sup bugabooooooos! happy tuesday
i don't know what in the living fuck posessed me to say bugaboos...
let's just roll with it.
this morning i woke up early to do a consumer opinion study i thankfully was selected for at just the right time in accordance with my broke-ness.
in other words, i got paid to smoke cigs, eat crackers, and drink water. after which i was faced with three baskets of candy and snack food from which i got to select three weapons of choice for the road. i also recieved a 'gas card', which i will probably use to buy, well, more cigarettes.
coolest way i have ever made money besides working the beer, bourbon, and bbq festival.
i havn't paid my credit card bill in two months because, duh, i have no money. and also because i really don't give a fuck. so every day these debt people call me which i think is hilarious, i would think they have bigger fish to fry than myself. i usually ignore it, but sometimes i get great joy in answering.
collections agency: is this "insert my real name here"?
rexxy: yeeeeeeeeep! that's me.
collections agency: well ms. "insert real last name here" we recieved your last payment in june and we do appreciate that however we failed to recieve payment for july and are calling to collect this payment along with the past due fee.
rexxy: oh, yeah, i just went on this cross country road trip, i quit my job to go so i've been unemployed for two months, it was fucking awesome, but, yeah, i have no money. sorry. i'll pay you when i get some.
collections agency: well, i'm sorry to hear about your unemployment status, but we need to collect this payment.
rexxy: yeah, like i said, i have no money. if i did i'd pay you but, i don't. i'm moving soon and i'll be working again in a couple weeks so until then i'll continue ignoring your calls for the most part and answering when i'm feeling up to communicating with another human being.
collections agency: alright ms "insert real last name here" well good luck with your move and search for employment, unfortunately you will continue to recieve these calls until payment is collected, please don't take them personally.
rexxy: coooooooool thanks! have a wonderful day!
i don't see why people who are actually in serious debt avoid these calls, its not like these kids who are probably picking their noses, eating chips, and slurping mountain dew while simultaneously texting about where they're going to be drinking later, are going to reach through the phone and drive a wooden stake through your neck if you don't pay them.
money is a silly thing. that i like to laugh at. maybe this is bad. but um, apathy is bliss, yeah?
good news: WE GOT THE HOUSE IN PITTSBURGH!!!!! move in september 1st. oh so happy
more good news: THE BOYFRIEND RETURNS FROM TOUR TOMORROW!
happyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappy. sexxxxx! happyhappyhappy!
oh. bad news: i accidentally dropped my beloved 80GB ipod full of amazing jams into the ocean while strolling virginia beach last monday. when i plug it into the computer there are glimmers of hope, but they are merely that. glimmers. little glimmers of an apple on a screen which then proceed to fade after a split second. i think i must accept the fact that i'm going to have to kiss it goodbye. no biggie would it be except for the fact that i've sold, given away, or disposed of basically all of my cds and deleted almost all music from my computer to clear up disc space. this is tragic. very tragic. is there any way to get money out of a dead ipod? sigh.
well i don't think there's anything else new on the homefront.
other than my little cig smoking escapade this morning, so far my day is filled with reading, laying around in my underwear, listening to the velvet underground, and drinking copious amounts of coffee.
I LOVE UNEMPLOYMENT.
while it lasts, soon i'll be back to being a busy bee for the next few months getting back on top of the financial wagon. i don't mind. i'll be back in the burgh. it will be football season. and i've had many many months of excess lazeeee. ah, life, you are divine.
typing is more time consuming than i thought, but if you're bored. here's words ala the leatherbound journal of rexx. from my trip. the following is from the shore of north carolina to my bus seat a few miles from portland, oregon. then i got sick of typing things. but here it isfor your viewing pleasure if you so desire and, mainly for my own records. i had no idea how difficult it would be for me to decipher my own haggard slob ass chicken scratch handwriting.
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
dusty handprint
of smacking wave
haults
lingering stars.
the ocean,
the master,
in black night.
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I feel it was a past life, or perhaps merely a fragmented dream lost in drunken sleep that i lay in solemn thought, comfortably buried in a sea of blankets accenting pillowed mountain atop ragged mattress on cracked wooden floor. Familiar tapestries, my little black shelf before me. Incense burning, slowly intoxicating, and the smell of which still lingers on the canvas bag riding next to me, my only companion. Now those walls are bare, another memory latched to the back of the eyes, the mind, and the soul. A vision like the corn rolling by, a pale blur of greens and yellows out the window beside me. The smell of shit is faint, but there. I've smelled worse. I keep finding tiny sand grains clinging to my skin and clothes and I hope that they stay, smiling back on that last pleasant dip in the atlantic this morning, sand hot as hellfire. I'm alone now, as I was then and am most times. Out the the window the sun is setting. Corn has turned to trees. Right now my little bag the only companion I desire of the passengers on this bus. A wanderer at last and for the next two months I'm free to see all the lands I want through these windows. It's becoming too dark to write and my train of thought is fleeing. I feel happy and home out here on the road.
The impending darkness of night that surrounds and provides sanctuary on a packed greyhound bus is on hiatus, replaced by the familiar tinge of florescent light bouncing off loud marble floors and wire benches, always lacking the appropriate number of armrests. Two hour layover. I'm thinking back on the beauty of bus stop number one of this long journey ahead. A wooden shack attached to KK's Foodmart in Elizabeth City but really nowhere, North Carolina. Flies buzzing all around, crunch of foodstamp chips from waiting mouths in all directions, one hour from the shore i've been playing on for the past few days. Now I realize the perfection (the imperfect perfection for nothing is perfect I suppose) in it all, starting on that eastern shore, feet in the water, back to the ominous sea and every sweet possibility of the adventure to come sprawled out before me.
A few minutes left to step out for a cigarette before the bus departs and I may enjoy the darkness once again, perhaps sleep, but probably not. The mind is running rampant with thought, the body still not used to sleeping alone, and Jersey awaits with the rising sun.
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The bus was too cold for comfortable rest in cut-off shorts, I remained awake for most of the ride eventually dozing off to bukowski's drunken drawl emananating from my headphones. Shortly after, I was stirred awake by the driver's voice and fumbling of bags and feet. More resting of eyes on a lone bench in the Penn Station Newark until swept off to sleepy dreamworld on comfy leather couch in Hillside, New Jersey. Awake to drinks, talks, food, drinks, talks. Radiohead helped guide the tour while Steve showed me each tiny corner of his childhood and beyond. Gothic churches lurking in shadows where cigarettes were once secretively smoked, school bell chiming for the changing of classes somewhere not far in the distance. Buildings long since burnt, streets corrupt, the strange beauty of industrial wasteland illuminated by the setting sun. An abundance of Hispanics, nail salons, skeevy fried chicken joints, and chinese takeout. Scenes of former car crashes, deaths of friends, past jobs (and ten years later old John still pushing carts), parking spots in dark parks once shared with summer lovers, now awaiting the nights drunks and dealers. Out for more drinks, new people, more talks, drinks, drinks. Everyone looks frozen going nowhere here, the bartender's nylons two shades too pale and I think the bouncer to be a vampire after last call. Well, hello, Jersey, your history is rugged sweet to the ear and the eye and the mind and sleep must be indulged before the boozy haze fades into nowhere, as it tends to do. Philadelphia awaits, dreams of fireworks and cheesesteaks and city smells like grease flying from a street vendor entwined with bus exhaust and pretzel salt. It is July fourth, sometime after four a.m. It's been a year now since smoke poured from my car in a heap of twisted metal and broken glass and everything hazy but soon the blue lights flashing and the feel of the cold jail cell cement awaiting powdered egg and mushy bread and drunken empty months to come. try to think thoughts of cheese and steak and little travels in the new day, my eyes are closing and I don't wish to dream of that past life tonight.
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Steve is still sleeping, his apartment is freezing. I'm excited for my morning coffee and the day's little excursion to Philly. The Roots are playing a free show before the fireworks and no driving, this year. Life has evolved into something much too glorious for written word. I hear the buzz of an electric razor, the tell-tale sign of a man awake.
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Hillside is filled with little roadside diners, the kind of joint your grandpa takes you to for sunday brunch during the youthful years. Twenty later, late night, chain-smoking, sharing laughs over little hilarities enhanced by the drink and long talks of life and the great philosophy or perhaps conspiracy behind it all. Forty later, lurking over eggs and toast, coffee in shakey drunken hand. No more cigarette in here, the law has spoken. Early morning, late night, all the same, never did leave town like you said, remained to waste away as the coffee pot dispenses it's last drop. step outside for a smoke, cold ripping away at your bare hands while the next pot brews inside and your eggs grow cold...
Well, I'm only passing through and find great joy in this place, the Mark Twain, the best french toast my tongue's ever tasted. Eggs overflow from their perch atop giant fluffy hotcakes, bacon sprawled over top, sausage links on the sides like little syrup catchers, not so little.
Bellies full, off to Philly at last. The Roots were great, people everywhere. God Bless America actually means something tonight, (sans God) as I've set out to travel it far and wide. Scurry off for drinks until last call comes too early. Late night ride back to Jersey munching sandwiches, great music, cigs in hand, wind in hair, dozing off every other song till we arrive at last and sound sleep awaits.
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on the train to New York City now. Step out of Penn Station and found myself at home, love at first sight. Steam from first vendor finds it's way to my nose. I love to let myself get carried along by the hustle and bustle in a big new city, so easy to join the flow, squinting eyes and squishing nose, plowing forward like i've somewhere to be, someone to meet, a ride to catch. Really I'm just a wanderer, nowhere to be except anywhere and everywhere I want. I break this face, giggle and light a smoke as I pass a suited man, shoulders forward and eyes focused with forehead wrinkled in hurried stress, matching the precise face of my imitation. A family full of I Love NewYork tees being dragged by father's hand, child crying, so lost and uneasy and rushed, what a vacation. One can only be so lost on numbered streets, my friend.
Dug the city, return alone tomorrow after I part with Steve in the morning.
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Took the first shower I've had since Thursday morning (its Sunday, now, July 5th, 2009). Bathing is overrated and I never do it in excess. I let the water drip from my body, still deep tan from the north carolina shore of a week ago, and allow sleepiness to seep in. Everything has been beautiful so far and tomorrow I return to the big city.
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its early now, seven a.m., been awake since six. Steve is in the shower, Im all packed up, my one little bag, and fixing a few peanut butter sandwiches with honey for the road.
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Back in the Penn Station Newark, now, waiting on the 9:05 to New York. It is 8:24 and I want an apple juice. I'm sitting on the same bench I arrived at on Friday morning, and one of the same characters sits across from me. Purple stretch pants, silly hat, crazed face. A man drops a dollar just now, dressed in a nice suit headed to the nine to five. A second man goes out of his way to ensure the dollar returns to hand of its owner. I love every little moment of kindness still existing in this world. I'm thirsty as hell, must locate apple juice before the bus whisks me away from a fine Jersey weekend. My feet are tapping anxiously, I notice, they crave those big city Monday streets, themselves being far removed from 'the routine'. Just a day of play ahead until darkness falls and the road carries me along, every day closer to that Western shore I've so anticipated, but no rush, there's so much to dig along the way. And I am, and I will.
I'm beginning to grow a fondness towards the chucka'chucka'chucka of the train schedule board as it shuffles every few moments.
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Washington Square Park, 2:00 p.m. on a Monday
Just laying here is all, really, the sun is beating down and a variety of lovely skins all around, different shades and exposures and firmnesses. thoughts everywhere, wish I could read them all. A giant thought bubble envisioned overtop this grassy knoll. As your cigarette burns down to the filter, what brings on that look of dismay? Like that filter is your time run out. Innocent baby sucking bottle that has grown empty in woman's arms who notices not as a reminiscent stare remains fixated on that fountain beyond the benches. This is a beautiful gathering of souls. Searching for a song, uplifting a thought to the clouds hoping for an answer with the rain to come, catching eyes or maybe thought waves. Sweat is dripping from my brow and soaking through my shirt but I don't want to abandon this scene, not yet. Seven or so hours till the bus carries me on my way.
The flies here are mutants.
Among all these cigarette smokers so intense, a small girl picking nose, just picking, not a care.
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8:00 p.m New York City Greyhound Station
dried sweat sits on my skin, I'm exhausted and ready for sleep or at least a dark, quiet ride. I'll be home in the morning. Looking forward to familiar faces. One hour till departure. Still have two sandwiches. Hoping for a seat alone and glad for the second bus with no layover. Little sideways glances always makes me wonder what they're wondering.
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awoken in pittsburgh, 4 a.m. to the unsure closure of tabs, empty cigarette pack, step outside to smoke the last one.
5:17 a.m. a car starting and one's morning already beginning.
belly still full of beer. eat a bit but no revival of memory.
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reading over wierd drunken ramblings from the morning, sitting on a shady bench off of 31st and East Carson Street. I feel like nothing will make this hangover go away. Spent too much money here as I expected. Anticipating the ride ten hours from now, one more catch up to to later on, probably over drinks, fuck. I get sick of being around people and can't wait to rest my eyes and open them to somewhere new and sleep away that day-after-drunk tinge that lingers on my skin. It was good to spend a day at home but I"m ready to travel on. My face is breaking out. I have no urge to get up from this bench for the next ten hours.
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transferred to the tenth street benches. I remember a day a year and a half ago maybe, I was smoking a bowl by the river after a long day at work. I waited in line at the burger king on 18th for half an hour for a vanilla milkshake but the machine was broken. i walked to dairy queen on 10th (which i'm looking at now and striked this memory), and walked the entire way home, sipping slowly, enjoying all taste and cool, slipping feelingfully. It was one of those perfect days after a long winter, not quite hot yet but you know the cold has gone for good. my ipod was on shuffle and every song was beautiful, a rarity. I exalted in great thoughts and simple pleasures enjoyed for three miles. it was one of the most pleasant highs of my life.
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12:30 p.m. Thursday. Chicago. Lake Michigan.
The sun feels nice on this bed of hot concrete. I keep seeing little ducks out of the corner of my eye. Boats clinking together on Lake Michigan create a soothing rhythm in perfect tone with teh gentle slosh of the water against the harbor. Spent the morning lost downtown after an uncomfortable night's sleep on the bus from Pittsburgh. Pure business mania, suits and ties and the clicking of heels. Was pleased to come upon Millenium Park, children screaming with joy in giant fountains, many unexpected visual stimulations, and then I reached the lake i'd searched for all morning long and have been laying here exhausted, taking photos and enjying the day. I was here two summers ago, passing through after a week of drunken and exhilerating adventures to the badlands, south dakota. Well,I spent that day vomiting in the parking garage down the road from where I now sit. This is a much better day. I"m unsure how to reach kuma's corner but my tummy is rumbling so i'll carry on and figure it out somehow.Last good meal before tonight's bus leaves and the two and a half day ride to Portland begins.
First I think i'll enjoy a smoke and exalt in the tranquil separation of this scene.
Wanderer, at last, everything feels right.
A mallard lingers by me, velveteen head of rich jungle green. Gave one quack and drifted on. Goodbye little one.
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worst food pain ever, kuma's corner. but nonetheless i had to do it and it was fucking amazing to my taste buds. and naturally the india pale ale was too tasty for just one also filling up space in my belly. money is bullshit therefore i chose to spend what i normally would have in half a month in one sitting. oh well, it was beautiful. a few hours till departure, hopefully this feeling will cease a bit by then. i long to be back on lake michigan, hungry lying down in hot sun.
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exquisitly strange are the words I would choose to describe the last twenty hours on the bus. thirty to go until portland. Crazed one in front of me picking away at scabs on head, stale drool encrusted on face, picking away at those scabs like your brain has inevitably picked at. terrible but shared great laughs over this with kind old candy giving lady in adjacent seat and my partner in three day bus ride crime, william, more on that later. sat by adam last night, cool dreadie hippie with warm sleeping bag to save us on a cool overnight ride from chicago to minneapolis. great conversation shared, silly laughs all throughout the night. felt like a childhood sleepover giggling under the little children's sleeping bag he acquired from someone along the road. flat land ha sbeen rolling by all day and it is four p.m. now. the redundance is beginning to lull me to sleep. the miles to rapid city are not decreasing rapidly and signs pop up just enough to remind one that they are nowhere close, like your money points dwindling close to zero and payday not quite just around the corner. like waiting for your number called on a busy day at the meat market. and most like watching minutes drag by on an old rolling time clock, (like that day back in february 2006, right after kwesi died. his funeral over, waiting in line for fried chicken and cornbread, our little group passing barely noticeable clock, just as it rolled from 4:19 to 4:20 but we all happened to glance at this exact moment. someone burst into tears. and we knew he was alright, one of the best souls i've ever known, or any of us had. and this seemingly silly without explanation but no matter for that. i hope life after life here is treating you well, man. i picture your face and realize that i have not feared death since that moment.)
tired, just wanted to jot down vague thoughts and memories.
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except for unsure spurts of sleep affected heavily by lack of space and the bobblehead syndrome, I would say I've been awake for the past fifty-five hours. The final stretch of the ride has come at last, carrying us through what i believe still to be rolling Idaho hills, soon to arrive on the west coast. This last bus is finally quiet with a seat of my own to stretch my legs and gather my thoughts. It's saturday, around one in the afternoon, western time now. It has been one non-stop wild ride since boarding in Chicago on Thursday. Trail mix and whole grain crackers with cheddar cheese have tided me well, taking care those days to only spend money on coffee, milk, juice, and smokes. I know I will spend most of my dollars on good foods throughout the journey however otherwise and overall simplicity and minimalism are things Ive come to seek and embrace more each day over the past few years.
there's been an eclectic mix over the days, for sure. You must always open your eyes and mind and heart wide as you can, fear no conversation, no other, and no expanse of solitude. You'll miss the beauty in so many people and things and in yourself. We became a little family over the past three days on our overcrowded bus late for every destination and so glad we could make light of it all. Slightly peeved and annoyed I no doubt was as my big seat to myself on first day was overtaken by "muscles" who as i suspected became annoying at times but for the most part was a most unexpectedly joyous and memorable compadre of the open roads. Brought me to tears with laughter every day and became somewhat the ringleader of our little bunch. A veteran of the hounded roads, appreciating unexpecedly and fully how 'beautiful the ride has been" and always is, in whatever way. Turns out the nazi from the back of the bus wasn't after all. Merely a botched ink job we all thought to be a swastika until South Dakota and the truth was settled over joints behind desolate truck stop with fluffy bleached white clouds popping from radiant blue sky, bales of hay and golden stalks of corn, surreal and raising memory of years past. As the sun set I let my mind drift back to that roadtrip back in sumer of 2007 to the badlands, south dakota. that life changing sky. I knew one day I would find it again.
Montana is the most gorgeous mountain painting I"ve ever seen and long to stop but we must carry on to teh coast, no time for rest only snapping unjust photos through bug-splattered bus window. joints talks, laughs, joints, pizza, unexpected closing of eyes. Hours away from a girl i've never met in Portland, Oregon and all I crave right now is a shower and a couch to rest for hours on end for the first time in a week. Two days to see my baby after three weeks and I smile because its great to have someone to miss this much. Its been a monumental ride, these three days, ineed and I don't want it to end. How people loathe the bus days and nights (all the same on the road) i'l never know. I delight in every second seeing the country fly by. Luck with crowds and smells and understanding amongst souls so different but the same somehow and ending just right in quiet, empty, reflective bus. phone dead, ipod dead, no distraction. Justice can't be done to this ride. priceless.
pretty little waterfall barely spotted in the distance just now. this is the life for me.
eliminate fear from your being and all that you touch with your hand and your vision beam and your eager tongue and tender nose and mountain popping ears and your most genuine soul will fill you with gladness and knowledge and beauty in every form. do every little thing your heart desires without hesitation. you will find answers you never knew you were seeking.
I just closed my eyes and lost sense of weight and time and place and of existing in a body, in this vessel of skin and bones and internal fascinations.
I think I just experienced my first true moment of enlightenment.
i won't be updating for at leaaaast a few days because i will be skipping town for gift's from enola 's last two shows and some massive partying in harrisonburg with all the lovely kiddies that i've missed these past two months of cross country traveling aaaand mass quantities of boyfriendage. wooooooo!!!! did i mention that i'm extremely happy?
so, happy trails.
PEACEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
So how you think the Steelers are gonna do?
Pittsburgh? You could see the Steelers in live... So luckyyyyyy :').
Have a nice week .