12/26/01 "Same as other comments" (in honor of J. Lee & M. Dilemma)

It's a little scary, well disheartening, to think that I was (or still am) in love with E and now we've gone our separate ways. Most of the failure I blame on myself and my drug problems, but there were perfect opportunities for sustaining delicious love which I did nothing to keep alive.

Alcohol fogs a lot of my memory. I've been sleep-walking through life since around 16 or so. Maybe I'm stunted...constantly trying to escape? But what else in life? It's very easy to get sucked in to evaluations of other peoples' creation and bound by expectation & obligation.

(05.06.08- That would be bad, to be bound by expectation & obligation, for the narcissistic constitution)

I honestly believe that I'm supposed to be a gypsy wanderer. No stealing though. It feels better to be without than to steal. For the past few years I've been fattening up, thinking mundane, only SEEing the mundane.

It's sad to see the Boxer tame his spirit to make the money they give you for technology work. Working is important, or at least having the means for clean underwear & socks. He's fine, I'm sure... and I should feel more about the course of events my own life has brought me here by.

I perform a distracted flippant dance at work. I write horrible & ridiculous words like these.

Sympathy for the Devil

I feel terrible for that poor Walker kid from California. He's a centerpiece at the table now for the United State's reciprocation for the hijacked plane attacks. He's a fool, but he was doing interesting things, and now everyone is in his business. Why doesn't he give up his US citizenship if he's so antiamerican? I'm sure that it won't be an all pleasant experience for him to commit to life in the New Afghanistan or other neighbors.

Inappropriate criticism from Z-- about my old lover. Z-- can only be jealous.

1 hour of conversation with Demimonde E. Amusing, and refreshing. I think I know where I am. A Brit insisted we knew each other although we had really never met before in our lives.

Demands

I'm apprehensive about a few things. Stupid obligations coupled with very valid ones, and I'm not balancing it all very well. Ghettoness, but not of the finer variety.

I am working to find a new place to live, but with a few if/thens. It seems the place for me to go is back to Harlem. Harlem always did me right. Harlem and then balance my financial situation and then furniture, savings, and adventure. Winter will come and the sidewalks will sparkle. How long will I be in this city? It seems like I can't stay anywhere forever, or it would be a waste of my life. Then again, barely being able to bum one's way around is really limiting as well. It seems like a very rigorous effort to make money is necessary, but I don't have the inspiration for all of that.

I have to organize, but I need solitude.

The Scary-Go-Round

Make it stop, please. Make it stop.

Self-importance

I'm very sick of things which make no sense and are just taken for granted as a part of reality. I've also been particularly intolerant today. Generally, I mean, I've been intolerant. I'm working on one project and someone calls to relay some imposition in some hand-me-down attitude from whoever they're getting it from. This is all trivial, except the thing that is bothering me is how really unnecessary it seems to be.

A friend, A, said something like the only time someone gets frustrated is when self-importance gets out of hand. It's sort of true.

Mosquitos, Mosquitos, Everywhere

I'm not dead. I'm moving again, this time I might have to sign a lease. Somehow I still have a job. Z- had to lend me a few bucks again. I don't think she was happy. I stayed up until 6AM on Sat night tapping away because I was being assaulted by mosquitos. It seems that while I was away, my whole apartment, and particularly my room became infested with mosquitos. In the morning I saw one on the wall and hit it with something and it smeared a drop of my blood or so on my wall.

I found my glasses; I wasn't sure where they were. That leaves my bag and my wallet. I've pretty much written off my wallet, but you never know. Perhaps it's at the DMV or something. My bag is, according the the representative on the other end of the line to the Jackie Gleason Bus Depot, now at Penn Station, where I was on Thursday and actually at the lost and found. I was directed across the way and just left because I didn't think that my bag would make its way there. I should head directly over there, but I'm sure I'll procrastinate. I have no idea what is in that bag now anyway. It's ancient history.

Finding a new place to live is tough. I don't feel like it.

Nauseastalgia

More shenanigans in the Universe, of course I'm very suspicious I've been causing them. I'm somehow at work and everyone is asking me to not really do anything and to go home, etc. My eyes sting because I couldn't find my glasses this morning, but was in a super rush to get to work before anyone else did so that I could get a lot of things accomplished.

People were, of course, extra selfish on the subway and I wasn't feeling any of it so I just got off the express and took the much slower local. So much more comfortable.

I miss linux. I think that it will become a good friend of mine again. Maybe I should look more at BSD, but I bet it's easier to learn to make stuff on Linux.

Delightful conversation this morning with Grishkina. I'm sure that it will be the highlight of my day.

A colder Brooklyn

Wow, it's been harrowing. I spent time, and peculiarly lovely time with the company of a vastly more educated person than I can hope to be. Well, perhaps if I found my way into school and eliminated the slackery.

Brooklyn is colder now. Night is spooky, with dirty warehouses and loading docks. Shuffling men in black with hats and long coats. Stale, quiet.

Last night's sleep was magnificently indulgent.

"Yeah, Whatever."

Last night I came home, drank a couple of beers, ate some sweet & sour chicken, watched two and a half television shows and decided to go to bed early. It was about 8:30. Shah, the roommate to my north, was having his girlfriend over and making food. As I was walking to my bed, he asks me, "hey, would you do me a favor?" Ok, that phrasing really, really, annoys me. The favor would have been to watch his rice for 15 minutes while he went to go pick up his girlfriend. When I told him that I was going to sleep, he looked at his watch and said something stupid. I don't think he believed me. The point is, that if I were in the kitchen doing something else, it might not have been an issue. As it was, I was heading to bed early to make up for years of lost sleep. After him being indignant I told him that if he set a timer and I heard it I would turn off the rice. Then I went to bed.

No longer than 10 minutes later I was sleeping. I dropped right off. I could potentially have slept for 11 full hours in my completely dark room and then have been to work at 9:30 after a nice breakfast. He brought his shrieky girlfriend home, who I'm sure is a nice girl, but proceeded to babble things that he was really obviously uninterested in. Her voice would pause occasionally and then she would issue in a very pronounced high voice frequently punctuated with breathing giggles a new string (and they were amazingly long) of words to describe some generalization about one of her roommates and how they behaved around guys or something. That's one example of a topic. I know it seems like I'm being really demanding asking that people be quiet at 9 so that I can get sleep, but the fact is that I can actually sleep with a moderate amount of noise. A television, music, a movie, even music or television that I don't like or with laugh tracks that are too loud don't usually prevent me from getting to sleep.

They were being genuinely loud. I politely asked if they could "shut the fuck up" a while after another roommate suggested they try to be quieter since I was trying to sleep. The offending roommate's response to that was "yeah, whatever." Truly, sometimes I'm bastardly, but I'm coming to the realization that I genuinely have experienced different things and maybe am a different 'type' of person than these people. What's more, the rent for me is 600 + extra utilities because we live in a commercial space. It's not at all worth what I get.

It's time to start looking for a studio. I don't think I'll have money to move though until maybe early January.

The leaves are being taken off of the trees by the wind today. Yesterday it was or was very close to 80F and today I think it's 70. A friend is coming to visit and I'm glad they'll be given some warm weather.

I have been trying to shave everyday, but all I get is razorburn.

Triviality

Anthrax in the US. Argument with roommates over me not wanting to order cable until we can get a cable modem. I need more money to get a nice studio some where and be able to live well. As I had a conversation with someone, wake up in the morning, drink tea in my wifebeater by the window. Read the newspaper. Shave everyday and go to work. Leave and be home within 30 minutes. Make dinner, listen to good radio. Have high bandwidth. A good view. Own a vacuum cleaner. My friend suggested I get a white rug and pay to have it cleaned once a month. Not a bad idea.

10/14/01

10/14/01

It's Sunday afternoon. I'm comfortably exhausted. Right now I should
be doing things relevant to my job. I'm not. I'm not going to. I'm
going to sit here and write 5 minutes of worthlessness.

I hung out with the Boxer on Friday. Went to a decibel. Drank saki
and green tea. Sleeping samurai. I wore my white button down shirt open
with my hairy belly.

I finally got glasses. I don't like them really, but they'll do until
I buy a pair that I am more comfortable in.

Distant Memory

It's Sunday afternoon. I'm comfortably exhausted. Right now I should be doing things relevant to my job. I'm not. I'm not going to. I'm going to sit here and write 5 minutes of worthlessness.

I hung out with the Boxer on Friday. Went to a decibel. Drank saki and green tea. Sleeping samurai. I wore my white button down shirt open with my hairy belly.

I finally got glasses. I don't like them really, but they'll do until I buy a pair that I am more comfortable in.

Consquences?

This morning I hit the alarm approximately 15 times, with 10 minutes between each alarming. This didn't seem to bother me in the least. I had the most comfortable sleep in those 10 minute sessions. Then I came to work to find my boss and her friend the HR person right in the front doorway. I smiled and then walked past. HAH! She said "hello" in a cheery voice. What the fuck? It was past 12:30 I think! Tomorrow I have to see her in the morning to help her with something, so I'm not necessarily off the hook.

Well at like 11 the Con Edison guy came by and asked to see the meter. Since I didn't know where the meter was I let him in and told him where I would be.

A few minutes later a big fat guy who I assume is Shlomo the landlord stopped by to tell me that I messed up and let the Con Edison guy in and that I'd caused a lot of problems.

10/09/01

10/09/01

I've been very disappointed today. My friend does not seem to be coming to visit me. I'm so cold in my office
that I'm wearing my coat. I've been eating candied almonds all afternoon waiting for 5:00 to come around. The
candy tastes not too great, but the almond is good.

All I ever want to do when I'm at work is go home and go to sleep, but when I finally get home I don't.

I'm pretty sure that I'm going to move out of the apartment where I live now. Need money.

It doesn't matter these days

Such strange arrangements lately. I've been sort of out of it. Skateboarding the other night in mid town at a nice slippery high ledge and open park. 50-50 grinds, I couldn't land any, but shot sparks down the ledge. We, my roommate and a guest from Melbourne, drove up the FDR hoping to get off on like 41st street but the exits had been closed by NYPD all the way up to 96th street. We had to backtrack down 2nd Avenue I think it was to around 40th street. On the way a black sedan started to veer into our lane at our car at which point my roommate swerved and honked and the sedan corrected back into his lane. Then it happened again as we were passing and I banged on my window to get attention while my roommate swerved and then flipped the other driver off very excitedly.

We were having discussions in the car about how the NYPD is taking all sorts of liberties that were entirely unnecessary and sort of exploiting the tragedy at the World Trade Center. I personally didn't agree with him, my roommate and generally think that although his opinions are well presented a lot of the time, he fails to factor in things that counterbalance whatever he's saying.

I've had my run-ins with the NYPD and while they're not the most fun company, they do a complicated job. Not all of them are going to be the smartest, fairest, most polite, etc. but they're taking on a task that isn't usually glamorous and their praise is grossly outweighed by their blame. No one thinks about the body of police that were dealing with rape, shooting, assault, domestic violence, neglected children, heroin addicts and everything else while a few police were committing such vile acts as those publicly recognized in the Louima case. I'm not saying these people are saints. Far from it. But I'm sort of through with criticizing the Police as a whole.

My roommate was offended as we drove up the FDR that the police wouldn't shout back anything coherent as he loudly whined "where can we get offf" in a passing red honda civic at 30 or so MPH.

Then after my roommate flipped off the black sedan and I banged on the window, about two blocks after, we saw flashing lights behind us. Because this isn't abnormal right now, we thought they just wanted to pass until we recognized the car as the one he had flipped off. He had flipped off an unmarked car.

Now I'd like to mention that when I banged on the window the driver of the black sedan, who is now turning out to be a police officer, was genuinely surprised that I, inside a car, was so close to him. He didn't know he was cutting us off.

He asked for license and registration and then my roommate apologized but emphasizing that the cop almost hit him, which I thought was a mistake. The cop said that he shouldn't have been flipped the finger and so on. Another cop was flashing a light in the car, which was a hatchback and didn't really hide anything. The cop chastised, my roommate whined, and in between were funny exchanges like from the officer, "What if I was some crazy guy and wanted to get out and fight you, then what, huh? You know karate?" to which my dumbass roommate replied, and honestly so, that he had a black belt. Now having a 'black belt' doesn't necessarily mean anything, but he felt confident in saying it. After this, the officer asked him how long he'd been studying, to which my roommate replied, "16 years." The officer announced that he'd been studying 29 years and that my roommate should especially know about Discipline and then went on to say that, "Every action is a reaction," which sort of makes sense, but maybe "Every reaction is an action," would make more.

The cop went on for a little while talking about a car being a 2000 pound lethal weapon and how he had to see brains splattered all across a dashboard, stopping long enough to ask but not enough for an answer, "I've seen brains splattered across the dashboard, you ever seen that? NO!, I've been down there at ground zero digging out bodies for two weeks, you ever seen that?... I didn't think so." Whether or not he has been down at the recovery site for two weeks is not easy to know really, but it did seem a bit like he was playing the tragedy card. Eventually after my roommate shut up he told us to get out of there and behave.

As the car pulled out and passed us, the cop flipped us the finger.

I was skating well enough when we got to the spot, but fell really hard when this lid for some gas or water service or something that was on a pivot thing in the ground trapped my wheel and I was launched straight into the ground. I'm not as agile really as I used to be. My neck hurt the next morning, but that could have been from a number of falls.

I woke up with a fairly nasty cough and decided not to go to work in the morning, which turned into all day. My sleeping spot is not comfortable. I need a proper bed. I don't feel like building a loft either.

Naval

U.S. Naval Observatory
Astronomical Applications Department

Sun and Moon Data for One Day
The following information is provided for Brooklyn, King's County, New
York (longitude W74.0, latitude N40.6):

Tuesday
2 October 2001 Eastern Daylight Time

SUN
Begin civil twilight 6:27 a.m.
Sunrise 6:54 a.m.
Sun transit 12:45 p.m.
Sunset 6:36 p.m.
End civil twilight 7:04 p.m.

MOON
Moonrise 6:41 p.m. on preceding day
Moon transit 12:37 a.m.
Moonset 6:42 a.m.
Moonrise 7:05 p.m.
Moonset 7:42 a.m. on following day


Full Moon on 2 October 2001 at 9:49 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time.

Edinburgh

I've got a cough and I'm exhausted but it's somewhat satisfying for some reason. I did my laundry last night but didn't dry it all the way so it's still really damp in my bag.

My room is a mess. I went to Edinburgh. My flight was scheduled for around 7PM Friday evening. I didn't expect to actually be able to get on the flight, but I went to the airport anyway. I figured to be there would be the most likely way to be able to get on a plane. Air France was very nice to me and put my name number 5 on a list. I got quite drunk and then they gave us all cots. I woke up with a hangover at 7 AM in the airport to see that my flight was cancelled for Saturday so I went home and slept.

On Sunday I went back to the airport to find a very very long line for the Air France check in. I found a very nice customer service person who was talking to breated people in the line and calmly explained that I had been put down on a list as number 5. He told me that I was invited to check in immediately. This made me very happy.

Because I had shown up to the airport like 5 hours earlier than my flight was supposed to leave and the flights were all running late, I had some more time to drink in the airport. I made friends with some Greek guy and we took a photo. He was showing me the receipts from the cash that he sends back to his wife.

I fell asleep as soon as they let me on the plane. The next thing I knew my breath was really bad and Dr. Doolittle 2 was playing on the flight to Paris. I found a steward and asked him for the whole bottle of evian. He gave it to me.

Paris airport, then Edinburgh, then more wine and sleep. Not before making all sorts of asinine declarations. Next morning, very bad breath, thirsty, dizzy. Right, headache. Zoo. Giraffes. Sketchy panthers or leopards that made me jump.

---

Flip flop between loving Edinburgh and thinking it's the middle of nowhere, nowhere I would want to live.

more confusion.

time to go..

back to New York. New York is really sad now. I don't feel like going out really. Maybe that's exactly what I should do. I haven't really been 'out' for a long time in New York. I feel like I should go to Toronto for some reason.

There are army trucks and strange trucks lined us filled with sand on the Brooklyn side of the Brooklyn. There was no gas for heat, hot water, and cooking from Saturday to today at my apartment. I went to Z's to do laundry and shower. How kind she is. I made plans and then didn't show up on Saturday night because I fell asleep at like 6 or 7 or something ridiculous.

I need money to build a bed. How long should I stay in this city, in this country? I feel like it's only going to get a lot worse.

09/27/01

I don't really feel like noting anything.

09/25/01 (the222problem)

things that are 222

09/05/01 ~11:45 AM
Deli on Madison and 65th.. woman buys salad by weight.. the price = 2.22

Dumpster cart in front of my apt.
On Flushing Ave.  Marked with numbers 222 in large 1ft. stencil.

09/23/01
Flight 1161 Air France from Edinburgh to Paris lands at local time
"twenty-two minutes after two" in the afternoon.

09/07/01

09/07/01

It's a very nice day. I do have my completely dark room now, and plan on enjoying that as soon as
possible. Today I am enjoying. I played basketball for like 15 minutes yesterday and I'm actually sore. I also
played tennis. For some reason I always have suspected that I'm some sort of tennis prodigy. Perhaps its because
it looks so easy and people always seem really lazy about it. Unfortunately, I turn out not to be a tennis
prodigy. Not a chess prodigy. I haven't really owned an instrument yet, so I don't know about that. Doubt it.
I'm reeling because I'm so tired. Sleep. It's only 2:22 as I look at the clock. Why? It's absolutely true.
Actually my phone says 2:22 but my computer says 2:20. The numbers on my phone display are larger, so, well.. they
must be correct.

Cleopatra

Rumor has it that Samuel the Swede may be making an appearance in NYC
today. Meanwhile, I'm trying to pack up and figure out where I'm going to
live at the same time as I'm really broke and have to attend evening
meetings and work is madness. I slept very well last night, and that is
probably partly due to my being able to really be honest with myself and
bounce my self-concernedness off of the brain of Z. If you don't get very
good sleep for a while and then one night you do, it's like the whole
night is filled up with dream after dream. None that I can really
remember, but every one is like eating a meal.
Hemingway's brother, sister, granddaughter and I think father, along
with Ernest himself, all killed themselves. They apparently all had
alcohol problems as well. I was reading papers on the learning of
suicidal behavior, and family members, particularly children learning to
relate to the suicider. Questions about genetic
predisposition and the role of congenital psych conditions. The Old Man
and the Sea was about a person in Ecclesiastes? Do we really think that
Cleopatra killed herself with an asp? Asps are vipers (I've read she had
two punctures on her arm, but how much can I trust that info) and their
venom is a neurotoxin which would be very painful. I think fixed fang
snakes are usually hemotoxin-venomed and folding, viper type snakes are
neurotoxins. Hemotoxins don't sound very comfy either, but the asp venom
would be really painful I've read.

When I was little I wanted to be a herpetologist. I remember when I
caught my first snake. I went to climb a tree to see where I was in the
woods. I reached my hand up to one of those little hubs where the
trunk branches split in multiple directions. I felt something strange and
for some reason decided to grab it to see what it was. It turned out to
be a juvenile black snake. I was very surprised. I took it home in my
shirt. My dad didn't see why I put it in my shirt rather than just
carry it, but it was a long way home.

Stupid (a poem (to honor Mamie Minch))

07/10/01


I'm very happy

Mamie found my wallet;

she always tryin' to huug me;

next time I'mma let her;

but only just a lit-tle.



It's too bad i can-celed

my citibank citicard,

and my corporate credit card,

but they'll send me new ones,

by the 13th of this month.



Now I didn't lose my

Fake ISIC card yeah!

Except that thing is use-less,

But I got my I.D.

Don't have to deal with the D.M.V.!



I also have my photo

From the Chicago Tribune

In the travel section

Of Zurich's Blinde Kuh

Which lives in my wallet



It was under a black hoodie;

I wish that I had remembered that,

And I forgot Hollywood Babylon,

The book with really great pictures.

So now I have to return to Wilmington.



Maybe I can see Kerry,

my em·py·re·al Love,

And coveted paramour.

Zoe sent Wendy affection,

But I forgot to relay it.



I didn't get to see Wendy, really,

But I'm chewing on some mint.

Next time we should hang out

For more time than the cook-out.

Maybe also with some others.



The Brandywine is a bit nasty;

I think it needs more chlorine

I can't play dominos

It isn't a big deal, though

Thanks for breakfast Hannah, Petro



And to rookie Davis of the PPD,

You owe me two dollars and an apology.

Your friend the older woman knew pretty well

That your dumb ass threats

Were empty, hollow, cowardly, and graceless.

Summer 2001

06/22/01

What makes adults think that they can behave like fools because they're
old enough? I think that I will train my child, if I have one, to
ethically antagonize arrogance. That makes no sense. I can just train
others' children to ethically antagonize arrogance. A nursery job, that
is an idea. To have perhaps an even greater impact I could become a
school teacher or something, but then I'd have to be a school teacher.

If I could just replicate two bastard children of the cosmos I could
quit my job as a teacher and then set out with a blowgun and some
xylazine.


06/25/01

I just realized that I am homosexual. My penis warms my heart. I love
the morning sun on my feet. I can sleep with my sheet and let my feet stick out and they get all warm. It
makes me feel sort of like
an Iguana lying on it's back. Heard word from Greece or Venice and wish
that I had the money to buy an apartment and get a stupid job that left me
in some quiet perfect state when I am finished.

I went to St. John the Divine for Sunday AM services. Something about
lightning had struck the regular altar so we all sat up in the main altar
which was very dark and cool and had these bleachers that we sat in
solitude in. Each chair had a sort of ceiling and walls.

I don't understand the "Peace be with you" crap but it sounds a little
cool. They're only saying that "Peace be with you" nonsense because
they're around other catholics or Episcopalians or whatever. I forgot
what they were doing and I'm replying, "and nice to meet -you-, nice to
meet you, nice to meet you" It's a little embarrassing.

I danced until 4 in the morning on Friday in some sweaty focus. A
little lightship boat that had been submerged and now is a venue for
rascally parties.


06/26/01

I Saw The Wild Ones in Bryant Park last night. I accidentally put on a
rather smelly shirt when I left the house. I wish that I had been
comfortable and crisp and that the people there weren't doing stupid lawn
things like throwing inflatable balls around. People started jumping up
and worshipping the HBO logo that is played before the feature
presentation. It seemed like people were leaving throughout the whole
movie. I would have preferred to have been drinking wine.

I sneezed and before I could finish a girl said, "bless you," and
before she could finish saying, "bless you," I said, "thank you."


06/27/01

I have a group of mint plants that I've brought from Wilmington to New
York and named the expatriates. They were bundled all together for a long
time with the flexible stem of a mint plant tied around them so they grew
in a tangled spoke-cone pattern. Now I've brought them into my office. I
still sometimes think it's very strange to have an office, when right
outside my door there is a thirty to forty year old man that sits in the
hallway. Well, My mint is here and they are doing well enough.

I was taking all the dead leaves off on the subway and I realized that
stems were invading the woman next to me's space so I apologized. She
was already smiling and said it was OK.

I had the most ridiculous dreams about conspiring with a a tiger that
was brought in to kill us.





06/28/01

I'd pretty much prefer hermitage now. I had two pitchers of sangria
and some other drinks with Jason. Attended the TechXNY PC Expo first.
Those people were damn ridiculous. I was inspired to make things actually
work though. Three Brazilian girls took our sangria table when we
left and I tried to impress them with my piss poor Portuguese which
basically allows me to say only, "The man throws the the ball." "The
woman catches the ball," and so on. Except this one slang thing that I
can never pronounce right but they thought it was funny. It's really time
to learn Portuguese.

Excluding a few people that I don't usually see, I don't really feel
too much of an attachment to the people I know. Everything is really
mundane. People are worried about ridiculousness. Do I worry about such
ridiculousness? Even worse are the people that are set on figuring it all
out within some silly frameset that they are compelled to adhere to.
Sitting in a sandbox
and then trying to make an accurate map of the entire world. I need to be
more polite. I also need to disassociate so that I am not plagued by the
common man's problems. My obnoxiousness makes me smile.

As long as I have clean clothes and a small amount of food I should be
happy. I haven't had a cell phone in weeks. I've been broke for more
than a week now. When I'm poor I'm happy. Laundry is very essential
though. New socks and shoes always contribute to a general feeling of
well being and good thinking. Brand new shoes, however, can make one walk
funny and be self conscious.

This is very important. I am a fairly excessive and extreme person. I
like things entirely one way or the other. I don't like doubts. I don't
feel comfortable with a predictable course of events. I generally don't
categorize what I appreciate and what I don't, and I get mistaken for
following silly rulesets. Like most people probably,
I swing through phases where I follow certain patterns and not others.

Ultimately, I need change and uncertainty. I like to have to think
about procuring the important stuff like bread and wine. I don't really
want to have to think about how to get a computer to do this or that or
planning on how to accomplish some task for an alien motive or a very
valuable and honest and virtuous motive obscured by a tangle of other
people's interests whether extended or personal. I most certainly don't
like people to touch me with convoluted posture or without warrant.

Perhaps I'm wrong about my life. Maybe I should settle in, take out
loans, go to school, buy furniture, subscribe to cable, get bigger
bandwidth, and all the other things that people who can actually commit
themselves to doing something tend to do.

Nope. Can't. I don't even know what I'm doing here at work. I'm
waiting for a phone call. Right. But there is a whole earth (and a lot
more) outside of this office.



06/29/01

I haven't smoked a cigarette in something like 38 hours now and I'm
starting to get a little tweaky. I also haven't eaten today. Makes me
feel weak. I can still run up and down 6 flights, no problem and am doing
ten things at once. I feel removed from reality. Very surreal.


07/02/01

Sometimes I scare myself. Crazy evening, ran into a Jude that had been in Newark, DE at Rubelad. Stayed on  his sofa in Little Warsaw. Went to the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island. I've still never had a corn dog. Ate half of a hot dog and felt sick. Battled the hiccups for hours. Went home and slept. At least for a few hours. Then Iaccidentally made arrangements to get together with this very strange girl.

I can't see very clearly. I'm a little sick of New York City right now. I think I should take off work and
go find out why I love it again.  I smoked a half a pack of cigarettes in like 18 hours. Now I haven't smoked for over 24 hours.
Maybe I could live in another city.




07/02/01

This morning I was considering what monastery would take me, or which one I would do well
at.



07/04/01

Weird thing happened. I had a nightmare the other night about really
launching a verbal assault at this kid that I knew like 5 years ago and
didn't even really know him, but I was like standing while he was sitting
and really being nasty.

Then, oddly enough, I ran into him at this stupid bar in Wilmington. I
told him about it and it was sort of weird. No particularly interesting.



07/05/01

Orange Juice not from Concentrate with Ice for Breakfast at Noon.
before: Ribs, Chicken, Hamburger, Swordfish, Crabmeat stuff, white wine,
Orzo, Home Made Ice Cream, Old Ladies Introducing me to Other Old Ladies.
One Suburban upper middle class wife pointing out the insignificant.

God bless indeed.



07/06/01

I've lost my wallet. I must admit this to myself. Although I feel it
is nearby,
I can not find it and must freeze my cards. I must start a new phase of
my life. I must get a new ID. This is not fun. I am not happy about
this. The wallet was
very nice, and I liked it very much. I will have a hard time finding one.
Now, Kenneth Cole isn't the nicest brand, but this was a simple leather
wallet without noticeable logo and it was genuine. I got it for 10 bucks
in Harlem
in this store that was selling clothing that none of it looked right on me
but I had already missed the morning and had to be at work in Chappaqua as
soon as possible. I lived in squalor in a multi-occupancy cold-water
flat even though I was making a thousand or so a week. What's worse, if
someone nice finds it and drops it in the mail, the wallet or ID will go
to the wrong people since it has my old address near Sugar Hill. I should
write a letter asking them to let me know if it shows up. Money talks.

After a few nights I'm beginning to be able to sleep in in
Delaware. I get woken up by insistent dream themes. Not always
antagonistic in the annoying old sense, but just insistent, like I can
wake up and be relieved that whatever subject is taken care of and I can
go to sleep
and then either the same or a slightly modified set will slide back in.



07/07/01

Today would have been fight day with Turp, but the Don King of the
event is somewhere west of Louisiana by now and the match will probably
wait until then.

New Castle, DE isn't my town. This weekend someone reminded us that
there were Fight Clubs in Delaware City and New Castle. It very much
makes sense that would be. I was asleep this morning in some dream,
unimportant, and I woke up by Jefferson grabbing my ankle and yanking me
out of bed. The first thing I saw when I very quickly opened my eyes was
my pillow very rapidly moving away from me. Motion in dream land vs.
motion in real life.

I should have taken an opportunity to surprise my freshest love on the
train from Wilmington to NYC. This love is not requited and it is really
absurdly formed and inconvenient. Wouldn't it have been good if I had
gotten on the same train and been all, "Hey, what are _you_ doing here,"
with a devilish grin. Then I'd have had 2 hours to allow her to convince
herself that she wants to be the apple of my eye and more.

Instead, silliness. Non-interestingness. I feel well rested.



07/07/01

I've decided that I'm going to really dedicate energy and time to
finding a way to work and maybe even study in the UK, Ireland, or Spain.
Not in that order. my preferences are the UK, then Spain, then Ireland.





07/09/01

Why do I have a really comfy job?! I DON'T WANT IT! I want a SHITTY
JOB that I can quit and go be adventurous.
What in God's name am I going to do?



07/10/01

All of this is damn silly. Damn foolish.



07/10/01

I'm very happy

Mamie found my wallet;

she always tryin' to huug me;

next time I'mma let her;

but only just a lit-tle.




07/11/01

Tonight, today, Micheal Olds and Long Night's Journey into Day.



07/11/01

I've got this strange evening ritual of waiting for the Simpsons to come on and then not
watching it. Then I watch the other shows while eating romano cheese by chipping it off of
a block. This last block has been particularly not good and yet I nibble on it trying to
extract the occasional good gustatory experience. After I eat all the salt I am usually
finished my sapporo or whatever and smoke too many cigarettes. When I realize that I
should've gone to bed two hours before I start to set deadlines. Sometimes I make them. I
just get up turn everything off and go lay in bed. That is _exactly_ when I'm inspired to
read, which I sometimes do and end up staying awake until 1 or 1:30. Horrible routine.
Every morning I ask myself why romano tastes good at night, since it's the last thing I want
in the morning. I managed to make it from bed to desk in like 35 minutes this morning, and I
didn't rush.



07/12/01

I miss my Harlem apartment on 147th and 7th.

I had been in NYC for a maybe a month and a half or two. This was
probably October or November of 98. I was staying between Ivans, Galil's,
David's and Yukichi's apt on 2nd and 7th and Samuel's down on Broome and
W. Broadway. I had saved up enough to pay for security and rent with my 5
dollar an hour wage at Action Discount. Earlier, much earlier, I had been
endowed with my P100 laptop that Blackula Jones still needs about $350
for. This allowed me, by calling long distance to Delaware from NYC, to
connect to the internet for free through udel.edu. I searched the Village
Voice online and found a few rooms out in the ghetto, way out in
Brooklyn, and then something Uptown. While looking for a room under $500.00
per month I met some interesting people. One guy told me flat-out that I
may not feel comfortable because I was white. Another older
guy told me that I was a very nice person and things would
work out for me, but that they were looking for an older roommate. That
apartment was nice. Sculptures and weird lighting. I got into a cursing
screaming match with some woman with an Indian accent because she was being
rude about younger people when she was interviewing me over the phone.
I think I shocked her with my
straightforward, "go fuck yourself and your ghetto apartment!" mini-diatribe.
She got all flustered and said, "what?!" and a "you don't talk to me that
way!" to which I'm sure I responded, "that's right, go fuck yourself!" We
went on like that until she hung up. I felt like I didn't get my phone
call's worth. For some reason I think that I was at Evil E's apt. and she
may have overheard this exchange. She may not have been there. It was
unnecessary, and I'm sure I was in a really bad mood.

I found this ad that said "Uptown Renaissance blah blah blah" and ended up
getting the keys right then from my dear landlord Andrew with the sores on
his lip. What a sketchy man. He told me about his adventures in St.
Nicholas park at night with random men buggering each other in the bushes. He
always walked his little annoying dogs in the middle of the night in a
dark and scary park. Rats much larger than squirrels. He was nice, though,
I think, and had loaned
me a few bucks here or there. I paid him back. At one point, I was
supposed to be subletting to Pat Guthrie and Little John but they decided
it wasn't cozy enough and that they couldn't pay me, even though I would
have moved out had I known that this was the case. I ended up owing him
like $660.00 dollars or something for 6 weeks. I paid him. At the time, $660.00
dollars was really a lot of money for me. It's still a lot, but then it was
even more.

So, I moved in. At first, since I didn't own anything, I never wanted to
stay there. I had to share the bathroom with 3 or 4 other people, none of
whom I ever spoke to or knew anything about other than who they got mail
from. We all hid in our rooms. SRO I think it's called. Single Room
Occupancy. There was a semi-nonexistent person named Juan Fernandez who
got tons of summonses and eviction notices all of the time. Something was
really sketchy. I wrote a notarized statement of what I experienced while
living there and gave it to Andrew to use in some eviction case that was
supposed to be a ploy to get this undesireable fellow named Arlan out. I
saved all the letters I could.

I had good times there. There were plaques out in front on the
sidewalk for famous Harlem musicians and leaders. Malcom X, Dizzy
Gillespie, Tito Puente, Ella Fitzgerald. I'm not even certain that they
were all Harlem, but it doesn't matter. City College of New York had
computer labs which I was able to sneak into,
the A was nearby, and my life was getting better.

My job was to stand in
the back of Action Discount and make sure all the products on the shelves
were arranged properly. "Facing" they called it. I also had to prevent
people from stealing things, but I never did that because I would have felt
really dumb to care about that since I was making 5 bucks per hour. Many of
the products had fallen off a truck or something anyway. The bar codes were
scraped off and they were striped with UV paint.

I had to stock water and soda and products on the shelves, etc.

I eventually gave that job to Pat Guthrie. I think he further spoiled
my reputation with them. They were sick bastards anyway. On the day I
was leaving, one of the nicer owners asked me if I wanted to come
downstairs with them while they played some weird sex game I guess with
some girl that he said
was very nice. At first I thought he was joking. After I gave an
obligatory laugh and noticed he was still expecting some answer I was
like, uhhh, no thanks, that's OK, that's very kind of you. I still have
their addresses and phone numbers, which they generally hid but I got from
the Rolodex when I had to sweep the office at closing.

They had their dealer come drop off packages to the clerk at their
store. They thought they were slick or something. I should've taken it.
At this point I was very broke and they were perfectly and deservedly victimisable. They
very much avoided taxes and I figured that at certain times they had 5 G
or more in the un-alarmed safe. How to get the combination? A
small camera placed under the desk with the safe. Where one's knees go,
up there to get the good downward angle. I could've hid the recording
media if it were too large by drilling a small hole for the wire and stashing like
tape drive inside/under this desk. No problem.
When I went down to do the last stock, I could set it up and turn it on.
When the manager went down to put the money in, the combination was recorded.
I would need only an hour tops to grab the numbers. I could then
regularly check to see how much money was in the safe exactly, without
them knowing I knew the combination. With that knowledge, I could have
either grabbed the money and took off or tried to pull it off without even
being there.

You see, they never asked me for my Social Security # or ID when I got
hired. I could have given any name. Knowing this, I could have had a friend
that I trust go there and get my job when I quit.
He or she could have cleaned out the safe and then never showed up again. That
gave me one more degree of separation, although his or her new-ness would make him or her
suspect. I didn't think that they were going to call the police, though,
since they were such an illegal shop. The only way to guarantee him or
her getting a job though would be for me to recommend him or her. This would
associate me with him or her.

In the end I just tapped out the hinge of the gumball machine coin box every
night and, in almost plain view, I supplemented my pitiful hourly wage with
the bounty of quarters that suspiciously didn't match up I'm sure with the
gumball man's accounting. I was very sneaky, I must confess. It
takes a creative person to disguise the sound of quarters sliding
across hollow plastic by the handful and then being carefully transferred
to a pocket without making a very conspicuous noise. Usually, I struck
when they were counting money and blocking out everything else. This provided
me evening beer and perhaps cigarette money. Galil contributed greatly when we got together and, like
many of my friends, I probably owe him a few cartons of cigarettes.

I worked from 4PM to Midnight. I woke up around noon. I didn't have a TV for a long time.
Evil E floated around in parts of this time period. After a few months working there I was really sick of it.
I
started faxing out resumes (they were really, really, really bad resumes) to the numerous postings I would see
on
the internet. Rarely, if ever, got a reply and I don't blame them. Through David, Renato's brother, I ended
up
getting a job in Norwalk, CT.

I then worked there for a while, got sick of 10 hour days, and Loot, after some consideration and I suppose
regretfully declined proposals to other friends to hatch a business with him, worked some funny magic and I
ended
up at Reader's Digest. We started a company and contracted here and there. They were good times. They were
tough
times. I was making about 1000 a week or so after taxes, and still living in my room on 135th.

Andrea, an old proxifriend, had her lease end and was now ready to move somewhere else. I happened to be a
decent candidate for a roomamte I suppose. She found a place. I signed and we moved
there.

It was at 147th and 7th. The bottom of Sugar Hill I think. Maybe I'm dead wrong. It was pretty ghetto.
It
was beautiful. I had a much larger room and I was the more psycho roommate, so I'm sure my experience there
was
different than Andrea's. A large and great piece of dining room furniture was left in the apartment. I
moved it into my room. Boxer John has it now, and does not appreciate it. The sun was really great in there.
I
would drag and find random things to put in it. Sometimes very heavy things. I found a large white carpet
with a
small stain. It was perfect at first and then it got dirty. We didn't have a vaccuum cleaner. It became
populated with stuff slowly, never entirely. I live like a boy, a little boy. I am very messy. I scatter my
clothes all around my room. As much as a freshly cleaned and organized room feels good, so does having a layer
of
clothing which covers every inch of floor space. I never want people to come into my room though, because they
step
all over my gear, which is usually clothing, and sometimes clean. Other things including palm pilots, cell
phones,
records, computers, etc. could also be beneath, so the unadept traverser of my room can cause a lot of damage
and heartache for me.

Andrea worked as a census taker, and was privy to a very intimate view of our neighborhood. I would get
calls
early in the morning from a client that I had to go to every day. I would watch hours and hours of the
Simpsons on
tape and smoke parliaments. I drank a lot of beer. I drank a decent amount of wine. I ate Andrea's food
sometimes. Sometimes I didn't and it went bad. Sometimes I didn't and she enjoyed it later. The next time
that I
go to Andrea's house I should do her dishes, because I'm sure I owe her a few.

At some point I must've run into Double A and we had a short lived amorous episode. Evil E resurfaced and
that
distracted me. My bed was uncomfortable. It was hot sometimes. I would play records and fight the tarantella
on
occasion. Andrea was probably driven crazy. There were insects. Not at first, but then slowly they increased
and
ultimately I was afraid to turn the kitchen light off. Not "afraid" but preferred not to deal with my sneaky
little friends. We never held a proper party but people came over and celebrated the smaller things like
boredom.
Micheal lived there for a while. Andrea has a green TV. I watched a quite a bit. The Matrix was played
sometimes two or three runs in a day. I didn't watch the whole thing each time, I would be on my laptop or
doing
something else, but I used the TV to keep or lose track of time. I don't know which.

I bought nicer clothing, ate well, communed with God and other voices in my head. My shower had an
incredible
view of 147th and further North. I tried to address big problems. Hunts for the Universe's Grand
Dis-Unified Tear in the Ether were engaged in.. partially inspired by watching The Matrix too many times. I
say
only
partially because when I can remember that life is really bizarre and that it doesn't make sense I still find
myself trying poke a hole in reality with my finger or whatever device I think may work. My desperate need for
glasses adds to this. Life was good. I took the bus to work, even when I was late. The bus takes at least
twice
as long. Life isn't bad now. It seems more mundane.

At about the same time my love was mummified and sealed I left my partnership with Loot and the company.
Andrea
decided to move in with Matt and I thought that I had broken free. Now I'm back in Queens making agreements
with
people to do this or that and pay this or that and show up for work and be too shy to talk to the girls that
know
they look good. Remember that this is a very strange place, this earth, and nothing reinforces that like
experiencing unfamiliarity. I left and didn't even move the furniture that I bought.
We were breaking the
lease anyway. I wrote this overly explanatory letter to the landlord and he called me back with a very clear,
"Ok,
well give me the apartment back." We did.


07/13/01

The Papers

US citizens need work permits to work in the United Kingdom. The prospective employer makes the application
for
a work permit, which means if you change employers, your work permit is no longer valid. The good news,
however, is
that US citizens don't need visas to study in the United Kingdom, and students can work up to 20 hours per
week.

Vintage

06/02/01

When I woke up I was a little thirsty. I found my way to the internet, ordered one water, one coca cola with more ice than coca cola, and one coffee with milk. Then it was time to go to the beach. Nova Mar Bella. Some of the most beautiful 18 year old girls (they were 18, I say so.) I´ve ever seen were comfortably doing nothing in the sun with nearly nothing on. I averted my Anglo-puritan eyes, who wants to seem overly interested, and decided it was time to see what was going on in the Mediterranean. Discreetly, I buried my coin purse (that was once Erik´s) and busted down to my suit and black socks pulled up to my knees.

I cautiously approached, then walked in without pause. It was cold and the sun was not warm enough. After I got my breath back, my eyes floated back to the beach, which of course the girls were still all breasted out on. Figuring I better start training for my fight, I swam out. It got deep quickly. I started laughing, and it was the type of laugh that happens when you´re really cold and your torso is tight and the laughs come out sort of compressed.

I could see the bottom and I noticed some round disk-like thing and it made me nervous. That´s the thing about the ocean, there are other creatures in there that have all types of venom, teeth, tentacles, barbs, razor sharp tails, and laser beams. Most of them probably have 300 times the maneuverability that you do, not to mention they can see or smell or taste you better than you can. Well, maybe we can taste better, I don´t know. Anyway, I gave myself the struck by lightning talk and continued swimming.

Floating next to me on the surface were two butterfly wings. They were of different types of butterfly and no longer attached to the butterflies they belonged to. They were the same size. They were sort of stuck together end to end by water tension. As I was looking at the wings, water washed over my head. It was a terrible misfortune that I had been taking a breath and not more than a deciliter of the sea was sucked into my windpipe, which caused a coughing-gagging reflex that was immediately followed by a gasp for air. Of course, my head was submerged and this effort for air resulted in me violently drawing water directly into my lungs. This was all happening within a few seconds, so I was confused more than afraid.

I´ve spent a good part of my life preparing for death. Wondering about it, the details, the threshold, reconciling myself with god (there are no atheists in the foxholes, they say), wearing clean underwear, trying to understand why my grandmother told me to always wear clean underwear in case something happened when one would likely be soiling one´s self in clean underwear, leaving funny little postmortem messages in my wallet. Deciding whether those messages should make light of the situation of my death for whoever receives them in a tactful enough way that they would smile even though they were sad, or if they should be strange messages like, "I´m not dead, meet me at the monkeys in the Toronto Zoo on Dia de los Muertes." Actually, my example of the strange type of message might be a make-light-of.

I´ve thought about where my things would eventually end up. I´ve thought about graphical representations of the frequency of people who knew me´s allocated brain time spent remembering me on a timeline of say 100 years. I´ve thought of the idea that the sun will eventually expire and long before that our Earfth will no longer be inhabitable. At the rate things are going, it seems we´ll be able to adapt or create some artificial environment for our replication. Then again, it seems if not as likely more likely that some over-curious monkey will press the big red button that de-populates us. I should write a memo to the future and etch it into a gold plate with a picture of a cockroach and a monkey man and leave it at the bottom of the sea.

Anyway, back to the bottom of the sea..

I couldn´t breathe because my lungs had water inside them and were spasmodically trying to dispel it while simultaneously desperately drawing for air. I was under water, so instead of air I drew more water in. This didn´t go on for very long, and although I can hold my breath for three minutes when prepared my blood wasn´t getting the oxygen for my brain. For only a few seconds things got strange. It sort of felt like I had stared at the sun and then run into a dark room. It wasn´t dark, in fact it was bright white-blue like after someone takes a picture and you stared into the flash. Speaking of flashes, I love footage of atomic explosions so I perfectly understand our latent compulsion to press the big, red, nuclear variety button of de-populating us.

I was drowning. At this point I lost Consciousness proper. My diaphragm threw in the towel and although my tracheal muscles remained contracted and the remaining air in my lungs didn´t escape I sort of floated down with a little less bouyancy than would be needed to float statically. I was now dying. It didn´t take long, either, although that very statement became a bit out of context. Time was stretching out and becoming irrelevant. The best way to make Christmas morning come quickly is to get a spoonful of novahistimine from your grandmother and fall asleep. At least that´s what they say. Completing my death, right, so now I was in a state sort of like when you have just fallen asleep but you know it and it feels good. That was it. It was comfortable. Not cold, not scary, not visions of my life flashing before my eyes, none of that deep voice telling me to go towards the light. Maybe I died too quickly or maybe drowning is a different kind of death. It was basically like having the most comfortable sleep I´ve ever had.

After I sank to the bottom, a current must have washed me out further. I came to awareness when my soul peeled away from my body much like a cicada molts, leaving a very perfect replica of it´s form behind. Unlike a cicada though I didn´t have to split my back or anything. I came out inverted through my mouth and then my soul swallowed itself to turn itself right side out or whatever. I can´t tell you what I looked like. I don´t even know really. Souls don´t have the conventional ability to see oneself that we do. One´s soul can´t look in a mirror. Maybe they can describe each other to each other. Enough speculating on souls for now.

Now I didn´t know what to do. I didn´t even know where I was, but I assumed somewhere in the Mediterranean near Barcelona. Off in the distance I saw a sort of flashing. I headed over and was able to travel very quickly for the medium of travel being water. I got near and noticed a pretty big guy hunched over a pretty old TV from the 70s or something. He was playing Zelda. He had a sofa, but had taken all of the cushions off and constructed a sort of cockpit on the sea floor. I presume that this was so that he could see and focus on his Zelda better.

When I walked up he quickly switched it off and Gilligan´s Island was on. He acted really comfortable like he hadn´t just done anything. I noticed his trident and figured he was Poseidon. He acknowledged me and then stopped behaving "naturally". I didn´t know him and he didn´t know me, but we were cool with each other. He may have known otherwise, but it didn´t seem like anyone else was around. I asked him why he turned off Zelda really quickly and didn´t save his game. He said that he thought I was Jesus coming over and explained that he had borrowed Zelda from Jesus and Jesus forgot about it and he didn´t want Jesus to see it and ask him to return it. I understood.

We got on with the introductions, and I think he forgot my name for a while. I asked him what was going on in the undersea afterlife and he didn´t know what to say really, since he wasn´t concerned with newly dead identity searching. He told me that the sea was pretty great. I asked him what was up with the girls that were so painfully beautiful and naked on the beach. He laughed and said, "What.. oh, that´s just how they do here." I speculated on what the proper tact is in trying to talk to one of those naked beautiful girls and he cut me short. He said unless you already know them you´re probably going to be creepy. I told him that I didn´t even speak Spanish really and he quickly replied, "maybe you should´ve studied Spanish when you were alive."

At this point he was disinterested. Jesus called him up and he ignored me for a while while they talked about their new Linux distro, "Divinix". I interrupted and asked him if I could be resurrected. He said I have to speak with my deilogical representative. I asked him who that was and he thought I was a jackass. He said, "What were you raised as?" I answered "Christian." He went back to the phone and said to Jesus, "I gotta guy over here wants to be not dead." Jesus replied to Poseidon over the phone and then Poseidon said, "Jesus sez no problemo, but keep your eyes off of those breasts." I told him to thank Jesus for me. He said that Jesus would change my settings after he was done recompiling the new kernel.

I watched the rest of Gilligan´s island and then was seamlessly transmetaphysically placed back in the water on the surface in my body. I was glad to be back, although I feel like I didn´t see enough of Death. I´m sure I´ll be back. I went back to shore, dried off, and came back into town for a drink and to buy white clothing. Tonight corrido de toros.

Confusion

My late father's birthday. I don't know how old he would have been. My cell phone sneak attacked me. Now I pay for it. One of my roommates makes me not want to live here. I sought help for a problem and because I was disorganized and took time off of work I may be leaving my job. Hopefully my taxes will bring good news. Something is giving again, as I have said before. Over and over I feel that I need to live life. I do not feel like I am living. I am nearly 24. I think that nearly half my life is over. Maybe I'll live longer, but not at this pace and not without some very significant changes. I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. During the past year or so I have tested my view of myself as extremely independent, adaptable, and globally mobile. Mostly, I have failed. This does not mean that I am wrong about myself, it means that I am not drawing on the part of myself that will be these things.

God, please guide me in recognizing and using the resources and opportunities that are given to me in my life. This is a strange existence, and working in an office in NYC is only one of the things there are to experience. I must be honest, humble, and generous. I must remember the things which I seem to have forgotten about trusting Life to be livable.

The Nasty C and its piercing abrasive attacks shall slide off of me. I will not allow myself to fall victim to the convenience of comfort. Now, I am not saying it's time to go around whipping myself to a bloody pulp or anything, but sometimes you have to give up what you know will be there for you in order to attain something more important. Other times you end up a fool in the gutter, thoughtless, hopeless, and destitute. Try your best.

Exodus

From Wilmington to New York


About two years ago I was living in my hometown of Wilmington in Delaware. I had been sort of going to school, but not attending my classes. The whole reason I was in school was due to the fact that I needed a place to live and regain my health and sanity after a long period of not eating enough, not sleeping enough, and identifying with Bill B. too much. My mother was cool with me staying with her until I got better, which didn't take that long.

After being pretty sick, staying up all night and watching shows like Taxi, the Mary Tyler Moore Show, and Dragnet in my mother's basement it was time to start seeing daylight again. I didn't usually leave the house. I spent a lot of time on my computer, and a lot of time on irc.

Mom was pushing for me to go to school. I was down for it and figured if I didn't have to get a job it was a good idea. I took a couple of classes. I think that I did pretty well in the C class, and probably not too bad in the others if I went, but I can't remember. When I got bored of school, I stopped going. This set a deadline for me to get a job. I wasn't happy at all at my mother's house at this point, so I started staying with some friends who shall be known as Yaryaria and Drankcoffeeallthetimeandneverslepta, who we just called Din'tsleep for short.

Well, my good friend Erik was seeing this girl Yaryaria, and we were all pretty much hanging out every night. Erik had just come back from Tibet and was on this big kick about not eating meat or ingesting poppies. So instead of barbecuing every night (which was a bad habit we had all developed), we hung out and drank Mickey's malt liquor a lot. Erik had a pretty cool job where he ended up with a lot of cash at the end of every shift, so he would buy 22oz bottles by the case.

Another friend, Jay Tigabinowitz was spending some of his time over at Yaryar and Din'tsleep's house. He drank now and again. He was also always on a mission to find requited love. Tigabinowitz loves the ladies. He was also studying computers and networking with wild abandon. That Tigabinowitz was like a hookworm in the bloodstream when you got him on a network, I'll tell you what!

Things were pretty calm and quiet. I was mostly not going to school, and started looking for a job. My looking for a job consisted of me walking around downtown Wilmington looking for computer stores. I was pretty clueless, and should have thought about the fact that there aren't that many computer retail stores in downtown Wilmington and I wouldn't have wanted to work there anyway.

We had all been firing up the barbecue almost every night, and things were getting pretty bad. All of my clothes had barbecue sauce on them and my face even had that red, irradiated look of beautifully barbecued dark meat. Most days we didn't eat anything except for meat with big old spoonfuls of fat going right into our bloodstream. Tigabinowitz didn't eat no barbecue. He just marinated in some Mickey's or whiskey maybe on one or two occasions. Yaryaria worked in a gourmet food store, so she usually didn't feel like eating barbecue either, I guess.

I was worried. At the rate we were going, I was going to put on a lot of weight, if not have a heart attack.

About this time, my good friend (and co-conspirator to many interesting campaigns) Loot started e-mailing me and calling me and whathaveyou. I was pretty depressed, had no money, had no job, had wasted my Mom's money on school by not going anymore and was beginning to get sick again from all the freaking barbecue I was eating. Things weren't looking up. Loot was suggesting I come up to New York City to find a job. I explained that that wouldn't be possible since I didn't have a dollar to my name and nary a place to stay.

Aha! but Loot had other things in mind. He immediately suggested that he would lend me money and pay for my bus fare. It was starting to sound crazy enough and interesting enough for me to stop imagining what it would be like and to try to go. We worked out an arrangement where another mutual friend set me up with bus fare, since he was in town. Much thanks to Turpentine, Son of the Magician for that one. I sort of still owe him for that. Loot also offered me space in his room for a month until I found a job and an apartment. His family was very cool and very hospitable. (remind me to put up a special pot roast recipe I picked up from his Mom.)

Within a day or two I had a job making 5 bucks an hour, off the books. I was now part of the commuting, working masses of New York City. It was really cool. I even thought it was cool to be working at Action Discount, the store where I got a job. Now I needed to find a place. That wasn't as easy on a budget of 200 dollars a week. New York isn't cheap. My one month period had expired, and I may have been all the way up to about 6 weeks at Loot's house. It was time for me to go.

So I saddled up and headed back into the city from Flushing. Got my gear and rode the 7, not quite sure where I was going to go. I may have had to go to work, which bought me time, but not exactly a place to stay. It's a little fuzzy now, but that week I think was the roughest. I spent at least one night in a homeless shelter in Bedstuy on Atlantic Ave. I don't think I'll ever forget that night.

Waiting in one shelter with very sick people, very concerned that I was going to catch something by merely breathing in the air. There were no more beds in this shelter, the 30th Street one. We waited for an hour or so and then a van came and picked us up and took us to Atlantic Ave. in Brooklyn. It seemed everyone knew each other. There wasn't really an air of desperation. The fellows I were in the van with were just sort of napping or eating bologna sandwiches and apples and milk and talking. The ride wasn't too long, and I love riding in cars in New York in the middle of the night so it was pretty cool.

When we got the Atlantic Ave. place it was a bit of a weirder scene. It was already like 'light's out' time and there were these big bays with rows of beds. How should I describe the air. Hmm. Well, it was like a really great fromagerie. We passed through metal detectors and then were directed to a particular bay by some system that I don't remember. It was probably on the ticket they gave each of us.

The bay was really dark when I went to look for a bed. I found one but there was no blanket. That was actually fine with me, since I was a little scared of anything textile-like which had been intimate with many of my more dirty and dermatologically impaired homeless brethren. The bed was covered in plastic and someone had stolen the pillow. Not so bad. I had a black hooded sweatshirt which I pulled over my head and tied really tight. I put my backpack under my head. Someone came over and offered me a blanket, saying something like "I was using it, it's O.K." I was fine, told him to keep it, and thanked him. I fell asleep.

In the morning I woke up around 8 or so. I think they must have been serving breakfast or something, because awkward, unwieldy limbs were sliding and flailing and getting broken down bodies out of beds. I got out of bed and went to the door, where someone asked me for a cigarette. I gave him one and was suddenly met with a chorus of abbreviated and dialected requests for cigarettes by anyone who caught sight of the green box of Newports I had in my hand. I gave away most of my pack and then left.

I probably wandered around looking for the train in this pretty sketchy neighborhood where the shelter was and then went back into Manhattan to wander around some more.

For around a week I would go to work and then ride the train all night or something, then go back to work and stuff. One night I was so exhausted from half-sleeping on the trains that I went to Port Authority and asked the teller for a round trip ticket to Baltimore. She asked when I wanted to leave, I told her the next bus. She asked me when I wanted to return. I told her that I wanted the next bus coming back after I got there. She stared at me and asked, "You want to come back as soon as you get there??" I nodded yes, and probably said "That's right," or something. She thought I was playing with her and said she wouldn't sell me the ticket. I went to the next window and bought the ticket, went downstairs, got on the bus when it showed up and slept on the ride down to Baltimore. There I got off, changed buses, and slept on the way back. I think I got back around 1 or 2 in the afternoon. Worked again.

My friend Nina hooked me up on one or two nights and let me sleep in her dorm at NYU on like 9th and 3rd Ave. Around this time I also met Samuel the Swede, who ended up being very hospitable and who I spent a lot of time with by eating bagels and bananas and playing chess or hanging out in Washington Square. When I first saw him he was wearing this pink back pack I think and was talking to some sketchy older skinny black guy who was calling himself Kojak and suggesting that Samuel go get an I.D. with him. We were telling Samuel that he needed to get married so he could stay in the U.S. and get a job.

Anyway, I ran into Samuel the Swede again in the park and we maybe played chess, I don't remember. When Samuel learned that I didn't have a place to live really, he cautiously offered for me to stay at the apartment he was living at while he was visiting New York. He seemed surprised that I didn't have a place to stay and appeared to be calculating something when he offered. He's prone to tilting his head slightly and going over ideas for a brief pause before he comes back with a response during conversation.

With the advent of Samuel the Swede having offered for me to stay at his house, and my having saved up around $500 dollars or so, i was able to being looking for a room with a weekly rent. This basically means a room in the ghetto in New York. I happened upon an interesting post in the Village Voice online (before it came out in print) and called. It said something like 'Harlem Renaissance. Furnished rooms in building across from police station on 135th street. 110/wk and up.' Something like that. Well, I called and ended up with a room the next day. I was pretty excited. I had a job, I had a room, and everything appeared that I was now living in New York City.

At this point, or a point like the week before, enter Ivan the Good, David, and Galileo. Let me figure out how that went, because Ivan hooked me up with a place to stay at his apartment on 2nd Ave. which he shared with Galileo while I was still homeless. I think maybe the last couple of days I was staying with Samuel the Swede he was busy and there was fear that his father would show up from Chicago, Tokyo, or Stockholm or something and some weird NYC vermin would be mooching off him and sleeping on his sofa.

Ivan, Galileo, and David become characters in my life after this, and when I dig into the actual living in NY part, they'll show up.