DREAMS: With my mom and Jimmy (stepdad) trekking across the mountainous lands of Japan. It’s beautiful here and it’s hot. Crossing a bridge—to the right on the edge are little cubicle buildings, maybe storage units. The doors to them are opened as if people were using them just a minute ago. Suitcases, clothes, lawn chairs scattered in, out, and around the grass next to the bridge. We get to a down slope and approach a huge entrance where people are waiting for their families and friends to arrive. There’s a group of people in particular excited to see their respective loved ones. We walk over knowing we don’t know them and pretend to be excited to see them. They get the joke and we move on. A Japanese lady and an American man are waiting for us at the gate. We meet up. I see a huge castle-like structure off to the right set upon the edge of a cliff. At first I thought it was some kind of temple, but the Japanese lady corrects me. She explains that after an accident or when physical wounds are inflicted people will go there to get photos of the wounds. It didn’t make sense to me because why would you take the time to get that done when you could just go to a hospital? It must be part of their culture. We continue walking. Our hands brush up against each other’s. She grabs hold of mine—my hand is cold and hers is warm—I feel comfortable. Her face is adorable. I thought the American guy was her boyfriend but the way she’s acting towards me says the opposite. We weave through the hallways of an elementary school. I look back to make sure my parents are still following. We keep slipping along the floor and falling—eventually making it to a gymnasium where a ping-pong tournament is being held. Black people are swinging their paddles back and forth along three tables at once. One of them scores and a friend nearby strums a chord repetitively on an invisible guitar as a sign the game is over, just like at the end of a song when the last chord is hit. I can actually hear the electric power chord being played. ☼☼☼☼☼ An escalator that’s flat with no steps. I’m preparing to ride down it with my long board. I look out at a beautiful nightscape—full bright moon. I stall and start collecting change on the ground. A kid slides down the escalator slope almost hurting himself at the bottom. Four men who are a part of the school faculty confront me. One of them is ridiculing me for what I’m about to do because it could be dangerous, the other kid already proving that. I respond with a sense of pride and a confident attitude, “You don’t know my personality enough to say things like that!” I continue on with statements a teenager would say but in a sarcastic fashion, “Don’t judge me! I’m an individual. Freedom! Blah. Blah. Blah…” Progressively getting louder. Then, I take a heroic rebel turn and direct my rant to all the students that have gathered around us watching the stand-off, “This is a public schools facility! Ladies and gentlemen…GO LEARN!!!” All the students cheer and applaud in a victorious spirit, and exit the big room. One of the four men leaves the group. And the man who originally confronted me earlier asks another guy, “Don’t you find his voice annoying?” In my mind I wanted to respond I think YOUR voice is more annoying. I go to walk away and a bunch of blind girls, all of them with the same exact face, their eyes wide open, maybe they have Down Syndrome. Alyssa Jackson approaches me from out of nowhere. She’s wearing this black and white drape-like outfit and asks me, “Do you like my dress?” I don’t really answer her but she hands me a new laptop with an incredibly thin keyboard, seems to be cut in half and the letter keys stretch out. A new version of Microsoft Word is open on the screen. All of it in a sleek black theme. I start typing a bunch of mumbo jumbo words including my name in and other information about me like my address and such. I go around the corner and climb the stairs. I hear Margot’s voices—she’s sitting on a couch nearby—other people hanging around her. She starts to read something out loud, “We’re on a trip…” It sounded like she was reading something out of my journal—afraid she had found it again. But she wasn’t.
Just after 4 p.m. I wake up
Breakfast: Toasted English Muffin with Butter and Blackberry Jam.
I ride my bike to the auto shop to get my van back (new alternator)—taking the highway and staying off to the side—sun glaring in my eyes.
Emily barges into the room excited like a little puppy dog about going to the Virgin Festival in Maryland with Wesley (Pavement is performing along with Ludacris).
Lunch: Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea. Mango.
Starting a detective thriller, The Horsemen [2009].
Working on my new desktop computer, setting up Ableton, and other business.
Chris stops by and I help him unload his drums at the unit.
Dinner: Shrimp with Green Curry and Jasmine Rice and Garlic Tortillas.
Finishing The Horsemen [2009].
Muscadine Grapes.
Organizing and rearranging the space at the storage unit.
Eating Frosted Shredded Cereal.
Practicing and recording.
Sleep around 7:30 a.m.
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