[i]
DREAM: A scene of a massive line of people slowly making their way across a big city bridge. Camera pans from right to left, hovering across the sight. It’s foggy and misty. The people have evacuated their respective homelands and are traveling to a safer place.
Waking up at 1:24 p.m.
Banana. Orange Juice.
Organizing.
Grilled Cheese with Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.
Chris Remaley shows up at the house. We catch up a little bit then meet up at the storage unit so he can retrieve his drums. I gather the PA and stuff for the show tonight.
Just as I’m driving away I’m informed the show is cancelled because a fire marshal cracked down on The Path’s lack of permits to sell food and have shows. There’s never any fear in a DIY’s heart though. We transfer the shenanigans to Stephanie’s backyard, complete with a skate ramp for the stage. I do my rounds of promoting and spreading the word. At least 40 people show up. I beat on the drums for The Vaginasaurs—alongside with other bands, Just Friends, Spring Time, and Lvl. 2 Pidgey. The cold weather isn’t too much of a factor—we got a fire pit. Sharing beers and good times>>>>>>>>>>
//////////////////// I’m feeling a new attraction...one that’s been burrowing for a little while but doesn’t have sustainability...at least not yet. The caliber of my girl prowl isn’t necessarily at it’s highest at the moment. I just don’t have the desire. I’m not too lonely nor am I finding my libido overwhelming. But the filters I involuntarily place over my eyes keep me on the lookout...for something infinite...something beautiful and worthy of the love I have to give. ////////////////////
Back home. Eating Beer Glazed Black Soybeans with Onions, Mixed Vegetables, and Rice.
Watching Scarface (1983).
[Text Message]
Margot: “Would you be mad if I asked you to come get me from poons?:-/”
Me: “if you really need me to, i will.”
Even though I shouldn’t be that involved in her life I choose to go. I pick her up and bring her back to my room. She’s undoubtedly drunkie, fumbling in her heels. She’s funny though. She slips off her pants but keeps the shirt on...
Her: “Stop looking at me.”
Me: “Don’t give me something to look at then.”
She says a few things while she sits on the stool that only confirm what Darren said the other day about girls and how status is more important to them than sex or happiness. Later I tumble in the bed with her—the smell of alcohol rich on her tongue—the smell of clove rich in my breath. There were a few moments where I could’ve touched her and gone all the way but I didn’t. She sensed a reservation while she was on top of me smothering me with ex-affection. I’ll stick to this. Should I feel honored? She was doing stuff like this only a few weeks ago with someone else. But I don’t feel such heaviness and aching with her anymore. Every now and then something dark and all too familiar resurfaces in my interaction with her. I’m keeping my distance emotionally and also not prying into her boy prowl, but it’s not as if she doesn’t constantly boast about it to me anyway.
A bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar.
I join her in bed. She resituates her body to interlock with mine.
I whisper, “Kitty...” into her ear a few times.
She mumbles nonsensical half-awake statements back...“You have kitties??” and “I don’t want to be a shirt...”
Me: “What? What are you saying?”
Zzzzz...4:20 a.m.
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