put out palettes of yogurt treats that were only about to expire in a month. The employees were allowed to take them home.
Sipping on Coffee and reading until Dave (Paleo) shows up He’s driving from Wilmington, NC and needs to crash on the couch tonight. He tells me he’s on a 9-month tour after which I noticed he seems rather road worn.
Recording at the unit.
Eating 1 and ½ Toasted Peanut Butter Sandwich and a Plum.
DREAM: Waiting in line to get on this ship that’s apparently too crowded and we might not make it on this time. I’m carrying a lot of stuff with me including my book bag, a graphing calculator, jackets, and pillows. They open up the gate to enter the ship—line starts moving slowly—I kind of skip everyone and hop on. Looking for a place to reside. There are numerous seats everywhere, mostly wooden. Plenty of spots open. The ship has already started moving. I’m roaming around outside on the deck but there seems to be a wall of grey rock instead of the ocean, as if I wasn’t on the ship anymore. A few people are sitting on the ledges. Looking for a place to read. I see a stack of ancient sheds I’ve explored in previous dream, but the doors are missing locks. All of a sudden I’m playing a live game of DOOM with a pistol in my hand. Shooting these strange black gorillas instead of the usual brown imps. In a cave one of them backs me into a corner. The pistol isn’t doing much damage—continuing to shoot but it’s too late. I die—game over. The ship will be docking soon. I have to find my friends—two girls. Scanning the crowds of people sitting down. Struggling to hold all my stuff. Realizing I let someone borrow this gadget of mine and I’ll never get it back. Probably for the better anyway because I can barley handle carrying my things. I walk out onto the deck on the other side of the ship and it’s an actual deck this time—ocean below me. Krystal Lerma, an old friend from high school I haven’t been in contact with, is leaning against the rail. With her is Dezi, another out-of-contact friend, or maybe it’s Teresa? I give her a warm and genuine hug. Then Krystal. I remember her having a kid and thinking she might be pregnant again. A line to exit begins to form at the front of the ship. I’m already standing there as if I started the line. Almost to the harbor. The ship makes this noise and bounces sporadically causing my baby pillow I’ve had for years to fly off into the water. Giving the people behind me a distressing look. My hand is on a black rubber bumper. I move it right when the ship hits the wall to dock. Alex Bailey is there. I jump off the ship searching for my pillow in the water. I see it floating up to the dock conveniently.
3:46 p.m. I wake up. Getting up past 3 makes me feel late for the world.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Blueberry Tea. Zinc.
Attempting to sell a mattress but it’s not to the old lady’s liking. She wanted a white one.
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.
Work at China Wok.
Earlier I rubbed my knuckles on something in a funny way, and for some reason that uncomfortable feeling has stuck with me, particularly on the left hand—I can’t keep my knuckles out in the open—hiding it underneath my leg while I’m driving—a psychological annoyance.
Number of Non-Tippers for this shift: 0
It’s that time of year when the mattresses start to appear.
Getting home from work. I see Emily walk outside and she’s in her underwear. I remembered her coming home last night in her underwear. “Emily, are you in your underwear?” I notice Kenneth is parked on the side of the street. “Be careful.” I go over to discuss a little business with him.
Margot has been saving up to buy a flat screen TV. She wants me to go with her and help set it up because she likes to have a man do things like that for her.
At her house now hooking up the new five hundred dollar gismo.
Eating DiGiorno and drinking a Coke.
On the couch watching True Blood together.
Sex.
No heavy arguments—a good night.
I decide to do something physically active. As I’m walking towards the basketball courts I hear screaming and hollering in the distance. Across the street at Wawa I see an army of black people corralling at the entrance. There seems to be some kind of fight going on. I hear applause and cheering. The cops show up soon after.
Shooting a few rounds, then picking up some milk.
Eating a Mango and a bowl of Crisp Rice Cereal with Brown Sugar.
Recording at the storage unit for a few hours. Making progress.
Rewarding myself with a Bud Light and a Toasted Peanut Butter Sandwich.
DREAM: I work for some secret service agency and I’ve been assigned a mission to prove that Moth Men exist. The only evidence I have of this is a newspaper article printed in a obscure town not many people have heard of; a lady admits to having seen one and took a photo of a Moth Man that attacked her. I walk into the building of a big company that keeps an archive of information. I have a brown grocery bag of different articles including the moth men newspaper clip and a ticket to get me into some Christian convention. I enter a dark meeting room and Margot is there. She’s suspicious and questions why I’m even here. I play it off and kind of whisper, “Hey…how are you?” The office of information is down the hall. I step inside. There’s 4 or 5 clerks sitting down—it’s crowded and most of them are busy helping other people. I approach a lady in her 40’s. I ask her if she knows anything about a Christian convention happening around here, “I need to find it.” I pull out the ticket. She examines it, but doesn’t seem to have a clue. I’m flipping through the newspaper clips I have in my brown bag—Margot is badgering me on why I have them. Finally, I veer in close to the lady’s face expressing that I’m about to tell her something that might sound crazy but is true, “The Moth Men are real.” I stay directed towards her so none of the other clerks hear me, “They’re real. It’s true. And my mission is to prove they exist.” Her face turns cold and fearful…☼☼☼☼☼ Two skyscrapers. Playing a realistic Unreal deathmatch game with Art (my room mate in waking life). We’re at the very top of the buildings, which are as small as 15x15 (Sq Ft) in diameter, and we have to be at least 300 stories high. I jump to the other skyscraper, which I’ve heard has a lot of secret items to help your game play. There’s 3 inches of ledge sticking out for me to step on. Taking my time I steadily maneuver around the side of the building holding onto these mini towers protruding out the top. I keep thinking to myself don’t look down, don’t look down. I start finding random items including a knife, a black revolver with silver bullets, and other misc articles. I crawl further in where I’m safe from falling. The building starts to rock back and forth like a tree in the wind. I’ve heard of very tall buildings doing this. A scary feeling hits my gut but I just hold onto the structure around me and I’m fine. I see Art in the distance looking for me from the other skyscraper. I start shooting my revolver but it’s difficult to hit him because my building is still swaying back and forth. I’m lying on my side in a very specific position. I’m in this same position when I wake up.
2:46 p.m. I open my eyes.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Blueberry Tea. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.
Selling a mattress.
Chris bought a new drum set. Loading stuff into the storage unit.
Lunch: Grilled Cheese. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Mango Oolong Tea. Blueberry Yogurt.
Running errands. Groceries, Bank, Thrift Store. There’s a guy that works at the thrift store by Kmart who always gives me a discount without even informing me about it. I found a big cooking pot I need to make Sinigang in. The sticker says $6.98. He only charges me $1.03. He lives in my neighborhood so I invite him to the Paleo show on Monday at my house.
Business.
Learning Russian on Rosetta Stone.
Cooking in the kitchen—making a Sinigang soup with all kinds of vegetables and Rice. JP startles me by knocking on the window. I wasn’t expecting him, but as usual it’s a pleasant surprise and he always shows up at the perfect time.
Watching Happiness [1998] with him and letting the soothing spicy citrus soup invigorate my nostrils and throat. Delicious.
He’s fascinated with the thundertube, which is a tube with a metal coil attached to it that when shaken reproduces a wonking thunder sound.
I invite everyone that is getting home from work to try the Sinigang.
Anna: “It’s nice to come home and have food already cooked, especially when it’s the man.”
Baking Chocolate Chip Cookies—drinking Milk.
Art and I duke it out on NBA Jam, which we haven’t done in a quite a long time. He wins the first two games and I, the last game.
Margot shows up just as we’re finishing. She’s distressed about a conflict with Emily and also a unique situation with her grandpa. I just listen and let her confide in me. Sometimes people just need to cool off before they confront their problems.
Cuddling together on the couch, she starts meddling with my keys attached to my jeans. I take them off, “You’re just like the cat. I have to take away all the toys from you.”
DREAM: In a small apartment—maybe I live here. On the floor with Anna—sitting in weird positions. (In waking life she’s been living at the house just for a few weeks.) At some point, I see she’s wearing these red orange panties and doing a Yoga position similar to the downward facing dog. We hear a hard knock at the door. We weren’t expecting anyone and it’s the middle of the night. I go to the door. A man is sticking his whole head through the peephole. His eyes are wild and I can see that he’s drunk so I’m cautious at first to even answer the door but I do anyway. When I open it I notice he has a nice size cutting knife (it looks just like the one from my kitchen). He’s frenetic and acting in a drunken stupor as if he just flipped his lid. He runs into the apartment. I sense a real danger now. Anna runs into the hallway and into another room where the others are. “Anna! Call 911!” I try my best to tend to the crazy drunk man keeping in mind the risk of getting sliced by his knife. I manage to tackle him and cause the knife to drop to the floor. Then, I kick him out of the apartment. I try closing it but he’s very strong and every time the door almost shuts, he barges in. I’m finally able to shut the door and lock it. But in all his power he still pries the door open breaking the hinges. Now he has a butcher knife! His arms pressing through the door—wrestling with his hands as to keep the knife away from me. I cry out to Anna and the others, “HELP!” I continue struggling with the man—the thought stuck in my mind that getting cut by this knife was going to happen…
Just after 3 p.m. I wake up. Ambrotious was still by my side sleeping peacefully a few hours ago, but he gets antsy so I had to let him out.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Blueberry Tea. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.
Exercising, stretching.
Loading equipment at the storage unit with Chris. He rides with me to the show. I grab lunch before we roll: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.
As we sit in traffic, Chris points out a girl driving a grey Camry that seems potentially cute from a distance. He wants me to pull around her to get a better look but the left is blocked from another woman in one of those cube cars. He’s frustrated. We finally get around and he’s disappointed.
I missed being around the Deas Vail guys—good to see them and hear their beautiful music.
Dinner: DiGiorno Pizza with Green Peppers. Twix.
Playing two-on-two games of Unreal with Art, Jamil, and Roma. Art is king at deathmatch. Jamil and I are kings at capture the flag.
I invite Art to a game of basketball. We play HORSE, Around the World, and then 21. At one point he has to copy cat a shot from behind the backboard and by chance makes it in. He slams the ball down on the cement in excitement and yells out in his Russian accent, “EEYEAAHH!” I can’t help but laugh out loud watching him. He loves competition in any kind of game we play together. It makes us feel like men.
Eating a bowl of Crisp Rice Cereal with Brown Sugar.
DREAM: Coming out of a mansion of a house that I supposedly live in—walking down the long driveway. In the middle of the street is a big boarded up box. At least that’s what it looks like from the back. It’s obstructing the road so I go to investigate. I discover it’s a basketball hoop game, like the ones that you see at a carnival and have to pay like 5 dollars for 3 shots. I get excited in a kid-like manner and start grappling all the balls in my hands and shooting. An excited man with his wife wants to play too. There’s stuffed animals all over the ground—I start throwing those in the hoop as well. A lion gets stuck in the net just as the other guy makes a shot in. He’s smiling and acting all giddy. So am I.
3:15ish waking up.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Pluot. Blueberry Tea.
Researching band management, publicists, and record labels.
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Watermelon.
Home at the End of the World.
At the storage unit practicing. Chris and Kal join me to rehearse for the show tomorrow at Club Relevant.
Taking a break outside—Kal and Chris smoking cigarettes. Kal tells us about a cave in New Zealand that has glowworms, and an experience when he past out in the dressing room of The Gap after his pinkie fingernail clipped off from pulling on some jeans too quickly. There was blood.
Chris is serious about his tailoring and fashion. “30 years from now he’ll have his own tailoring shop.”
Making dinner: Baked Fish with Peppers and Onions. Steamed Artichoke with Yogurt Dill Dip. Garlic Toast.
I invite Margot over to help me eat the artichoke but she’ll only eat it with hollandaise. Something seems to be making her feel weighted and her mood is not completely happy. I put on Spice World, mainly for background noise while I spend almost 30 minutes eating my food (the consumption of an artichoke takes a lot of work). Realizing it will probably take almost as much maintenance to make her happy as the effort I’m putting into this artichoke.
The Russians are playing poker tonight, so it’s a little crowded. I grab her hand and lead us into my room where we can be alone. After trying to understand her feelings and requesting a little less heaviness on her part, we enjoy some snuggling, which eventually leads to sex. Yeah it had been a while and there was nothing I wanted more than to be with her in those moments of ecstasy.
Unreal.
Eating a bowl of Crisp Rice Cereal with Brown Sugar.
Editing the guitars on Ableton.
Lying flat on my back, Ambrotious hops up on the bed and plops right on top of my stomach face to face with me.
Reading the first DOOM novel and, off and on, studying the cat’s contented face—his eyes half shut—a permanent smile painted on his cat face. Watching him stretch his body out—he’s always reminded me of a kind of real-life Hobbes from Calvin & Hobbes with his tabby stripes making him resemble a tiger.
DREAM: Consolidating luggage and other things in my green min-van in order to fit a twin mattress in the back because I’m leaving Blacksburg to go back home to Virginia Beach. My mom and stepdad are traveling with me. Trying to decide who will drive. I think I just finished playing a few shows—trying to persuade my mom to drive so I can lie down in the back.
Around 2:30 p.m. I wake up from a hard sleep and a deep dream.
Breakfast: Half of a Toasted Bagel Plain with Butter and Blackberry Spread. Earl Grey Tea. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.
The Russians are all off work today is seems.
Getting a few groceries at Target with Nic by my side.
Nic: “That’s America. Less effort, no results.”
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Watermelon.
Watching some of Home at the End of the World and thinking I need to watch this with JP by my side.
Leaving the Asian market on Great Neck after picking up Sinigang supplies, I see Rusty’s dad cross the heavy trafficked road.
Stretching, Meditating, Praying, Yoga, on the roof of the storage unit. It’s early evening—the sun is about to set. Feeling the light breeze on my skin—the birds chirping—the crickets starting their crickety song. Lying on my back, legs and arms spread out—watching all the flying objects in the sky pass each other on different levels: birds, planes, jets, and far off in the distance a jet stream. Where am I headed? I lost you somewhere along the way. These worlds that attract me, I can see them so vividly in my mind. What am I doing wrong? Staring into the light blue sky. I start to see those things they call “eye floaters” that you can only see in bright or white backgrounds. I try to focus on the details of the clear worm-like creatures but they keep moving around without my permission.
Changing a few strings on my acoustic guitar and playing some music.
I run into Wesley and Emily at home. We spray flea treatment on the cat in the bathroom.
Jamil is making Russian ravioli called Pelmeny, which consist of dough filled with beef.
Sitting at the coffee table with Jamil and Art eating some with a Yogurt Dill Dip along with Steamed Cauliflower and Green Beans, and Garlic Toast. They’re watching a documentary about these two Russians that drive around America in a Ford Explorer meeting people along the way and, well, documenting everything of course.
I walk into the kitchen to clean my dishes and I hear a hard tap on the window. I look over to find a middle finger in my face. This is a typical form of hello you can come to expect from Elliott. Inside, he describes his sinus congestion, which has made him feel really sick.
Emily’s about to go to bed—Wesley is sitting in the computer chair. I make a comment on the lack of affection they’ve displayed tonight and most of the times I’ve seen them. Thinking about my recent spats with Margot about her expectations of me to kiss her in front of people. Every couple has a different level of comfortability when it comes to physical affection, and I recognize her and I are on very different levels. There’s still plenty of warm places in my heart for her, however, whenever the drama escalates so does the bitterness. I refuse to be in a bitter relationship. I just want love. I want respect. Just a little bit?
Poker with the boys—Roma, Art, James.
Sipping very strong Coffee with Cream and eating Chocolate Chip Cookies.
Art wins the first game, and then we play a turbo round just him and I. He wins again.
Submitting my blog to numerous blog directories, which is taking a few hours.
Eating a bowl of Crisp Rice with Brown Sugar.
Off and on reading the first novel of DOOM.
Playing a little bit of Unreal, then realizing how much time I’ve been staring at a computer screen for the past 3 hours, I adhere to my body’s need to get outside and shoot some hoops!
The sun should be coming up in an hour but it’s still dark. I’m out on the courts alone—releasing pent up aggression. My hand eye coordination is dead on after practicing my shoot’em up skills. Talking to myself and pretending it’s the last 10 seconds of the last quarter in a real basketball game—fumbling around with the ball swerving to the right and left—counting down “3 2, and he goes for final score…” then hooking a shot at the last second. “It’s good! And they win the game!” Remembering a time when I was younger and I used to play ball constantly. My mom used to be a janitor for London Bridge Baptist Church, which had a huge gym. I spent hours practicing—thinking one day I would be in the NBA for sure. It was what I wanted to be when I grew up. And here I am, almost 10 years later—in the same town, delivering Chinese food and playing music. It’s strange to think about.
DREAM: In my parent’s room at the house in Ocean Lakes I used to live in. Having MUSICPLAYER practice. My amp set up against the wall facing the big bed. In my mind Chris and Kal are there, and even Tristan. But I look over and they look like somebody else, Jimmy, my stepdad, and my mom—they’re lying in the bed facing me—I’m standing there with my guitar strapped on and amp on. Jimmy is asleep and the others are tired. I want to practice more because it seemed like we didn’t even have a legitimate one. All of a sudden I’m high in the sky overseeing the entire city hanging from the track of a rollercoaster, Apollo’s Chariot maybe—all the other rollercoasters from Busch Gardens are in sight too along with buildings and houses for miles. It’s early evening and the sun is just about to set. The others are still nearby as if they’re just floating or maybe on top of a building. One of the Apollo trains rolls by fast and I plummet straight to the ground into the dark streets.
11:20 a.m. my alarm goes off.
Breakfast: Toasted Cinnamon Raisin English Muffin. Immune Defense.
Work at the ice cream shop at noon.
It’s steady—people coming in and out.
I start reading the first of four DOOM novels based on the computer game from the 90’s.
Lunch: Egg Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Watermelon and Papaya. Honey Green Tea.
I’m able to be home for an hour until I have to work at China Wok at 6.
Eating the rest of somebody’s grilled potatoes left on the stove.
Delivering the Chinese food for a few hours.
Number of Non-Tippers for this shift: 0
Playing a solo set at Chicho’s Pizza on 29th and Pacific with Mike Gombas of Counterfeit Molly.
Eating two slices of Pizza and drinking two Beers.
James, Rocky, Teresa, and William all come out.
The mood is light and comfortable.
Weezer songs.
Afterwards, we, minus William, take a stroll on the beach and get our feet wet—playing tag. The breeze has a nice touch to it and the water is quite warm. As we lounge in the lifeguard stand, three black dudes approach us. One of them, looking at Teresa in shock spouts, “Whoa, you’re black? We ain’t seen a black person all night.” The others shine their cell phone lights to get a clearer look. He tries to persuade Teresa and Rocky to swim in the water with him, eventually offering $5 in return. He also asks if he will get pneumonia from his bare nipples being in the water.
Talking on the way back to our cars—telling Teresa how I think African-American and Japanese seem like the perfect mix of races. We trade sweaters, but only for a short time. I give her my holey flannel in return for her regal sweater with triangular patterns and wide sleeves, which I find fascinating.
James found a folding chair on the beach. He’s trying to figure out how to fold it, but it seems impossible. Rocky gives it a try. No luck. After more attempts are made, I tell Teresa, “I bet if you try you’ll get it.” And within the first 10 seconds she successfully folds the chair.
Back at home. Eating a Cinnamon Bun with Milk.
Playing DOOM.
Thinking about an insurrection I feel is going to happen soon in my mind—someone a part of my life is trying their hardest to control me to their advantage. There’s much to be expressed here but I’ll leave this to my dreams to do the problem solving.
DREAM ADVENTURE: A floating island high the sky—filled with green trees and vegetation of all kinds including long bean stalks fallen over the sides connecting to the ground miles below—and various ancient buildings and structures built into it. Something bad is happening on the island. Two girls, two heroes flying in. I am one of them. I can see the fantastical island up ahead. I have some kind of bendy pole that helps me hover strategically—having problems with it and can’t seem to reach even the edge of the island. I start floating downward in a spiral fashion. Cutting through the clouds—the wind blowing hard on my face. Discovering I can contort my body in a certain way to help me elevate. But it’s too late. I’m too close to the dark water below—landing in it. Swimming through. A Great White Shark’s fin sticking out of the water and maybe an alligator is nearby. The shark’s big mouth wide open gnashing at my legs. Somehow, I’m protected and no damage is caused. I make it out of the water and onto a surface. My legs are covered in muck and blood from the shark but I’m still not hurt. I’m inside a building now trying to stay stealth and out of sight from the workers who work for the island, which is high above in the heavens, maybe about 100 floors up. Crawling around and hiding behind walls. In a brown elevator room. The buttons have unique symbols on them. Instead of the standard up and down arrows, there are horizontal and vertical lines: “—” “|” I tap the “|” button because it makes sense in my head that it would mean going up and down, and the horizontal line goes right and left. Waiting for the door to open. The “—” car opens up. A girl and somebody else get in. Just as their door is about to close, I place my hand in between the doors and jump in with them. I stand in the corner next to the dark-skinned girl—she’s very beautiful and her glittery chest is showing. I lean in close to her—rubbing my face on her skin—kissing the top of her breasts—squeezing her arms—kissing her neck. She seems to be reciprocating the lusty desires I have. In my mind I keep thinking this is Dezi, who is an old friend of mine. Maybe she recognizes me, but I never ask. The other person gets off the elevator and we’re left alone now. She agrees to help me get to the top where the island is. The door opens up to a small two-lane bowling alley where workers are hanging out—they all stop what they’re doing and freeze in a stare at her and I. We stay on the elevator—the doors shut. We get off again into another elevator room with blue walls. Looking at the number of floors written next to the buttons. “100! That’s where I need to go.” It’s understood that somebody knows I’m here. Now the sense of urgency heightens. I sense somebody coming after me. She tries to think of something while we wait for the elevator to open up. There I am—stuck inside a building with a beautiful girl—underneath a heavenly floating island to which I can’t seem to reach.
Around 2:30 p.m. I wake up.
Emily: “I just want to get an iced coffee with someone…and something chocolate.”
Breakfast: Toasted Cinnamon Raisin English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Hot Passion Tea. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.
I picked up a cell phone on the sidewalk last night and called someone named Sis to return it.
Sis: “Oh I hope he didn’t get locked up! Thanks for callin tho.”
A guy named Richie pulls up to the house to get the phone. He’s with a girl who I assume is Sis. Handing him the phone he says to me, “Thanks. You’re one of the few good ones.”
Work at China Wok.
Delivering an order on Lisa Sq. Waiting for the light to change on the corner of Oceana and Virginia Beach Blvd. A fairly heavy-set black guy on a vespa or moped is in front of me. Another black man with a cigarette in his hand walks past me and yells out in a raspy tone, “Hey! Can I get a ride?” The light turns green and the guy in front of me has already begun to rev up his bike. He turns his head around and looks back for a split second and replies, “HELL NO!” I laughed out loud for at least a whole minute.
Number of Non-Tippers for this shift: 0
Dinner: Baked Tilapia with Peppers and Onions. Basmati Rice. Steamed Green Beans.
Watching a little of A Home at the End of the World.
Updating stuff online.
After informing Art I would be baking cookies he says to me, “I love you, Robert.”
James calls me from Rick’s Café to see what I’m doing. He comes over.
We go dumpster diving at Trader Joe’s. The finds: Cauliflower, Chicken Salad, Papaya, Ginger, Pluots, Nectarines, and Eucalyptus.
Cleaning and organizing the dumpster finds at home. Hanging the eucalyptus in the bathroom to combat the stinky cat litter smell. James and I share funny internet junk.
DREAM: I’m supposed to visit “Grandaddy Markham,” who is my mother’s dad and actually dead in waking life. I only remember seeing him a few times when I was younger and of all those times he was bed ridden and diagnosed with schizophrenia. Either way, I’m in the backseat of a car—my father is driving and an unknown woman he’s been with or maybe it’s Brandy, my former stepmother, in the passenger seat. Riding through the halls of the hospital/nursing home. The address is “100”. I remember seeing “100” in the first hallway and tell my dad to turn around. The woman and I get a little frustrated with him because he missed the turn. We make it back. I get out of the car to check which apartment number he’s in. Looking at the list mounted on the wall with almost illegible handwriting. The first name on the list seems to be the closest match. It looks like it reads “Darby” or something. I’m about to walk off but then check again to be sure. I look closer at the scribble and now see that it reads, “grandaddy”. At his front door—I ring the doorbell once, then open the door to walk in. Some of the employees there inform me it’s okay to walk in because he can’t get out of bed. “This is my first time here.” I walk further inside and there he is on a bed in the corner next to three other patients. He’s excited to see me and waves me to come over. I have things in my hands that I thought were gifts but just seem to be things I’m carrying around. I set them down in the black chair beside the bed. He asks me how I’m doing—he coughs uncontrollably midsentence as his body convulses. They told me he experiences episodes like this from time to time. I notice most of his body is wrapped is some special plastic. It’s sad to see him like this because I knew he was in his last days. After his cough/convulsing spell is over with, he begins to give me advice on my life, telling me I should be strong and press on because “you have great things to accomplish!” ☼☼☼☼☼ In the dream, there’s this female photographer I know that does porno photo shoots. I go to her from time to time and she pays me well. At first it feels like I’m a girl. She has me lie on a bed under the covers naked. She’s on her side holding the camera with her head in between my legs. We start with simple face shots. She directs me on what expressions to do, “Give me a genuine serious look.” I imagine being in the coldest place to help me frown a little and look cute. All of a sudden, she’s straddling me backwards completely naked herself. Also, I’m a male now. I have the understanding that in the photo shoots insertion is not allowed. Concerned about it accidentally happening she asks for a “silencer” from one of the crewmembers, which acts as a wall blocking anything from being inserted. I assure her nothing will happen. They hand one to me anyway. It looks like a condom package. I’d never heard of a “silencer” before. I unwrap it—resembles a condom but it’s flat, white, round, and with soft wiring around the edges to fit into any size. Handing it to the photographer girl, “I don’t know what to do with this.” She places it inside her.
Alarm wakes me up at 11:05 a.m. Bleh. My eyes struggle to stay open.
Breakfast: Toasted Bagel Plain with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Immune Defense.
Starting my 10-hour shift at China Wok.
Talking with my Mom on the phone—she tells me about this 40-day fast/diet she’s been doing where she eats only vegetables, fruits, and beans (no dairy or animal-related food). Losing weight and feeling more alive and energetic—she laughs in the mirror as she discovers her clothes have become too big for her.
It’s slow here at work. So I watch some of the footage from last night’s MUSICPLAYER show.
Quick lunch stop at the house: Watermelon. Egg Salad Sandwich. Baked Lay’s. Peaches. Mango Oolong Tea.
Finally finishing The History of Love. A marvelous story. Going through the book and connecting all the characters.
Number of Non-Tippers for this shift: 1
First Non-Tipper
Race/Description: Caucasian male, maybe 13 years old
General Location: Piney Branch near Birdneck Road
Type of Residence: Small Apartment
Quality of Residence (5-Star Rating): **
Amount of Order: Under $20
Friendly/Non-Friendly: Friendly
Possible Reason: His uncle in Mississippi ordered for him online. He’s a kid.
Eating Vegetable Lo Mein for dinner. Eavesdropping on a kid at another table in the restaurant talking to his parents about the high volumes of sugar in food. “17 teaspoons of sugar in a Krispy Kreme doughnut?” The kid starts to eat his dinner. With no clue of the green thing that her son is putting in his mouth, the mother asks,“What is that?” The kid replies, “It’s broccoli!”
My childhood friend, James Graves, meets me at my house after work (I grab a Krispy Kreme doughnut on the counter) and we go to Winston’s Café for the songwriters circle and art show. It’s an interesting dynamic and mixture of music including Mike Gombas from Counterfeit Molly, JoAnna Lynne, Ben Johnson of Superstar Runner, and myself. The stage is set up with four mikes and we all sit up there at once taking turns playing songs.
Having some good talks with James on the way back home.
I walk to Wawa for some milk to have cereal with. On the way back, I find somebody’s cell phone on the sidewalk by the 7-11, case and all. Scrolling through the text messages, I’ve come to the conclusion that the phone belongs to a man. There’s only 2 women that text him back and forth on here. One is “Sis”, who I assume is his sister, and the other is “Tawnya”, who he seems to be married to or is interested in.
Some Sis texts: “C u monday 2 watch kaylee u will wont u I ned 2 no yes r no” “U r gd of runnin away any u need 2erayz some voice mass your ph is full your welcome”
Some Tawnya texts: “LOOK AM NOT SEEING ANY ONE SO WHAT YOUR PROBLEM, SingleMamaOf2” “Cant have any more kids u know that! SingleMamaOf2” “Yes I can be a real wife ty, SingleMamaOf2” “NO LIES OR GAMES AM 2 OLD 4 THAT! can u handle a real lady an not lil girls, SingleMamaOf2”
Some texts from him to Tawnya: “I want u wife! do u want me??” “Send me a sexy pic plz” “Do u know my dick aint any gd without u” “I want to marry u but do u want me”
12:22 p.m. She’s touching me in a way I wouldn’t dare ask her to stop.
DREAM: Stuck inside the computer game, DOOM—shooting right and left, killing demons and monsters. Most of them resemble the ones from the real game, but others are strange offshoots of the originals. After killing all the bad things, I’m left alone, but not for too long. A colossal-size monster that looks similar to a cyberdemon with missile launchers attached to his arms is standing on the other side of the wall. I hide in between two rooms with him still in sight. Every time he moves to the right to get a full view of me I move to the left, then he follows. We do this dance for quite a while. He scares me and I have no confidence in beating him, so I want to stay alive as long as possible by refusing to stand face to face with him.
Waking up again somewhere between 1 and 2 p.m.
Breakfast: Toasted Bagel Plain with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Hot Passion Tea. Zinc.
Researching stuff online.
Emily made pasta for Margot, Jon, and Wesley. They’re watching Casper.
Stretching and doing ab-crunches.
Lunch: some of Emily’s Pasta with Peppers. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Mango Oolong Tea. Peach.
Brush-up practice at the storage unit with Chris and Kal.
I snag a bowl of Watermelon.
MUSICPLAYER show at Sharx with Mirlo. Feeling good about the performance.
Eating a Fish Taco with Chips and Guacamole Dip. PBR Draft.
Dropping the gear off at the unit—picking up two Blueberry Muffins from the house.
Margot and I go to Harpoon Larry’s on 24th street to visit her friends at work. Sitting at the bar with her sipping an Irish Coffee—watching all the white 25 to 30 something’s with Volcom and WRV shirts congregate around me. I think to myself, ‘This is Virginia Beach’ in all it’s nightlife glory. A Rastafarian is singing on the TV, but all I can hear is “I just want to use your love tonight” blaring on the stereo. The bartender, efficient and emotionless. A lone guy who says he’s from Maryland is sitting on the stool next to me. He starts to mumble drunkenly to me. I can only make out certain words, “All these people here…” “Fuck’em…” “Is that your girl?” “She’s gorgeous!” He kind of points to the other ladies sitting near us and gives me a hand gesture as if to not pay them any mind. He slams his big hands on the bar out of frustration. He continues speaking to me. I just keep nodding my head so he knows I’m trying to listen.
I think something’s wrong with me. Why am I reluctant to kiss her around people? Why does it make me so uncomfortable? It’s not like I’m ashamed of her, and its not like people don’t know about us. It’s a problem I’ve had before with other lovers in my life. This is very upsetting for her and causes a long and drawn out string of unnecessary comments and arguments. She spouts out mean things to me and makes me feel guilty for my behavior, to which I understand why anyone would feel rejected if their lover won’t reciprocate affection. However, don’t punish me for my issues. I don’t know why I act this way. I just want her to try—try to be understanding of me. It’s so easy for her to jump the gun and say something extreme like, “We’re just not meant for each other!” “It’s just not gonna work out.” “You’re an asshole! Do what you want!”
Leaning against the wall in my house slowly ripping in half a Thomas the Tank collector’s card from a cereal box while she sits in the computer chair crying. I’m impatient because it’s late and I have to get up early for work. Eventually, she stands up and falls into my arms confessing that she really does want to be with me and she really does care about me. “I know,” I tell her. “Just don’t say mean things to me anymore.” She apologizes. I apologize. She departs on a good note.
Taking a shower and mulling things over in my head.
I need an escape. Playing and winning a few rounds of Unreal will do.
DREAM: Driving around in Richmond. On Belvidere Street. Elliott’s supposed to meet a very important guy with me in some cracked out building. I think this guy is a drug lord or maybe he has his own shady business. Inside the building now—people rehearsing for a play on a stage. The drug lord guy wants me to make sound effects behind this chrome foldout display during the play when they actually perform it later tonight. Elliott says he’ll pay me. I accept the offer and leave. There’s a lot of junk in my van now and I’m having a hard time making a u-turn in traffic and…
3:30 p.m. I wake up.
Breakfast: Toasted Cinnamon Raisin English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Banana. Hot Passion Tea.
Organizing. Business.
Lunch: Egg Salad Sandwich on Rye Bread. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Blueberry Yogurt. Mango Oolong Tea.
MUSICPLAYER practice at the storage unit.
Kal updates me on his DC trip to see Autolux play at The Black Cat. The lead singer didn’t like him taking pictures on his iphone and mouthed to him during the set to “stop”.
Talking about our current relationship issues and psychoanalyzing our girl’s behavior.
Cutting up and eating Watermelon.
Dinner: Healthy Choice Chicken and Rice Soup. Garlic Toast.
Margot and I go to AMC to see Scott Pilgrim vs the World. I never read the graphic novel series so I didn’t know what to expect, however the movie is impressive, funny, full of outlandish comic-style action, and silly hip people.
Leaving the theater, feeling happy and satisfied on our choice of entertainment for the night. Margot drives out of the parking lot. She’s tending to something on her iphone and continues to accelerate. “Watch out, Margot! There’s a car.” A car was sitting at a stop sign. I ridicule her for not paying attention and being on her iphone, but in a loud and playful way—exclaiming that this is real and it isn’t some movie. In response she slams on the gas pedal, barely braking on the turns. Something’s wrong. I guess the tone in my voice made her feel like I was treating her like a child. And I continued to pry into why she would have such an attitude all of a sudden—asking and asking.
Arriving at the house. I suggest we take a walk to Kmart to get cookies and/or muffins. A hurricane was supposed to hit tonight but the only thing in its wake is a beautiful breeze. Smoking a Sampeorna clove cigarette. The mood is light now. She explains her story on how she geeked out for Robert Schwartzman of Rooney.
At the register at Kmart. The black lady I see all the time after hours checks us out. “Is this your fiancé?” One of Margot’s rings unmistakably resembles an engagement ring.
Back at home. Eating four Blueberry Muffins with Milk.
Margot sleeps on the couch while I go back to the unit to practice some songs.
Trimming my beard and mustache.
She wakes up. I join her on the couch—cuddling and such—sexual pleasure.
DREAM: An intricate tree house with no walls, bedding, and 3 different levels. It’s understood this is my house. The Russians and other foreigners are sleeping over. Talking with Art trying to figure out where everyone will sleep. He suggests I take a spot on the floor, but I demand at least one spot on the bed since I live here. Directing the others to where they will sleep. The scene switches…☼ Hearing a male voice narrating—describing various characters and their stories. Each one has a unique outcome and legend to it. Watching a TV screen. I see a female character with a monk’s cloak on—she has no face because it’s hidden in the darkness. The voice speaks, “A—F— was hung…” In her monk cloak—on a horse—hands tied—noose tied around her neck. The horse is kicked—horse runs—noose chokes her to death. “…And she was dropped on the side of a cliff…” She lies lifeless on the side of a cliff. I can see her face in great detail now—close-up of her face. “…And she was left to rot for many years…” Still frozen image of her face—begins to rot in fast motion giving me the sense of time passing quickly. Now, I see a full body shot—her legs relaxed, crossed—her face now an animated interpretation of a skull—three concave indentations where the eyes and nose used to be. “…And the blood dripped from her wrist…” The story ended here—left with the understanding that her blood would drip somewhere, land on someone, and maybe cause something horrific to happen.
A few minutes after 3 p.m. I wake up.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Peach. Hot Earl Grey Tea.
Fixing up my bike to ride to work.
At the ice cream shop.
Lunch: Egg Salad Sandwich on Rye Bread. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Mango Oolong Tea. Peach.
Reading The History of Love, getting really close to being done with the book.
Customers in and out. “Small strawberry cone please.” “Butter Pecan in a cup.” Uh…an orange Gatorade.” “I’ll have a can Pepsi.”
She walks in alone. Brunette. Not in the least bit skinny. Not at all fat. Somewhere in between. Pretty, but noticeably aged. Freckles cover her pale skin. 36? 38? Maybe 34 years old? She’s wearing a white top with a deep purple-blue skirt that’s modestly long. The color matched her necklace in such a striking way I felt compelled to compliment her, “The color of your necklace matches you well.” She thanks me and gives me an honest smile as she leaves with her Mint Chocolate Chip cone. What is it about something beautiful or something that aesthetically captures you in such a way that forces you to be reverent or, put simply, make you nervous? I live for this—the adventures of the senses. It gives me a thrill—looking for perfection or maybe I’m just looking for flaws to convince me nothing is perfect.
Sitting on the bench outside the shop. The light breeze comforts my mosquito-scarred ankles. The colors from the various neon signs from all the businesses nearby glowing in the dark. I imagine the purple-blue lady walking by to leave the pier. She’s with her boyfriend or husband, and maybe some kids. I approach her, “Hey wait!” She turns to me with that honest smile and I say, “I know compliments these days usually have selfish motives, but…I just wanted you to know you’re beautiful.” I’d walk back into the shop hoping what I said would boost her confidence or her happiness. In some small way she might start appreciating her husband more or maybe the husband, after realizing what I said was true, would realize what he really had and cherish her just a little bit more. But none of this actually happens. All I can do is compliment on the color of her necklace. But my imagination is just as important.
Eating the last slice of pizza from Doug in the tackle shop.
Leaving work on my bike—listening to my ipod. This is my favorite part.
Arriving home. Roma and Jamil are getting back from their jobs at the same time.
Emily, Margot, and Wesley are watching some movie or show in the living room.
Dinner: Pad Thai Noodles with Broccoli, Carrots, and Cabbage.
Sitting on the couch with Margot—looking at each other in the big mirror in front of us.
There’s confusion on the constructs of our relationship. I share with her things that seem to confuse her. I didn’t mean to. My feelings haven’t changed—there’s still a mutual care and commitment between us.
Telling her that my ambitions in music are really important to me and come first before anything. She’s touchy feely and I’m not when we’re around people. I don’t know why. I just value it more when we’re alone.
Recording at the storage unit.
Back home, taking a shower, then reading The History of Love.
Eating Nutella on Bread. Milk. Mango.
Back to the unit—finishing acoustic guitars for “Cryptic” and practicing a little.
DREAM: A group of people, maybe 3, are hiding inside an antique building, quite large. I have to find them for some reason. I check all the familiar openings they could’ve broken into: front door, side windows, etc. Finally, I discover a venting system around the side of the house. I open up the cage-hatch and there they are—surprised to see me. Switch to a scene where I’m walking around in the parking lot of a modern apartment complex. There’s a lake nearby—finding an ancient canon/machine gun attached to the side of the drop into the water. It’s black and dusty. It almost looks like the Bio Rifle in Unreal.I keep rubbing my hand lightly over it feeling the old dust—attempting to pull it up in order to have a closer look, but it’s kind of stuck in place.
Shortly after 2 p.m. I wake up.
Roma and Jamil are hanging out in the living room—Outkast playing on the computer.
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam. Peach. Banana. Hot Earl Grey Tea. Zinc, Alfalfa Grain.
Business.
Transporting some bikes and a record player to Elliott’s new place in Norfolk.
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Papaya and Blueberry Yogurt. Mango Oolong Tea.
On the way back to Virginia Beach, getting caught in typical interstate traffic, but amazingly arriving to work at China Wok on time right at 6 p.m.
As I’m driving around delivering orders I find myself already arriving at my destination in my mind—similar to the concept in Donnie Darko where that water-like wormhole follows ahead of you. This causes me to become more impatient because I can’t amount up to my mind’s standards—I’m stuck in a physical reality.
Number of Non-Tippers for this shift: 1
First Non-Tipper
Race/Description: African American Couple in their late 20’s
General Location: Fountain Lake Drive (Linkhorn Bay)
Type of Residence: Medium Sized Apartment
Quality of Residence (5-Star Rating): ****
Amount of Order: $24.53
Friendly/Non-Friendly: Neutral
Possible Reason for No Tip: Didn’t have change on the first visit and had to make a second visit to give change.
Walking into the house, Jamil had cooked Baked Chicken with Potatoes and Vegetables. “Jamil! You cooked!” I eat a plate of it with Garlic Toast.
Emily and Chris are watching Manhattan in the living room.
Attempting to record at the storage unit but the jets are still rumbling overhead, so I have to hold off for awhile.
Reading The History of Love.
Margot comes by and despite her reluctance at first for personal reasons, we do that thing two people do, sometimes called “making love”.
Tuesday is Poker Night. With Natasha (her last game before she returns to Belarus), Eric (her friend), Roma, and Art.
Drinking Coffee with Sugar, Cool Whip, and Chocolate Sauce.
We keep smelling what smells like cat poop in the corner of the room, but never end up figuring out where it is or even what it is.
Art wins both games. As I was runner up on the first game, I only lost one dollar altogether.
Eating a bowl of Frosted Toasties with a Banana.
Talking with Art after the game—he tells me about his past experiences playing poker online and how it works, including tips on the best way to play.
On the porch—he’s smoking a cigarette. Small guy-talk. I joke with him how I want to walk onto the Oceana Naval Base and demand the jet schedule throughout the week so I can plan accordingly.
Back to the unit—tracking acoustic guitars for “Cryptic”.
