Wamp Wamp, What it Do (What it Do)

Maintaining an undefined status when labeling a misaligned early 20's romantic/sexual arrangement seems suitable for those that are immeasurably sophisticated or for those that view this (or any) characteristic as something to be achieved. Living in a city where the average male displays designer eye-wear with transition lenses atop a spray tanned face with a carefully coordinated collared shirt of an astronomical thread count and where females often make it abundantly clear (and sometimes as a mother-daughter duo) that our society is tinkering on the edge of distinctly pornographic norms, I feel misplaced. Although I laughably consider myself somewhat of a minimalist (my Ipod does not make phone calls or surf the web and I ride a bicycle), I feel a magnet-like pull toward full blown complexity. I need food and water. Shelter's nice.

However, my recent discovery is that I'm primitively drawn toward consistent affection, likely stemming from an unshakable fear of spending my mid-twenties to early-thirties kept up in some one bedroom apartment with a wildly filial relationship with two small dogs, an exhausted television, and no warm body to lay against while reading a beat generation novel, complain to about the petty dilemmas that come and go in a day, have sex with, or eat Thai food with while watching Saturday Night Live reruns, which I guess nullifies the "Live" portion of the title. It's still the name of the fucking show. Please. Relax.

With that said, my irregular form of communicating in a serious manner keeps this new need (food, water, shelter, affection, lemonade) unstable and, often times, erratic. I'm not sure why I frantically throw up a wall between how I am perceived by others (outside of the wall) and how I actually feel (behind the wall). I don't like to have all of my cards laying out across the table, leaving me in a position to be (justly) scrutinized and critiqued about my decisions/behavior. It must partially be the aforementioned and partially be that whenever I'm dropped into a meaningful and important conversation/social setting, I envision all parties involved as supporting roles (including myself) in "Days of Our Lives" with corny lines displayed on the cue cards, leaving me to refuse to actually cite them by filling in the dead air with goofy sarcasm played on the magnitude of the should-be situation. It doesn't mean that I'm emotionless. Heller Keller had emotions. They've done studies.

Spite Smiling

When I was twelve years old, my grandmother told me what she knew about the afterlife. According to an irritatingly devout Catholic, I will be shown to the pearly white gates with an empty blank scroll of paper and a pen. Neither the brand of the paper nor the pen is known, as she made clear, but both will be present on a table by the gate. There will be a man by the gate asking, "So how was life?" which, when spoken, will sound similar to the common greeting, "So how's life?" If presented with this situation today, I would respond as if it were a ten day trip to a European country, strictly for comedic value since I have nothing else to offer up to this point.

"It's a pretty nice place. I was sick through part of it, but the food was good and the people were nice!"

Anyway, when I was twelve years old I already knew that I fucked myself out of an afterlife. My decision to consistently steal money from my parents' change jar to buy baseball cards and slush puppies nullified my decision to help my overweight health teacher off the ground after a lengthy tumble down a flight of stairs. I didn't even laugh, but it didn't matter. I was certain of it.

Day after day, I would keep a dollar from my lunch money and run it through the school vending machine in order to acquire change. I'd dump a hand full of assorted change back into the jar at the end of the week. I tried to keep the ratio of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters consistent with how I had originally found it. There was no actual formula to follow, but I knew that there were hardly any quarters, a ton of nickels and dimes, and a fair amount of pennies.

Later.

PS.
To whomever this may concern,
My recent release of repressed feelings,
Largely due to a 9 day sober streak,
(Hi-five),
Has vented out of my mouth and out of my fingers and into the ears and eyes of those willing to give blunt and honest advice.
Thank you infinitely for that.
Women, high blood pressure (likely a direct correlation), money wars, flat tires, Fat Tire, lies, bugs, Boston, existenialism, caffeine,
In no specific order,
Actually maybe,
Have worn me down.
Thanks for caring.

Gonna be hecka bummed out for a while.

Phil

Today, a higher force was clearly working it's magic. I can honestly say that I had heard a handful of Phil Collins songs in malls, fabric stores and in a car driving by. The ones that are really fucking catchy and stay with you for weeks on end like Against All Odds and You Can't Hurry Love. For a second, I thought he may have died since the last time I recall his happening was after Michael Jackson's death.

I was humming it at the urinal of a Thai restaurant. I was whistling it walking down Powell St. I was subtly singing it to myself at the book store. It was an eerie day. The type of day that you propose to a girlfriend or commit suicide or subscribe to a magazine you know you'll never read.

There are days when I'd like nothing else but to disappear to some place I've never been for an indefinite amount of time in order to gather a better understanding of the decisions I'm making. Today is definitely one of those days.

My friend from home said that looking at every possible situation in a transient light is depressingly practical.

I wish it were colder.

Weekend (v.v.v.0)

I feel like I'm traveling through memories and revisiting points in my life that have already happened.

I have traveled up and down route 1 over 14 times since I've been home.

So much has changed since leaving here and it's fun to hear about and spend time with people that were once a giant part of me.

I love my friends and family.

If you owe me ten dollars, you ain't givin' me nine.

Like Lines

Live poker in the state of California is unlike anything I have ever seen. I was grinding (playing) while eating a mediocre breakfast plate consisting of two cold sausage links, two pancakes, an orange, and ham when an Asian gentleman around my age tapped me on the shoulder and tugged on the cord to my noise canceling headphones. I was playing 9/18 with him earlier in the night, the highest game that was running through the night at Lucky Chances in Colma, CA, where the dead outnumber the living 1,000:1.

Asian Bro: "Hey man. I just lost $550 playing blackjack. I feel awful."
Richard: "That sucks man. Table games are evil."
Asian Bro: "Do you play here often? Is there any way you can let me borrow a hundred bucks? I can leave you my license if you want it."
Richard: "This is my first and last time here. Sorry."
Asian Bro: "Yeah, I'm probably better off."
Richard: "Probably."

It's comforting to know that you are the most skilled player in the entire room. If the rake wasn't astronomical and if the dealers weren't on par with the worst I've ever seen, I'd try to grind it out there fairly often if they were to offer a higher game.

There was one fairly interesting hand that I was berated for. It was a standard hand on my end, but the shit that went on from other players was mind blowing. It was 6 handed and I open in the cutoff with Q9sd. Button, SB, and BB all call. Flop comes Jd Td 5s giving me license to mash on my opponenets, heck of. I continuation bet, button calls, SB raises, BB folds, I announce that I would like to enter more of my money into the pot, button calls, SB calls. Turn comes the 8 of spades and SB elects to donk where I then raise and the button 3 bets. Sb calls. I cap. All call. The river comes a king of clubs. SB donks again, I raise, both players call.

The button shows Jc9c and SB shows KhJh. My mind exploded.

Sorry for the gibberish to any non-poker playing chillers that may read this.

When I'm Asked if I'm Okay, I Don't Know What to Say

I find it pathetic that something as simple and casual as a text message can aggravate buried feelings so severely that I dwell on memories (good, bad, awkward, fulfilling, whatever) for an entire day while staring into my phone.

I had a friend back home who was the most caring and purely beautiful person I have ever met. I hear from her now and then, but she serves as a constant reminder of my flaws and mistakes.

It kills me that I'm incapable of communicating with the people I care for. I find it to be a steady issue.

I'm going to see Bon Iver perform with Megafaun tonight. I've never been to a show by myself before.

I wish I was 18 again.

After free-writing 20+ pages in a Mead notebook, I've come to the realization that I have many potentially interesting things to write about. That excites me.

"I was teased by your blouse.
Spit out by your mouth."

I don't mean to sound self-deprecating in any way. I'm not depressed. I'm not anything. I just float. I'm happier than I've been in the past few months but I wouldn't say that I'm ecstatic for the future. I have no idea where I'll be in three months and that leaves me with a strong sense of unease.

To my mother and my brother(assuming that there's a slight possibility of you reading this), I love you both dearly and the thought of seeing you within a month makes any day much easier.

PDX Take 2

Moments after my plane lands in Portland, Oregon (at around 8:20PM on Thursday) I get word that I should hustle down to a ritzy downtown bar. A friend of a friend had just finished a book reading on the first stop of his book tour and was invited by Phil Knight for drinks and appetizers paid for by the child labor employer/CEO of the Nike Corporation.

I recall having fine whiskey swishing around in my mouth as I ordered another drink from the waiter.

My favorite moment of the entire trip was watching Noah Mendel stick his entire fist in his mouth. About 25 feet beyond him was Phil Knight, a billionaire, sipping gazpacho. Both were in my vision.

What a lovely trip.