camping in the city
what is real
is not real
what is not real
is real
becca was kind enough to meet joe and i for some coffee one day. the three of us had some good times, talking and smoking and drinking into the night, watching i <3 huckabee's.
"what do you say i go buy some beer?" joe asked becca.
"well joshua and i have to work in the morning," she said.
and like any good salesman, joe overcame the objective.
"i guess that just means we can't drink in the morning. but it's night time now. let's drink now."
yes. joe is such a weasel. but i love him. he is a beautiful man, an orphan and a fine psychodelic friend. he helps me see my own passive agressive nature thru example.
"stay and drink with us. and then josh can drive you home," he said.
i love how joe volunteers me. he's just lucky that our objective were one in the same.
i highly reccomend i <3 huckabees. it's a fucking fantastic movie. dustin hoffman makes the movie. and it's jude law at his best, charming pretty boy self. it's really got me turned on to existencialism.
after i took becca home, joe was still in my tv room.
he started watching contact. he played the intro sequence over and over. the one where we pull out of the universe to a soundtrack of static radio broadcasts and travel back in time.
i love that one, too. but really, joe. i work in the morning.
"i'm going to go to bed," i told him.
"okay," he said. and then nothing.
"i guess you want to watch the movie?" i asked.
"yeah," he said.
and i went to bed.
right before i woke up in the morning, i had a dream. joe was still there. i was passed out of the floor next to him and he was trying to pass me a joint.
"no, man," i said. "i got to go to work!"
but he insisted.
i couldn't my body. my arms were like a heavy puddy and my chest was full of rocks. i could hardly move anything. i reached out and grabbed his face and pulled it apart like it was clay. the whole apartment turned into a three dimensional psychodelic walk-in oil painting. and i still couldn't move. i was in a panic.
but i woke up completley calm, three minutes before work. i was going to be late, but it's no big deal. i love my job. it's fucking brilliant. i could do without the bitchy old people, but they're even fun sometimes.
old people are halarious. escpecialy when they start throwing demands at you. you're pulling up with their car and they start directing you. park here. go here. slow down! unlock the doors. open the tunk. kill the engine. help me put my shit in my car!
whatever. i'll help you if i want to. i'm not going to take your orders just because you're old. i'm going to help you because i want to help you and i want to give you my respect. i wish they would'nt assume it all of the time because then they're taking my service for granted. and i don't owe them anything.
i will not help grossly obese people. it's bad enough that i have to drive their rancid sport utility vehicles and oversized trucks full of molding fast food and fatty oils. i kid you not. i'm just waiting for one of those fat people to bark orders at me.
"you want me to help you put your bags in your trunk? you should have thought of that before you ate that last cheeseburger. and you wonder why you're sick all the time? look at all those fries on the floor!"
come on, people. this is the kind of wisdom that comes from years of painful experiences. and i'm giving it to you right now, free of charge. you should be thanking me!
after work, i met up with marty. hit up the bars and went to michael's.
"this is my mildly retarded step son," he tells people. then he buys me a beer.
marty was in vietnam. delta force ground troop. he told me that there were people in vietnam who shot at him because they wanted him dead. and he's a better man for the experience.
michael's friend jon helped me aquire a stick of gum. it's magical gum. with this gum, i am going to build a ladder up to infinity. brian and i embark tomorrow morning. see ya!
walking around that area, i ran into raven. i was walking by her apartment. for real, i'm not stocking her. i was just walking by and i had to knock. and she was there, so i had to go in. meanwhile, i'm keeping marty and jon waiting.
i stood around in raven's room, litteraly pulling stories out of my pocket.
"i got this pack of camel's today," i said. "i've succesfuly commited to not buying cigaretes, but people keep buying me cigaretes and giving me cigaretes."
stuff like that.
that night, brian and i watched frida. it's about the mexican surrealist painter who married some socialist painter. and their life is full of pain and sorrow. but the film is beautiful. it made me think of sarah.
i wonder how that girl is doing.
bed time came early. or so i thought. the phone rang. marah was desperate and she asked me to come quick to pick her up from the sweedish medical center.
ian and her were suposed to get a ride to the ferry from a girl who abandoned them. and it was too late to catch the bus and still make the ferry. lame!
so i came to the rescue.
when that was over,i climbed back into bed. then the door knocked. it was joe. i just told himt o go away. he did.
joe and i planned on going camping last night, but he chickened out at the last minute. so marah and i went camping but we wern't sure where to go. so we played it by ear. always a good thing.
we were standing around her kitchen, kind of stoned but quite hungry. she made a bowl of noodles and she made the mistake of sharing it with me.
"you'll be sorry," i told her. "you're going to take one bite and then before you're done chewing it, you'll look down and you'll see the noodles are all gone! and im going to be standing there with an innocent look my face. like someone else came by and ate it or something."
i tried my best not to eat the whole thing in one bite. and we played the whole thing off like a game of chess, taking turns.
then we started getting technical about it.
"knight b to d4," i said.
"my rook takes your knight," she said.
i laughed. "that was the wrong move, my friend. i've got your king pinned. look at my bishop!"
"i take your bishop with my king. or my knight."
we laughed. hard.
"i think there is a lot to be said about you're choice in pieces here," i said. "it says a lot about how you feel about your father."
"which one?" she asked. "i have three!"
oh, yes. any one. whichever one you are thinking of. is he a king? a noble man of power and wealth? or is he the underdog? the solider of strength?"
"neither," she said.
yeah. figured.
we came up with theories. such as, i think that the president decides all sporting events. and he decided the weather. why else would florida be hit by hurricanes all the time? why else would the dallas cowboys win? there is no reason for all of this madness.
and also, what about this war on terrorism? there was a riot a while ago. i guess the riot got out of hands and got pretty violent. would that make it a war on war on war? oh yes. so surreal!
like a small fish, eaten by a bigger fish, eaten by a bigger fish, eaten by a bigger fish up to infinity.
is it possible to escape being surreal? like everytime you look in the mirror? that's pretty fucking trippy. why do we look in the mirror. we should look on the mirror.
we decided to camp on ian's front lawn. he didn't call him or tell him. we just did it. i have to say that trying to set up a tent in the middle of the night, when you're tired, and without propper lighting and all while attempting stealth, is quite silly.
it was so amazing. i got such a thrill from not getting caught. marah did, too. i think we're gonna do it again.
ian's mom found us in the morning. she was quite confused. she invited us in and we made crapes for everyone.
thought of the day: i'm going to make a 180 degree turn. twice.
is not real
what is not real
is real
becca was kind enough to meet joe and i for some coffee one day. the three of us had some good times, talking and smoking and drinking into the night, watching i <3 huckabee's.
"what do you say i go buy some beer?" joe asked becca.
"well joshua and i have to work in the morning," she said.
and like any good salesman, joe overcame the objective.
"i guess that just means we can't drink in the morning. but it's night time now. let's drink now."
yes. joe is such a weasel. but i love him. he is a beautiful man, an orphan and a fine psychodelic friend. he helps me see my own passive agressive nature thru example.
"stay and drink with us. and then josh can drive you home," he said.
i love how joe volunteers me. he's just lucky that our objective were one in the same.
i highly reccomend i <3 huckabees. it's a fucking fantastic movie. dustin hoffman makes the movie. and it's jude law at his best, charming pretty boy self. it's really got me turned on to existencialism.
after i took becca home, joe was still in my tv room.
he started watching contact. he played the intro sequence over and over. the one where we pull out of the universe to a soundtrack of static radio broadcasts and travel back in time.
i love that one, too. but really, joe. i work in the morning.
"i'm going to go to bed," i told him.
"okay," he said. and then nothing.
"i guess you want to watch the movie?" i asked.
"yeah," he said.
and i went to bed.
right before i woke up in the morning, i had a dream. joe was still there. i was passed out of the floor next to him and he was trying to pass me a joint.
"no, man," i said. "i got to go to work!"
but he insisted.
i couldn't my body. my arms were like a heavy puddy and my chest was full of rocks. i could hardly move anything. i reached out and grabbed his face and pulled it apart like it was clay. the whole apartment turned into a three dimensional psychodelic walk-in oil painting. and i still couldn't move. i was in a panic.
but i woke up completley calm, three minutes before work. i was going to be late, but it's no big deal. i love my job. it's fucking brilliant. i could do without the bitchy old people, but they're even fun sometimes.
old people are halarious. escpecialy when they start throwing demands at you. you're pulling up with their car and they start directing you. park here. go here. slow down! unlock the doors. open the tunk. kill the engine. help me put my shit in my car!
whatever. i'll help you if i want to. i'm not going to take your orders just because you're old. i'm going to help you because i want to help you and i want to give you my respect. i wish they would'nt assume it all of the time because then they're taking my service for granted. and i don't owe them anything.
i will not help grossly obese people. it's bad enough that i have to drive their rancid sport utility vehicles and oversized trucks full of molding fast food and fatty oils. i kid you not. i'm just waiting for one of those fat people to bark orders at me.
"you want me to help you put your bags in your trunk? you should have thought of that before you ate that last cheeseburger. and you wonder why you're sick all the time? look at all those fries on the floor!"
come on, people. this is the kind of wisdom that comes from years of painful experiences. and i'm giving it to you right now, free of charge. you should be thanking me!
after work, i met up with marty. hit up the bars and went to michael's.
"this is my mildly retarded step son," he tells people. then he buys me a beer.
marty was in vietnam. delta force ground troop. he told me that there were people in vietnam who shot at him because they wanted him dead. and he's a better man for the experience.
michael's friend jon helped me aquire a stick of gum. it's magical gum. with this gum, i am going to build a ladder up to infinity. brian and i embark tomorrow morning. see ya!
walking around that area, i ran into raven. i was walking by her apartment. for real, i'm not stocking her. i was just walking by and i had to knock. and she was there, so i had to go in. meanwhile, i'm keeping marty and jon waiting.
i stood around in raven's room, litteraly pulling stories out of my pocket.
"i got this pack of camel's today," i said. "i've succesfuly commited to not buying cigaretes, but people keep buying me cigaretes and giving me cigaretes."
stuff like that.
that night, brian and i watched frida. it's about the mexican surrealist painter who married some socialist painter. and their life is full of pain and sorrow. but the film is beautiful. it made me think of sarah.
i wonder how that girl is doing.
bed time came early. or so i thought. the phone rang. marah was desperate and she asked me to come quick to pick her up from the sweedish medical center.
ian and her were suposed to get a ride to the ferry from a girl who abandoned them. and it was too late to catch the bus and still make the ferry. lame!
so i came to the rescue.
when that was over,i climbed back into bed. then the door knocked. it was joe. i just told himt o go away. he did.
joe and i planned on going camping last night, but he chickened out at the last minute. so marah and i went camping but we wern't sure where to go. so we played it by ear. always a good thing.
we were standing around her kitchen, kind of stoned but quite hungry. she made a bowl of noodles and she made the mistake of sharing it with me.
"you'll be sorry," i told her. "you're going to take one bite and then before you're done chewing it, you'll look down and you'll see the noodles are all gone! and im going to be standing there with an innocent look my face. like someone else came by and ate it or something."
i tried my best not to eat the whole thing in one bite. and we played the whole thing off like a game of chess, taking turns.
then we started getting technical about it.
"knight b to d4," i said.
"my rook takes your knight," she said.
i laughed. "that was the wrong move, my friend. i've got your king pinned. look at my bishop!"
"i take your bishop with my king. or my knight."
we laughed. hard.
"i think there is a lot to be said about you're choice in pieces here," i said. "it says a lot about how you feel about your father."
"which one?" she asked. "i have three!"
oh, yes. any one. whichever one you are thinking of. is he a king? a noble man of power and wealth? or is he the underdog? the solider of strength?"
"neither," she said.
yeah. figured.
we came up with theories. such as, i think that the president decides all sporting events. and he decided the weather. why else would florida be hit by hurricanes all the time? why else would the dallas cowboys win? there is no reason for all of this madness.
and also, what about this war on terrorism? there was a riot a while ago. i guess the riot got out of hands and got pretty violent. would that make it a war on war on war? oh yes. so surreal!
like a small fish, eaten by a bigger fish, eaten by a bigger fish, eaten by a bigger fish up to infinity.
is it possible to escape being surreal? like everytime you look in the mirror? that's pretty fucking trippy. why do we look in the mirror. we should look on the mirror.
we decided to camp on ian's front lawn. he didn't call him or tell him. we just did it. i have to say that trying to set up a tent in the middle of the night, when you're tired, and without propper lighting and all while attempting stealth, is quite silly.
it was so amazing. i got such a thrill from not getting caught. marah did, too. i think we're gonna do it again.
ian's mom found us in the morning. she was quite confused. she invited us in and we made crapes for everyone.
thought of the day: i'm going to make a 180 degree turn. twice.