Friday September 9 2011

DREAM: I’m driving south—on a spontaneous road trip to visit my mom in Florida. The vehicle I’m using has no top, like a convertible; maybe it’s a motorcycle. I feel the wind in my face. I’m determined to travel the whole way by tonight. As I’m waiting at a stoplight I notice a little raven behind me, just hanging out. This raven is not black but rather wearing tropical colors like red, blue, and cream orange. In my mind it’s categorized as a crow even though they’re of the same bird family. I call to it like a dog, making click noises with my mouth attempting to lure it towards me. It’s beady eyes spark an interest and eventually feels comfortable enough to hop onto my right index finger. I start driving—and at incredible speed. Worried the raven will be frightened and fly away but it stays surprisingly, at ease to be my road companion. Later on we get bombarded by a larger raven made out of paper mache. The big bird decides to peck at my tropical raven. I sense hostility and try to shoo him away. But then it’s understood this is okay because the raven communicates to me that it accepts this foreign paper mache raven…

I wake up to 23 missed calls from Margot. I can only imagine why…maybe I wrote something that upset her? Verified. It’s just so frustrating. Why does she have to read about my life and everything I do? She knows she shouldn’t. Yeah, it’s there for the public to see but there won’t ever be true separation between us if she continues.

Pluot. Italian Plums. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Blue and Yukon Gold Potato Chips. Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

Hot-ass day for delivering—towel over my head—avoiding the sharpness of the sun.

Starbucks Soy Iced Coffee with Honey.

Busy. Busy. Busy. I’m a one-man delivery wrecking crew.

Snacking on Granola Trail Mix.

I’m depressed…only somewhat personally. Feeling a little vulnerable. But really on a grander scale of things I’m unimpressed with the way most of humanity handles attachment. What is it about us that pushes one to dive deeply into another. Shouldn’t we have learned from the Buddhists by now? Attachment to desire brings suffering. But obviously we NEED suffering. Suffering brings us closer to the heart, maybe closer to God. There are those that have a keen sense of awareness over everything and cannot remove themselves from it…so much that they are controlled by their sensitivity to perception. And then there are those that choose ignorance, a non-emotional path, and some with good reason. This resistance births intelligence. Or does it? I think being strong in who you are as one soul, one mind, and one voice is vital to the next level of humanity. Connectivity. Togetherness. Unity. These things fight against individuality. Where is the balance? Who am I? No, really, who am I? God! I don’t know!!!! What a shame…

Dinner: Leftover Tuna and Hearts of Palm with Rice and Broccoli.

Around the time of my birthday Margot ordered a gift for me that just now arrived. I invite her over to show me. She makes it known the awkwardness it is giving me a gift a month after we broke up. She bought me a pair of custom Vans. The tone in her voice is bitter but the attempts to be sweet for a few seconds at a time. She shares the story of the date she had tonight with some guy who’s a cop and whom she’s unimpressed with in general. But in general she’s unimpressed with most men in the bar scene, which she should anyway because most of them have only one prerogative: Get her in bed.

She starts a little bit of interrogation on me.

“I know you didn’t just come here to interrogate me…”

I’m not feeling well—feeling extremely heavy—a lot of things on my mind—a lot of changes in the past month—big changes. Earlier in the night I just wanted to cry. But I didn’t. This season of loss just gets worse and worse, or better and better, depending on how I look at it.

Eventually we’re lying down next to each other—steadily and slowly offering mild affection. Innocent at first—soft caresses of the head and back. But there’s heat, undeniable heat. Strategically she bombards me with her body—planting my face in her bosom and, well, from there it continues into full fledge lovemaking. There’s such a strong drive between us, like long lost lovers reuniting, making the sex ten times more the experience. Incredible. Heavenly. Fantasy.

What do I make of this? How many more times will this happen? She deserves to feel such ecstasy. She deserves to feel this. I don’t. I really don’t. For me the withdrawal is a discipline. Even though it’s overwhelming at times. I deserve to be deprived. And my path is loneliness, but only for a time. But how do I resist this comfortable and familiar sexual fire?

And through the thick of it all I can always depend on a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

It’s 4 a.m. and the night air is cool and crisp as I march around Chanticleer smoking a Djarum Mild. The moon is yellow full and defined, following my steps and my thoughts. There’s much to reflect on…

Sleep 5 a.m.