Thursday November 15 2012

[i]

☼ ○ ▬

I’m locked into a poker game that’s taking pace in a classroom of my old church. New colored chips keep getting added to the game but I don’t know how much they’re worth. I keep asking Kevin who’s sitting next to me but he won’t answer. It’s becoming very frustrating to play and the game is taking forever. I guess at some point it’s decided we can’t finish so everybody stacks their chips up on the shelves. We have to write down how many chips we have on pieces of paper so that the next day we can continue with the same game. I leave the room and take a sip from the water fountain down the hall. For whatever reason I’m really thirsty.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up just before 2 p.m.

Instant Blueberry Oatmeal. Orange Juice. Biotin (1,000 mcg)

Watching Leave (2011).

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

Learning Grizzly Bear’s “Deep Blue Sea” on guitar – getting lost in a hazy music world.

I biker over to Rachel’s house. Wyatt shows me a collection of art pieces he created over night in the garage that associates with Rachel’s salvaged theme and color. He describes a horrific experience that happened earlier today between Rachel and Evil Grandma.

...

Me, Wyatt, Minnie, and Rachel are all gathered around a MacBook listening to music. I search through some of Rachel’s old scrapbook journals that document her mania back in her days of psycho-trauma. It’s all very tragic and beautiful at the same time. Wyatt says he already took hi resolution photos of most of it.

Me: “He’s like your curator, Rachel.”

Rachel: “I know. Wyatt, I love you. I could kiss your brain.”

It’s cold and raining outside but I brave the bleak weather on the bike back home.

Exercising a little bit and learning Russian.

Minnie, Rachel, and Wyatt come over here. The other half of the house crew is getting LIVE in the living room blaring away on instruments and drinking. Tristan shows up and chills with the art crew in the dining room. We’re all gathered around the table drawing and painting and singing and chatting and laughing.

Lentils with Rice and Salad.

Sipping on Rachel’s Homemade Chai Tea.

[ii]

[iii]

Baking Vegan Pumpkin Muffins using a recipe Tristan helped me find online. It involves using applesauce, coconut oil, and apple cider vinegar. They turn out extremely gooey but delicious.

My phone went off earlier with a text from Margot...“I still love you a lil bit.” She reiterates that she’s completely sober, “And no this is not a drunk text just cause its at 2 am.”

I didn’t know what to say then and I still don’t now. And I know if I don’t say anything back that she’ll be sketched out and whatnot. So I say back, “yes we’re always going to love each other a lil bit at least.” I can tell she’s going to be a stumbling block for me if I don’t cut this out now.

Sleep just before 5 a.m.

---

[i] Untitled. Marker art by Y8T and Minnie.

[ii] A Porn Mourning. Acrylic and Mixed Media by me.

[iii] Artifacts of the Future. Mixed Media by Y8T and me.

Wednesday November 14 2012

[i]

☼ ○ ▬

There’s a wave machine, similar to the fake beach they have at water parks, except this one holds the wave still. I watch from a distance as the trainer will have a contestant ride on a surfboard and brave the colossal wave simulation. I find out through a friend that it costs $18 to ride. I run across the yard and hop atop the platform where another contestant is about to ride another wave. I ensure the trainer that I can help him. The water rises, strangely above the platform but still in perfect shape as if there was an invisible wall surrounding it. I hop on the surfboard and try to maintain my balance but the water current is making it difficult.   

▬ ○ ☼

Actually waking up just before 3 p.m.

Instant Blueberry Oatmeal. Orange Juice.

Aysena responds to my lengthy retort on VK...

“i like you

like the way you are

every single word you write say mean

i wish i was strong

strong to keep in touch with you

and dont make it tragic

but at the same time

i cant live without passion madness

so im sorry that im difficult for being far apart”

Grilled Cheese with Tomato and Hummus. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Watching Leave (2011).

Catching up on writing.

Poker at Art’s house with Calum, Roma, Jamil, Art, Darren, and Kevin. As usual the group is exposed to Kevin’s boisterous attitude and multiple cigarette breaks. Other than that it’s an all around fun game. I end up in third place so I get my buy-in money back. Kevin and Calum duke it out and it settles on a win by Calum.

...

Salad with Blackened Salmon and Rice. Red Wine.

Back at the house. Hanging out downstairs with Kevin and Darren. Jes and Minnie are here too. Making marker art with Minnie, jamming on the guitar, and in general talking nonsense. Kevin persists in being a comedian for our entertainment.

...

When someone asks about letting Jupiter the cat out so we can play with him Darren reacts, “No! He doesn’t like atheists.” He pauses and adds, “Because he’s Cat-tholic! BAHAHA!” None of us have room to put in our laughter because he cracks himself up.

[ii]

Coconut Water.

Sleep sometime around 4 a.m.

---

[i] Acrobatic Vision. Marker art by me.

[ii] Gandhi. Marker art by Minnie.

Tuesday November 13 2012

[i]

A hard hard sleep for me. A collage of dreams brewing one after the other. I wake up next to her. My legs are sweaty underneath these sheets. She had to get up and get ready for class. Somehow we get into a fairly bitter conversation about the blog. I’ve started posting the year-ago entries. She’s forever been an unwilling mainstay character in it and it upsets her. She doesn’t like other people knowing about her life. With understanding where she’s coming from I also explain that it’s not about her life but about my life. But there’s no arguing the discrepancy of a possible bad impression most people will get when reading about our past relationship problems. It’s a difficult thing to not include her in the blog because of how important she was in my life.

Me: “It’s not bigoted though. I write about the ugly things, yes, but I also write about the good things.”

...

Me: “I wrote a lot of pretty things about you. I hope you at least appreciate those.”

Back at the house.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

Cleaning up the kitchen. I’ve calculated that I spend at least 20 minutes a day doing the dishes. That’s about 400 minutes a month (around 6.5 hours).

Grilled Cheese with Tomato and Hummus. Tortilla Chips with Salsa. Honey Green Tea.

I haven’t really talked with Aysena in a few days. We briefly catch up through messages on VK. I reached out to her to talk about Irreversible (2002) the French film I just finished watching. She’s feeling a sharp distance between us; so have I.

Aysena: “and if you feel like you are getting something new, changing, realizing the truth of life, please, robert, just let me know. i rather prefer being informed than in hesitation. i ask you, please dont leave me with no word, just tell me that it doesnt make a sense or i need the time or another piece of shit, because nobody wouldnt like to live in the dark. i've had a terrible experience and i wish no one has it in this world. you can handle everything but suspense will kill you till the end getting you a hopeless”

Me: “you are in a deep place...thinking deeply... i don't want you to feel in hesitation or be in a dark place. i believe both of us should live freely. BE where you are. it is difficult for the feelings between us to grow and get bigger or get deeper and become strong because we are so far apart. everything that happened between you and i is very important to me. in the future i want to see you again (i still want to make plans to come to russia and teach and see you for a month. i have to plan more and save more money. i don't know how long it will take.) and what will happen after i see you in russia? i go back to america. and what will you do after school? how can we keep our relationship if we don't live in the same city? that is the only way it will work. we NEED to BE with each other. and what can we do now? we chat on VK or Skype. and it's nice to hear from you and talk with you and see your face...but that's it. that's all we get. if you were here with me...or if i was there with you...things would be better. and it would work. i want to still talk with you and share our lives as much as we can. i miss you so very much, ays. sooooo much. i remember that whole month you were here and all those sweet memories. i think about them all the time. i really hope that in the future we can continue this. and right now what do we do? what can we do? we can keep in touch and talk every day or every other day. it's good. but i can't give you everything that i want to give you...not like this. i hate it.”

Exercising while simultaneously learning Russian.

It’s an art party tonight, well not really a party. I invited Minnie and James Graves over. We gather at the dining room table. The rest of the house crew is around. Kevin’s chowing down on a fancy mac n cheese dish while the three of us flesh out images on paper. James locates the twitter page that was created strictly for Kevin and documenting his infamous one-liners. He reads them aloud one by one and laughs are shared by all.

“I didn’t fall. I just lost my footing.”

I reassure Minnie, “Oh yeah we collect his quotes. I’m not even kidding. It’s real.”

James continues reading, “I had a wet dream so I know its gonna rain today.”

Kevin: “I honestly don’t remember saying that!”

“The last thing you want is a deep fryer in zero gravity.”

Apparently Kevin might want to be a cop later on life. Anthony describes a conversation he had with him a while back about it, “I was like, so what’re the first three things you’re gonna do when you become a cop? He was like, arrest Darren, get a girlfriend, and then the third one he was like, become a sergeant.”

[Ha-ha-ha]

He continues, “And then I was like, why’re you gonna arrest Darren? He was like, I’m gonna arrest him for being such a dick.”

...

Eating some of my own dinner: Egg with Mixed Vegetables and Mushrooms in Rice.

[ii]

At one point Kevin thinks it’d be funny to grab the two marionettes hanging from the ceiling fan and thrust them together repeatedly while making sex noises. Minnie laughs and so do I but not after gawking at him while shaking my head pretending to act un-amused.

He defends himself, “I am 23 and I am still immature. I’m 13 at heart.”

Minnie draws a brown mustache above his naked upper lip while he plays the violin achieving a much stronger look as a violinist.

Later, Minnie and I hang out in my bedroom listening to music and watching VICE documentaries. She sits propped on the wooden stool next to me in my computer chair, rather close, close enough for me to place my head on her shoulder like a little boy. It’s not romantic but just affectionate behavior that feels right. She reacts with an awww. I still haven’t figured her out really. I’m sure I’ll find her place in my world sooner or later. She leaves at some point.

I snack on Popcorn and drink a Coke with a splash of Lemon. 

Sleep 4:30 a.m.

---

[i] Reverb. Marker art by me.

[ii] Marker art by Minnie.

Monday November 12 2012

[i]

Waking up at 11:14 a.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

It’s a brutally sunny day in November, extremely nice out. If I had off I would be grateful but I don’t. As a delivery driver I can’t say I love days like this. It only makes driving in the city that much more challenging, as I have to cover my face, wear sunglasses, and experience difficulty seeing the road because of the glare of the sunlight. It really does impair my ability to drive efficiently. Along with that the left side of my body is exposed to sunburn. Yes I prefer clouds and the dreary kind of day.

The afternoon is steady for business.

Text from Mom:

“I think about you so often throughout my day...wonder where you are what you’re doing...love you...just needed to let you know.”

One of my favorite characters walks into the restaurant, a bag lady as I would respectively call her. Her visits usually take place every Monday. Her silver Honda Civic is always stacked to the brim with filled plastic bags. Who knows what’s inside them. She’s the kind of lady that keeps all her receipts and piles them up creating an authentic consumer’s time capsule, a complete record of all her purchases. She’s so nice and not too old, maybe in her late 50’s. I watch her eat. She studies every single bite of her hot and spicy shrimp meal with full appreciation for its ingredients. Chewing. Admiring. I can tell this is probably a special part of the day for her. I can empathize as I also look forward to my big meal of the day.

“It’s a beautiful day isn’t it?” she asks me.

Me: “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

Her: “Kind of makes your heart sing.”

I melt a little bit and reply, “Yeah.”

On the down time thinking more about last night and about Margot’s place in my life in general. I’m learning more about myself and the way I view others. Most of the time people aren’t really as special and unique as I make them out to be in my head.

Applesauce.

On the phone with Margot. I had apologized for leaving last night and told her I had something to explain, which was basically how insulted I was that she only barked up my tree because she got shut down by another guy. I then go on to judge her lifestyle choice and blah blah blah. I can be relentless sometimes. It’s all rather unnecessary and pointless. I guess my main concern is not being entangled in her bouts with men. I want to be singular. The pick-me-up sex was great but I realized last night that it’s always going to come with slight emotional consequences.

The evening drags on...

Just a few more hours to go and I’ll be off work. Unfortunately it’s terribly slow. I eat some dinner: Hot and Sour Soup with Broccoli and Rice.

Eventually we receive a string of orders all at once.

Finally off work.

I’ve been in casual text conversation with Minnie whom I met through Rachel at the show last Friday for the first time. She happens to live in Red Wing, which is right by my last order for the night. I stop by her house for a little while. It smells like incense or something like enchanted – Asian themed décor all over (via her brother). Minnie is Filipino, mostly, and with a strong head of curly black hair but green dyed on the side. A girlfriend of hers is also here venting about frivolous drama that happened not too long ago before I arrived. Taking a piss in the bathroom, I admire the silvery metallic wallpaper. Minnie shows me some of her artwork piled in her bedroom. It’s very impressive and the purple-blue colors appeal to me. It’s getting late and I told Margot I’d visit after work.

I head over to Margot’s place. We relax on the couch and watch American Pickers on the History channel where two guys scout around the country in search of antique gems. I snack on Popcorn and chug down a Bud Light. I’m not really sure why I’m here but I’m here.

Sleep 3 a.m. 

---

[i] Benjamin Walfridson.

Sunday November 11 2012

[i]

Waking up at 11:40 a.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Grilled Cheese with Tomato and Hummus. Salt n Vinegar Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.

It’s a steady Freddy day for Chinese food and the tips are generous.

Strawberries.

Trapped in a network frenzy of texting and messaging between friends, some newly acquired female friends. All the while I’m driving around delivering, doing my job, yet I stay connected.

Here’s one of those conversations, but with Rachel, whom isn’t newly acquired whatsoever...

Rachel: “Watching miley cyrus movie high. Hilarious. What is my life.”

Me: “your life is a dream full of fantastical ideals leading you to only one place in the end: death.”

Rachel: “I changed my mind Robert. I wanto live.”

Me: “I know. we all do. but you’re still going to die eventually. the question isn’t even how soon. but how much life will you live before it happens. trust me. you’re living a lot of life right now Rachel. so don’t worry.”

Rachel: “Promise?”

Me: “id bet my life on it.”

Fried Shrimp with Broccoli, Carrots, Onions, and Rice in Garlic Sauce.

Leslie shows up at the last bit of my work shift and rides around. Entertaining ourselves in discussion.

Me: “I used to cry a lot when I was a baby. My mom used to tell me, Yeah we used to have to sit in the car before we go into a store just to prepare you to leave the car so you wouldn’t cry inside the store. I hated change. I guess that’s what it was.”

...

Talking about the struggling artist who uses their personal turmoil and insecurities as fuel for the art they create.

Leslie: “Like, you self perpetuate things...at your convenience. Like, if you’re not this traumatized individual then what do you have to offer creatively? There’s a lot of people that think that. But I know plenty of well-adjusted people that can make really awesome art.”

Off work and back home.

Sipping on Coffee and snacking on Biscoff Cookies. 

While settling down and doing some writing I receive a text. It’s not any ordinary text but one that’s probably typical of ex-girlfriend behavior, especially coming from Margot.

“Will you have drunk sex with me?”

I have to read it two or three more times. I already feel the subtle rush of blood flow down below in eagerness. How lovely that would be...to have sex right now. I can’t resist this. It’s too heavy. I grab Kevin’s bike and ride over there.

...

In her bedroom. She’s not too heavily intoxicated but enough to be just a tad bit moody. The sexual dance begins – she provides light dirty talk to heighten the moments – this feels wonderfully revitalizing. Afterwards, she zips straight off to sleep as she usually has the ability to do in a matter of two minutes flat. I wonder to myself what caused the sudden sex invitation tonight. Obviously, she was out drinking, nothing out of the ordinary. I keep hearing her phone beep just loud enough to jolt my thoughts. Somebody’s texting her. I pick it up to turn down the volume and notice an unsaved number on the screen. After sliding the screen lock I see it’s from some random male attempting to hook up with her. Reading more of the conversation it looks like she’s also instigating it. And then there’s another conversation with a different unsaved number involving much of the same topics except in this one she’s shut down. I lie there naked in her bed feeling conflicted. Just knowing the fact that by any other turn of events another eager penis would be lying in this same spot makes me queasy. This whole nightlife world she lives in is so unappealing to me. All these stupid boys barking up her tree just trying to make a score and she eats it all up. Is she really this slutty? I mean she already told me a while back that she slept with at least four other guys after we broke up. I’m not upset about it cause I’ve had my share of girls post-breakup. But this is so close together, her reaching out to me after not getting what she wants. I mean I guess I shouldn’t be ungrateful. The sex was good despite her mild drunken state. I won tonight. But I don’t feel good. I feel empty. I feel used. I quietly get up and leave.

Back home.

A bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar and Milk.

It’s funny to read last year’s entry on this day. Something of the opposite happened with Margot: http://www.iloverobertsblog.com/2011/11/saturday-november-12-2011.html

The blog is supposed to be up and running again. This whole past year people have been in the dark on what’s been going on in my life. And so I will start posting last year’s entries day by day. Anthony composed a little poem that serves as a preface. Maybe I’ll use this when the book gets published...

“This is your life

with the moods shifting over the landscape

confusion constantly clogging

and all that restless desperation melting into a kind of ember

glazing itself atop the generational mystery known as day to day life

played out here on this little planet known as America

This is that drive home in the backseat after the party

head against the window dreaming of infinity

This is that walk with your best friend when you couldn’t find a single word to say

this is all those letters never written

calls never returned

colors never known

the rush to the head

the lazy tuesday

the highway’s curve

the lost sunset found in the space between heartbeats

the warm kiss

the whiskey and the rain

This is all the songs in the attic

and the frequencies in the basement

chemicals pulsing in the blood stream

sex in the parking lot

faded faces and burning scars

this is dreaming and dancing at the same time

in a reverb heaven of the mind

This is Robert’s Blog

This is your Life

- Tony Hoyer”

Sleep at 4:30 a.m.

---

[i] asdfbmp. Kim Asendorf.

Saturday November 10 2012

[i]

☼ ○ ▬

I’ve befriended an alien who has manifested into human form. She wants to learn about the true human way of life. As I escort her around the city I find it difficult to teach her restraint from over-stimulation and desire to buy everything she sees.

▬ ○ ☼ ○ ▬

I’ve fallen to the bottom of a well, but it’s not really a well. There’s an opening for me to escape yet I still feel compelled to climb the rope that my friends have slung down. After avoiding a few jumping spiders I hop on the line and hang on tight. I climb and climb...very slowly. I’m almost there but can’t seem to conjure up any more arm strength to finish the task. I peer down below me to see how far I’ve come. Someone else is holding the low end of the rope waiting for their turn to climb. Finally I grab the ledge and it’s understood that my friends pull me over eventually.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up at 11:12 a.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Hard Boiled Egg. Five Guys French Fries with Ketchup. Honey Green Tea.

It’s a fairly steady day. Dealing with a few bumps in the road, mostly figuratively speaking but definitely literally as well. Speed bumps are my favorite foe.

Strawberries.

I keep getting the incorrect addresses. It’s happened about four times already.

The night dwindles and I’m finally off work and home.

Broccoli, Snow Peas, Onions, and Rice in Brown Sauce with Almonds.

The rowdy kids are hanging out in the living room watching Moulin Rouge. Skippy brought the house a Trader Joe’s haul (free food). I clean up the kitchen and do the dishes.

Stretching then going for a night jog around the neighborhood. It’s a bit chilly outside but nothing I can’t handle. I need this.

Cheerios with Brown Sugar and Milk.

Watching Irreversible (2002).

Sleep 4 a.m.

---

[i] Mountain. Kim Asendorf.

Friday November 9 2012

[i] 

☼ ○ ▬

I owe a debt to some kind of suburban crime lord. Standing at the front door of his house. I fumble through wads of cash and hand some of it over to a man. Upon second thought I grab some of it back and say, “Fuck this! I’m not giving you all my money.” I walk off down the street in the vicinity of the oceanfront in Virginia Beach. I pass a block where a building has just been demolished and the pile of rubble is hard to ignore. Later, I’m in the living room of the crime lord’s house, which is also understood to be my place of residence. There’s an uncertain amount of money locked away in a black briefcase to which I’m the only one with the lock combination. But I forgot it off the top of my head so I’m searching desperately in my phone’s memos for it. I’m hoping to take back the money I gave earlier. 

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up just before 2 p.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

I have the pleasure of seeing Aysena’s face on Skype.

Grilled Cheese with Tomato and Hummus. Potato Chip Trio. Honey Oolong Tea.

There’s a big show tonight happening at a new DIY space called That’s How I Beat Shaq, or The Shaq for short, just off Witchduck Road. It’s the opening night actually. Rusty asked Musicplayer to do a set. I grab Kevin, Anthony, and Kelley and we arrive on site. This place is reminiscent of Concrete, the space that Stephanie had running for a while. It’s packed to the brim with a diverse demographic, from angsty teen punks to raging hipsters. Mingling around and sharing conversation. Just another hazy social evening. Rachel arrives with Minnie, a new friend of hers. At some point Rachel gets hurt pretty bad. She had ran up innocently to Kevin and jumped on him for a hug. Kevin, in all his drunken clumsiness, manages to trip over with Rachel underneath. I watch her head slam into the asphalt. She’s so fragile and it’s already enough that she hurts easily. She’s in agony lying on the ground. I help her up and tend to her morale while Kevin apologizes as sincerely as he can in his rambunctious state of mind. I’ve got Rachel propped up in the passenger seat of Carmen’s car with my arm wrapped around her pretending to be her father. Even though she can be melodramatic, which everyone notices, I know she is really hurting. Her body isn’t in any kind of condition to withstand these kinds of incidents.

The night moves on and I’ve got a set to perform. Inside it’s hot and crammed. All of my friends are more than supportive by offering loud obnoxious chants. It doesn’t matter that it’s just me and an acoustic guitar, they all shuffle their feet and shake their bodies; they sing along, but overreaching the volume of my voice through the PA speakers.

Anthony approaches me after, “Easily, the best Musicplayer show right?”

Me: “Well, not because of me. Because of you guys!”     

There’re more bands to go. I join in on the moshing and crowd surfing. I make pretty good friends with Minnie. At some point I walk with her to the 7-11 to buy pain relievers. She’s almost the same height as Rachel, and both just as cute. We talk about our lives while trying to avoid the rushing cars underneath the overpass. She also delves into the world of the arts. Along the way I find a dead pigeon. I wrap it up in plastic bags to give to Rachel cause I know she’d love to use it in an art piece. Come to find out, Wheeler decided to take Rachel to the emergency room just to be sure there wasn’t a fracture on her leg. I stop by for moral support and to make sure she gets the dead bird, which she’s thrilled about. Turns out it wasn’t a fracture but only a tissue bruise. The hospital gives her a prescription for painkillers and a pair of crutches. 

Back home.

Spaghetti with Onions, Mushrooms, and Marinara Sauce.

Sleep around 4 a.m.

---

[i] Photos by Richie Howard.

Thursday November 8 2012

[i]

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?”

[ha-ha-ha]

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.

Wednesday November 7 2012

[i]

Awakening around 2 p.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

Reading and researching.

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

Working for an hour and a half at China Wok – learning Russian while I’m driving.

Fixing the floor part to the vacuum cleaner.

Exercising.

Baked Lemon Crusted Cod Fillets with Kale, Onions, and Rice.

Watching The Whistleblower (2010).

At the storage unit practicing some songs.

Back home.

A bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar and Milk.

Earlier Margot had texted me requesting to snuggle. What’s the harm? I head over there just as she’s arriving home from work.

...

Lying in the bed together. I dabble a little bit with poker on my phone. A little bit of snuggling and then off to sleep at a decent hour (at least decent for me), maybe 3:30 a.m.

---

[i] Bengal.

Tuesday November 6 2012

[i]

Waking up with a mild headache, caused from the 19% alcohol I consumed.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

I hop on Kevin’s bike and head to the polls to place my vote. Light Rail? Yes. Obama? Yes. It only took me about 10 minutes to wait in line.

Tensions are high at the house over the election. All the TV’s and computers tuned into the live election coverage. I’m terribly nervous as I feel the fate of our country will depend on what happens tonight. Over the years I’ve found myself leaning towards progressive thinking. Obama deserves another four-year term to continue the change we’ve started. I have to say, even though the president doesn’t specifically affect my life and how I choose to live it, inadvertently he will. But then of course we all know he’s just a puppet anyway and not with the full power and control.  

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

I get called into China Wok to work two and half hours.

Starfruit and a Pumpkin Muffin.

With the whole 1435 family on the edge of our seats watching the TV, just waiting...to know for sure – all of us in support of Obama.

Me: “I just want this to be over so I can move on with my night.”

Apparently, Obama played a two-on-two basketball game with Scottie Pippen earlier today.

...

Snacking on Goldfish.

...

And then I hear it while I’m preparing some Ramen Noodles and a Salad in the kitchen. “Obama won! Whoo!” The spirits are high. We celebrate. And why are we happy? Why did America vote Obama back into office? Because Romney didn’t impress us enough. Sure Obama didn’t impress us either over his first four-year presidency but most people recognized the artificiality in Romney. As a whole we were ready to vote for someone else but not this time. Let’s more forward. I’m relieved all of this politic mumbo jumbo is over with.

Sipping on Coffee and eating Biscoff Cookies.

Watching Obama give a powerful and inspiring speech.

“Despite all the hardship we’ve been through, despite all the frustrations of Washington, I’ve never been more hopeful about our future. I have never been more hopeful about America and I ask you to sustain that hope. I believe we can seize this future together...because we are not as divided as our politics suggest. We’re not as cynical as the pundits believe. We are greater than the sum of our individual ambitions and we remain more than a collection of red states and blue states. We are and forever will be the United States of America and together with your help and God’s grace we will continue our journey forward!”

The caffeine that I pumped myself up with earlier has taken its toll. I’m high and jittery and hungry. I feel like I’ve been eating constantly all day.

Popcorn and a Banana.

Watching Mansome (2012).

It’s after 5 a.m. and I’m wide awake...listening to newly acquired music...drifty...hypnotized.

Sleep finally just before 6 a.m.

---

[i] Jason Heuser.

Monday November 5 2012

[i]

Waking up at 11:12 a.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

It’s slow for business in the afternoon.

Munching on a Starfruit and reflecting on last night’s cognitive realizations.

Two Hard Boiled Eggs. Five Guys French Fries with Ketchup. Honey Oolong Tea.

Chatting with Aysena on VK.

Aysena:

“I feel you getting cold to me

I’m scared you can leave me

because everybody leaves me eventually”

Robert:

“dont be scared. we will always be friends no matter what happens. i wont leave you.”

Aysena:

“ok I understand”

The day drags and drags and drags. The tips are a rollercoaster of highs and lows.

Snacking on one of the muffins I made last night.

Towards the end of the night I get an order out to a hotel at the oceanfront. I took down the guy’s order over the phone and delivered it successfully. But when I get back to the restaurant he calls complaining he ordered a shrimp egg foo young rather than the shrimp lo mein he got. I specifically remember him saying shrimp lo mein but whatever. I offer to make him what he wants and bring it to him but he’s adamant about returning the whole $24 order and getting his money back. Cecily, already peeved that I have to return his money shouts out before I leave, “Make sure you check it,” meaning to check to make sure all the food is still there and that he didn’t eat a significant amount. I call him back on my phone to convince him otherwise but he’s not having it.

I retrieve the food and return the money. Now I’m back at the restaurant. Cecily checks the bag and points out that he ate over half of the sweet & sour chicken and picked out all the chicken from the chicken lo mein. However, nothing else was touched. She’s upset, and with good reason.

“You pay!” she yells in absoluteness.

“What? I’m not paying for this!” I refuse.

She’s convinced this guy was a scam, which isn’t far from the truth. But why should I have to pay for the loss. I already drove out there twice and without a tip to show for. Debating on and on – she rants in her broken English the best she can supporting her points and I, rant on attempting to simplify my words so we can both understand each other. I took the time while I was alone in the car to prepare my stance in a calm manner. I’m nervous and notice my hands shaking a little bit. This is the exact kind of situation that got the other drivers fired, trifling scenarios just like this one. But I try to stay confident and coolheaded. She can be very stubborn and quite the hothead. But I realized if I just kept an attitude of reason it might rub off on her. It seems to work.

“Next time. You check.” she overstates like a thousand times.

I don’t have to pay for it and everything’s cool between us.

Back home. Jes, an old friend from Durham, NC I used to know from my travels shows up.

Me: “Hold on! I have to put on my decompression suit.”

Then, Kevin and Richie walk in. We dig into a political debate that leads into a venting dialogue about our delivery stories and annoyances on the job. Jes brought over these Golden Monkey beers with a whopping 9.5% alcohol content, which is a lot for one bottle of beer.

“Guys, I’ve had two bottles of 9.5 percent. That means I’m at 19%!”

It feels good to break loose a little bit after such a tense evening at work. DC Talk’s Free At Last record is booming on the stereo. Entertaining ourselves with bad lip reading political videos on Youtube.

Settling down in my room around 4 a.m. and drifting off to sleep.

---

[i] Bengal Illustration (with Epictetus Philo).

Sunday November 4 2012

[i]

11:43 a.m. waking up.

Instant Blueberry Oatmeal. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Strawberries to tide me over till lunch.

It’s quite busy for the daytime – non-stop driving with barely enough time to stop for lunch.

Grilled Cheese with Tomato and Hummus. Potato Chip Trio. Honey Green Tea.

No pressing psychoanalytical thoughts today. Just work and flow.

Fried Shrimp with Broccoli, Onions, Carrots, and Rice in Garlic Sauce.

Off work.

Continuing the conversation I was having with my mom last night but now we have more time to engage deeply.

Me: “There’s just a lot of noise around me.”

Her: “Shutting out the noise and really hearing from God...it takes feeding those spiritual needs...”

With the presidential election only a day away our topics veer to the current political heat and the various issues we believe are the most important. We can both agree at least that, “When I look at Romney I see something...artificial.” We talk about being stuck in the everyday hustle and bustle...survival mode...so much that sometimes we lose track of time and space.

Downstairs baking some more pumpkin muffins but this time with whole-wheat flour: Whole Wheat Honey Raisin Pumpkin Muffins topped with Powdered Sugar. I enjoy four of them with Milk while I watch a documentary called Surviving Progress (2011) dealing with some of the issues I talked about with my mom.

[ii]

While taking a sexual load off I find myself seeing clearly behind the biology of humanity, the primal drive and move to exist (or the flow of life), and looking beyond the unobservable. There’s a bigger scope to grasp here. It’s easy to get locked into a system of affairs (the eating, the breathing, the working, the entertainment, the sexing, the consumerism) and lose track of what’s actually happening. It’s easy to stay blind. It takes a deep inner pause to be revealed the mechanics and structure of it all. And I’m not just talking about politics and conspiracies. I’m talking about imminent reality. Time. Amidst certain encounters of pleasure I’m able to see, even during the experience, the force that drives me to seek these sensations. Push back all the morale and the spiritual and then it’s all just ones and zeroes, cause and effect. After that layer you click back on the spiritual plane of all that is. Then everything becomes vibrant and purposeful. Even with all the logic meanderings dwelling in the back of my mind, the orgasmic moment comes. I choose to live in this world, the world of emotion and sensation, the world of spirit and faith.

Sleep 4 a.m.

---

[i] Ecstasy. 1894. Władysław Podkowiński.

[ii] Image by me.

Saturday November 3 2012

[i]

Getting out of bed at 11:14 a.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Anthony texts a quote from The Imitation of Christ by Thomas A Kempis, “We must sometimes leave even our own mind to gain the blessing of peace.” This is something I’ll soon find out will resonate for me later in the evening.

Two Hard-Boiled Eggs. Five Guys French Fries with Ketchup. Honey Green Tea.

During the down time at work I’m able to do some quick shopping at Trader Joe’s. While waiting in line to check out I take a few moments to scan the shopping frenzy scene surrounding me – trying to get a fresh perspective on these people’s auras – imagining that I’m seeing all this, modern society, for the first time. As I’m walking out to the car, brown bag in hand, I find my mind boggled by the idea of attachment. I just can’t understand relationships...with anyone, friend or lover. Maybe this is just a personal outlook that I’ve developed over the course of my life but it almost seems the only reason one chooses to love another is because they’re simply around. You accept your habitat and settle down with the familiar. I don’t think this necessarily has a negative consequence. If anything, this kind of behavior is a survival tool.

On and off chatting with Aysena on VK. She has a lot to speak about now...the interesting day she had...the feelings of missing. Amongst all this interaction I’m amazed at this relationship and how the bond between us splashes wide open every time we communicate and then retreats back into hiding when we don’t. It’s powerful...this relational phenomenon. And it’s not just with her. I observe this is in my other relationships.

The phone rings at the restaurant and I hear a familiar voice on the other line. It’s Whiskey Rob! I used to deliver Chinese food to him all the time along with a few extra things like smokes and booze; as well I’d clean his house. He’d never fail to tip me generously. I hadn’t heard from him in a long time. He’s calling me from the hospital though. His health has taken a horrible turn but it’s nothing he didn’t expect. I find him there on the hospital bed. He ordered Chinese donuts for the nurses because they’ve been so nice to him. He’s got a million IVs poking into his arms and his feet are so swollen they resemble the size of a cartoon character’s feet. I got him an electronic cigarette on the side.

The deliveries are steady. Just another day in the hood.

Rachel and her beloved boyfriend, Wyatt, ride around with me on a long run. As usual Rachel blurts out witty and clever comments about anything and everything. She’s a cute little bugger.

Hot and Sour Soup with Rice and Broccoli.

On the phone with my mom while delivering the last order. We discuss the “shifts” both of us have been experiencing lately, and some of the messages we’ve been hearing within ourselves. It’s nothing new that the world feels like it’s on the brink of change; we both know this well and everyone’s grown up hearing this preached at them. But she reiterates, “Specific things in the world are going to change...miracles beginning to take place.” My mother is completely in tune with God. Her spiritual confidence is always something I’ve looked up to and been inspired by.

...

I park on the street in my neighborhood and have to put our conversation on hold because the house needs me. There’s some kind of pajama party going on and the power went out downstairs. Of course the circuit breakers are in my room, which is locked. So much attention is required of me by others. And then texts from other people show up on my phone. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a chaotic time void that some would be thrilled to live in and others, like me, just want to break away from. Then again, it’s the chaos that makes it all that exciting.

In the house. The kids are psyched up blaring 90’s tunes on the TV. I find a note underneath my bedroom door from Kevin. He owed me $2.20 left of his rent. It reads (grammatical errors and misspellings included), “Dear fascist dictator, hear is your rent money. Sincerely, the man in the other room. P.S. I will catch you one of these days making a grilled cheese sandwich, you’ll see...you’ll see...P.P.S I deliberately short changed you by one cent. That is a way of rebelling against your Robertocracy.” 

Scarfing down a few Pumpkin Muffins from last night.

Downstairs the living room is breathing and vying for my companionship. The pajama party has turned into a viewing session from episodes of Pete & Pete, Rocko’s Modern Life, and The Wonder Years. Everyone’s sprawled out on the couches and the floor wearing various pajama pants.

Eating Biscoff Biscuits dipped in Coffee.

Later, after the majority of the crowd leaves, James, Leslie, and I are left to ourselves at the dining room table.

Eating Peanut Butter Toast with a PBR.

There’s doodling – and while James doodles vigorously on the back of a white cover page from Anthony’s old binder, Leslie and I dig into a vigorous discussion on the choosing of social environments and the troubles of being identified as an artist.

[ii]

Sleep 4 a.m.

---

[i] Car Dashboard. Graphic by Wyatt.

[ii] Doodle by Leslie.

Friday November 2 2012

[i]

☼ ○ ▬

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 worship...it 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.”

Errands.

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).