Cream City Hostel 1

The time is 01:07 in the morning and I am writing to you from Cream City Hostel in Milwaukee Wisconsin. I am in my bunk. In my ear is the sound of Ben Gibbard. The song is recycled air. Remastered edition; why not? He wouldn’t put it out if he didn’t think is was worth listening to…now that I am thinking about it I am not so sure. I mean, with 100% certainty the quality and complexity of musical instruments and production equipment will increase to a level we as a humanity have never seen, heard, or experienced in ten years, and the same can be said for the distance of 2003 to 2013. I’m not sure that constitutes me paying for the same album twice [yay! Spoitfy], but it definitely means the people who haven’t purchased the album will get a better product with the remastered version. OMG The time is 01:14 and I can’t believe I am still writing that same thought. You should see what the fuck is going through my head. This shit is crazy right now! I’ve got a lot going though my brain that, things I haven’t I thought in a while. I am writing with my eyes closed and this is something I have not done before, at least extensively. I am only pretty sure I am typing the right things. I need to get better at this. I suppose my shoulder and hand will feel it in the morning; I have been having some serious wrist and hand issues recently. They are not the same thing. I have hella typos on my page. And I’m still not writing about the wright stuff.

My window sits on Holton street. I know that if I keep writing while I sit like this it wont be good for my back. My hand either…I gotta get my shit together. The reason I am here in Milwaukee is the same reason I’ve been everywhere since I left this place. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be back, but here I am! I am definitely being treated like an employee, which would make this the second hostel I have worked at.

Excited for the superior water quality of Milwaukee, I am.

Watching the show Atlanta, I heard, for the second time in my life, about Florida Man. My father was the first person to inform me of Florida Man.

Stoned, I am, and almost certainly in-tune with my Body? Omg I am a little frighted and how certain I am that that is true. That means I need to need to see a doctor. Should I take advantage of the free healthcare system of Milwaukee one more time you guys? Somehow I think I am going to have to pay this time…or would I only be paying because I feel obligated? Fuck man…maybe.

What am I going to do tomorrow? Right now, I am thinking I should write the journey of my story to sobriety in even more depth than the version I sent to the lady from TMJ4; that I found out isn’t really even from TMJ4. So many people OD today…the line between making money and doing the right thing is so blurred, and honestly, I don’t know how anyone that wants it as bad as me could even exist on this Earth, because, well, the vibes are too good on this planet.

All week I have been watching The Orville with my Father, and that shit is intense. We just finished the one where the K-LON [think I am spelling that correctly?] attempt to take over earth.

[on a sidenote, anyone who reads my asmr.community blog about addiction recovery, might consider listening to Turn Around by The Postal Service. He’s got you, man.]

The K-Lon episode was a two-parter. I just turned the light off. Usually I don’t mention people by name in my blog, and honestly, although I have asked him twice, I still can’t remember the guys name I am now living with. 30 days I will be living with this man. I can’t believe I forgot his name twice in a row. I am shit. Lol, I’m kidding. In fact, did I ever finish my thought before about how no one who wants it like me could be possibly be any different? That’s because I know with certainty that I am a good person. Ask anyone that knows me, seriously! lol At this point, I think I know a lot of people. One time my Father told me about how my godfather Eric has friends in California. He said “Yeah, Eric knows people all over. He has actual friends in California that he talks to,” and I am pretty sure that’s how he said it. Actually I have no idea, I am just making that up. My Father is a really inspiring person. Growing up with him made me who I am. I mean, no joke. I meet other people, and I like them sometimes, and I love them a lot. But I don’t think any of you boso’s are as cool as me. It is so that knowledge feels more practical than being cool does, however both of those things are the result of our DNA. I capitalized that for legibility purposes only, but on principal I think that word should be lower case. In the future I will write it lower …ehh I take that back. I theorize the writer that capitalizes, capitalizes. Is it a capitol letter or a capital letter? I think the latter, and so my sentence is good. What the fuck you working with; and I can rap, bitch. What’s got two wings and is fly as hell? This Unicorn, bitch. I take the cherry of the blunt, and I smoke that end. Okay, now I’m just being cocky. I don’t drink alcohol, and that’s what makes me cool.

What the fuck is cool, anyway? Does smoking and doing drugs make you cool? I don’t think so. I think one can only be born cool. Those who are not cool, do not want to be cool. Take a look at me now? There’s just an empty space. My going back to you is against the odds, and that’s just what I’ve got to fase. I did that on accident, deleted it, and then put it back how it was because it reminds me of jack the ripper.

My right hand has such a seriously weird feeling going on, and this certainly isn’t caused by being high. This is caused by my damn shoulder. Smoking and doing drugs makes you crippled, if you ask me about it. Bitch.

Getting a one-handed keyboard would probably be faster, eventually, for me than continuing to do things with two hands. I will always know how to write with two hands efficiently, but if I began learning the left hand only keyboard at 27, then at least I would do seriously well preserving the function of my right hand. Hmm. It’s scary to think about medical stuff; it pretty much 100% of the time freaks me out. If it wasn’t for my grandpa, I wouldn’t be brave when it comes to hospital visits. Thank you for that, G.

I call my grandpa G. Do a lot of you guys do that?

My writing adds up to the equivalent of a book, yet I am doing it online. I am truly the future of authors. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love to read a paperback book, it’s practically the only way I do it!

But I am not writing a book. Idkwtf I am writing. Ben sings a lot about a girl he misses on this album. Is that every album> I don’t feel like it.

They will see us from such great heights. Come down, down…they’ll say.

Though everything looks perfect from far away, come down down. But we’ll stay.

The heater next to me makes some serious noise. It’s kind of fitting, and kind of nice that I am next to the heater. Keep the heater by my side for them buggy’s tyrna ride. I learned it cuz that city that I’m from aint run and hide. I suggest you find your business and mind it. I write rap undecided. Like should I do or should I don’t. I never rapped this, only read this bro.

If that aint the definition of open to interpretation, idk what is.

If it wasn’t for Clifford Harris, I wouldn’t even know a man this cocky could exist in society. Thanks bro.

Am I closer to Charles Bukowski or T.I.? Am I a sad man writing about wanting to have sex with people because I am missing out on it myself? Or, at 27, am I just setting myself up to never miss out, thusly fulfilling the proficiency, which read: one day, a man would be born to be scum, but he would grow to be a great leader. And after a fall so great, he would rise from the ashes, and grow further, to become king!

My roommate’s phone just started ringing. Ah, it’s the hostels phone number. Ah, I am thinking it is a strange person on the other end of the phone. Omg they…omg I just learned something about the world. Just make sure to ask a lot of questions, and you will always get what you need. I don’t think this guy is going to read my blog…do you? No one reads my blog. Holy shit I am making some good things happen in my brain. This hostel is the shit. It’s absolutely the definition of what a hostel, at least as I know it in America, is. Should be? Yes, all things considered. The local folk probably flock to this place hellahellahella much. How the fuck can one man increase the tourism of Milwaukee in a few short years? Because…I know with certainty that it is possible. I just need to YouTube. Hella YouTube. Actually these days I am thinking TikTok. If I increased tourism in Milwaukee, I bet they would give special treatment in regards to smoking weed here. They’d be all like “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to put that ou…oh shit! You’re that dude I saw about in the news paper; said you drove crime out of the city entirely. Will you sign my man titties?”

Do you understand that there are people who exist that really think of the cops in that light? And rap music promotes it! Not Jay Z though! At least anymore. I mean listen to U Dont Know, or shit, go head and listen to nymp. But then listen to The Story of O.J. Jay Z is a changed man. He doesn’t spell it out for you, but it’s there.

SuperEgo beats, if you’re reading this, I know I am just a punk that freestyles, but I really think my rap music is really good. It’s like…it’s like I am sorry to the people of earth for selling my computer in 2012 to pay rent and buy drugs; but mostly just to buy drugs. Jared and I had a bunch of music on there, and I just…sold it. The kids who bought it prolly knew I was buying drugs. I asked them not to wipe the thing for a couple hours because, actually, I think I just wanted to get high. Literally. I know I had to pay rent…but there is no way that I would have not pushed off paying rent to save that music. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was sniffing a lot of heroin, and whatever else the dealers put in that stuff. I must be changing. I didn’t ever call him my guy. His name was Rahlo. Think I will edit that out when I post it? I might just not post this until I leave the neighborhood. He used to live around the corner, I am pretty sure. Last I heard he went to jail for guns. I guess I don’t really know if he lived around the corner, but I picked up from him a couple of times where I saw him come out the back door of a house. White house red door. I have no idea if that’s true, but that’s the image I have in my head. He is wearing a white fit with red shoes. He looks kinna like Kevin Gates. I don’t know if I would really recognize the guy if I saw him again. The relation you have with your drug dealer is the kind of relationship you maybe want to forget. If you don’t, I did. Only for legal reasons though, don’t be thinking I’m getting all emotional on you. Idk how many times I have listened to this album now, but the time is 02:27, and the day is February 28th, 2020. And we become, silouettesasourbodiesfinnalyglow. Wow he said that fast in this version. Kind of cool. Somehow knowing the song makes that variation all that much more satisfying. That isn’t how I wanted to write that. But I am already thinking about the next thing now. My dad sent me this text earlier, and it said: “It’s so interesting that seeing the pictures beings up an exact memory of how it must feel.” I can tell he is sad, but I think it’s a pitifully beautiful thing. I am crying. I hope this guy doesn’t look over here and think I’m a bitch. I am just passionate about my craft. I cry harder for the passion of writing than for the love of my father, because I know he can take care of himself. I do miss my grandma though.

Spark Twain.