Category: Essays

Last night the fill station attendant wore a thigh-length, faux fur coat, a garment whose strands were at least three inches in length, and black like that of his own locks. A subtle, pink neck bore the only separation of the two, leaving his head dangling in space above the jacket like a dot atop an upside down exclamation point. My excitement was not for the coat, but instead for the passion in which he wore it as he collected bags of trash from outside!

it's not everyday that i'm drawn to someone's personality and demeanor just as strongly as i'm desirous of their physical person. today is gorgeous.

I'm dreading my return to Lansing. I'm absolutely 100% tired of my roommates. 2/3rds of them are okay people, but the novelty of living with them has worn off and the whole thing has started to become kind of awkward. I think it would suit me to get one of those studios, 5X5 with a kitchenette and bathroom and that's it. Have everything I own in one room to save my concentration. The truth of the matter is that I'm only living there because it's dirt cheap and I don't know exactly where I'm going to be in the fall, so a lease is out of the question. I've actually thought about going back north for the seclusion; I kind of miss the country and the peace & quiet (and my sanity). But that probably won't happen. I'm getting kind of too old for that? Whatever. But this song has me in a good mood and thinking happy thoughts so enough about this garbage!

What's the big deal with individuality? If you ask me, it's more just a means to an end, a reason to draw lines around and/or between EVERYTHING. I'm speaking of individuality, not to be mistaken for creativity. Why are we always making up these boundaries about who we are and who we are not when most of the time this individualiaty is just dogma or stigma or hypocricy. What is the desire, the positive outcome? I'm not talking about that "friends come in all sizes" bullshit; I know, people are yellow and brown and fat and skinny, I'm not talking about making clones of everyone. It's just that we try so hard to define ourselves, to constrict what our values and ideas and lifestyles and everything are. It's just such a bunch of bologna. Shit, I bet half of you probably spent 4 hours on your keywords for livejournal trying to create what you believe to be a good image of yourself to save face. Lose a little face. We're human.

I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I'm completely, utterly afraid of commitment, almost in all aspects of my life. From who I am to who I want to be, to what I wear, to who sleeps in my bed with me, and the only things that stay constant in my life are fears and addictions. Good Goddamn it feels awesome to be truthful with myself. And now it's time to move towards the positive, to keep with the general flow as of late. Thank you Rumi, once again, for your insight.

I've also come to realize that I have virtually no life at all. This is good because I've had so much time to think that I'm actually figuring things out (kinda)! I'm also learning a lot about history and early American Civilization, which is really opening my eyes to a lot of things. I have a humanities class (AMERICAN CIVILIZATION), which the professor has taken as, "HEY, let's have two hour discussions and write a paper every week about whatever we feel." I've been coinciding our dates and history discussions with my reading of A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn. So far this has proved dynamic, and compliments one another quite perfectly.
P.S. I think that becoming a Senator or Representative should literally be a prison sentence, where their sole job is a community service of holding that position. That way we only get people that care so much about what needs to be done that they'll actually put up with being in prison to do what needs to be done.

Today is also my second day of not smoking. Yesterday was so much worse than today. I'm still jittery, but it's probably from the coffee which I needed to keep my hands busy. I was a 1 pack a day smoker so that's at least 5 dollars a day in the Great Lakes State, or in other words $150 dollars a month. Believe it or not, that extra $150 a month is going to help me so much. I may actually be able to go away for spring break like I had been hoping to do And my lungs, jeez, they have been so pissed at me! Yesterday when I didn't smoke my mind said to my body, "HEY YOU LITTLE FUCKER. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE. I CONTROL YOUR FUNCTioNS. TODAY YOU WILL NOT FUNCTiON IF I DOn'T GET MY FIX!" But my lungs were screaming, " HEY! AIR?!?! FRESH AIR?!? THANKS, DUDE* ".

*But fuck you for making me put up with this shit for so long.

…trial separation from the life i once knew

man, i never update anymore. i should start again.

i've been fighting off so many urges lately. i'm stuck here, right in the middle.
"here i am…stuck in the middle with you."

there's a girl, two floors up, waiting for me to arrive, but she's pretending she's not waiting. that's the way it's been. we dance and drink and screw. then we don't call eachother.
sin, repent, repeat.
is this the way the mid-twenties are? don't get me wrong, i love swervin' to the berv, but damn, what happened to intimacy. shit my ninja. shit.

by the way, jen, jessica…i had a blast the other night, too. thanks for the cheers.

He flicks his cigarette over the ledge. “It’s one of those things you think couldn’t happen here, not in New York.” A pigeon lands. He shakes his head. “But I guess I’m living proof.” The pigeon flies away.

[bullet holes]

[the orchard out my bedroom window]

[backyard west]

[backyard east]

[an all too typical sight]

[slightly less typical]

[it rained while it was sunny, this day]

so i'm looking through history pages to see what has happened on my birthday, february 20th, throughout time. i came across this:

born on feb 20th:

20/02/1898 – Enzo Ferrari, Italy, sportscar manufacturer (Ferrari)
20/02/1901 – Louis I Kahn, Estonia, architect
20/02/1902 – Ansel Adams, photographer (1966 ASMP Award)
20/02/1967 – Kurt Cobain, rock vocalist (Nirvana)

died on feb 20th:

20/02/1431 – Martinus V, [Oddo Colonna], Italian Pope, dies
20/02/1790 – Joseph II, Emperor of Holy Roman empire, dies at 48
20/02/1985 – Clarence Nash, voice (Donald Duck), dies at 80 of leukemia, in Calif
20/02/1993 – Ferruccio Lamborghini, Italian auto-designer (Miura), dies

Ferrari was born and Lamborghini died on february 20th.  i don't know why, but that is just FUCKED UP to me.  also interesting to find kurt cobain and ansel adams on that list.  word.

But in the morning
on the sober dawn of Sunday
you're not sure what you have done
Who told you love was fleeting?
Sometimes men can be so misleading
to take what they need from you
Whatever you need to make you feel
like you've been the one behind the wheel
the sunrise is just over that hill
the worst is over
Whatever I said to make you think
that love's the religion of the weak
this morning we love like weaklings
the worst is over.

Monthly draft calls will increase from 17,000 to 35,000 – the highest level since the Korean War, when between 50,000 and 80,000 men were called up each month.

It will take the US force in Vietnam up to 125,000 but officials say at this stage demands should be met by conscription, without calling upon the reserves.

I do not find it easy to send the flower of our youth…into battle President Johnson

Speaking in a televised address from the White House President Johnson said: "We do not want an expanding struggle with consequences no one can foresee."

Shit, this record is…awesome! Still my favorite jazz pianist ever. He left the John Coltrane quintet in '65, two years before John died (they say free jazz died when he did), but this guy is still rockin' it into his sixties.

Worked another 9 hours today. Can't wait for my day off [thursday]. Gotta get a car, gotta talk with an advisor, gotta sign papers for my new place [i need money…so any of you rich people out there, i have a paypal account, just let me know if you like funding good people. ;]

PS: Michigan girls are such snobs.

sign the petition to save the statler hotel from demolition:
[www.petitiononline.com/statler/p…](http://www.petitiononline.com/statler/petition.html)

this building is a detroit landmark that needs to be saved; we don't need any more surface parking lots! stop tearing our history down!

they almost tore down the beautiful

which is now under renovation because of efforts such as this.

i want this lil house:

[www.realtor.com/Prop/1038…](http://www.realtor.com/Prop/1038186159?lnksrc=00045&gate=idxmannarbor)

Do this:
stolen from

Name:
Age:
Reason for LJ username:
AIM sn:
Reason for AIM sn:
Do you enjoy reading my LJ:
Why:
Interesting fact about you:
Weird fact about you:
Quote:
Will you post this in your LJ:

RECOMMEND
1. A movie:
2. A book:
3. A musical artist, song, or album:
4. An LJ user not on my friends list:
5. Something to do in the next two months:

why i was not aborted, i do not know. bryan barry robb II, born to bryan barry robb sr. and deborah lynn barnette-robb on the 20th day of february, 1981. my mom was a strong woman. gave birth to me at 19. she gave up her full-ride to nursing school and we lived in a motel in detroit because my dad wouldn't get a job. my mom walked the streets of detroit in order to find a job to support us while she was pregnant for my brother. she gave birth to my brother bradley at 21. at which point my father split [never paid a dime] and from then on she raised us herself, worked full-time, and still managed to get her assosiates degree [without the full-ride]. and never did i feel unloved. she smothered us in love.

then in '86 she had a new boyfriend named jim. he had money but he liked to spend it on booze and gambling. the first words he ever spoke to me were 'chew with your mouth shut' while i was eating my corn pops cereal. as if he knew etiquette. i may be wrong, but i'm pretty sure good etiquette doesn't involve taking a girl and her two young children to the casino and laying her in a hotel bed while the two children hide under the covers and plug their ears in the bed beside. he would beat us. he would cheat on her and come home drunk. if we did something 'wrong', he'd make us get in the push-up position and pile phone books on our backs while we held that up-right position for long periods of time while he sat on the couch and watched HBO. and if we dropped the phone books from our backs, the clock started over again. i remember once my brother and i were playing in the drive way. jimmy [jims eldest son] jumped in the car and started backing up in his camaro and roled right over my little brother. ran him over with the tire. it's a miracle he wasn't killed, but i guess he was in a sandy area so he didn't get more than a few scratches. jimmy picks brad up and runs him into the house and a little while later jim comes out, grabs me by the arm and starts beating me because I [yes, me, 5 year old bryan] DID NOT TELL JIMMY THAT BRAD WAS BEHIND THE CAR. yeah, my mom put up with a lot of shit because she didn't have anywhere to turn.

i, on the other hand, don't know why i exist. i say i have troubles but i do not know troubles. i have it easy.

but then why do things seem hard? why is my complete lack of inspiration for living not subsiding? she always tells me 'you do what you have to do. having children shocks you into reality i guess'. you'd think having her as an influence and positive force in my life for so long that i would have learned something from it. maybe i am learning now, but i'm 23. i'm going to school and working but i still feel like i'm doing the bare minimum. i'm not 'conquering life' so to speak. sometimes going to the post office is an eventful day for me. i'm thankfully off drugs but sometimes when i look back at who i used to be, i miss myself, because it seems like i was such a lovely, creative person then. i had emotion and i had fun. now i do not have fun, even doing things i used to love.

i went back to detroit with jonathan this weekend to visit my friend pelot. he got a beautiful new place in midtown. we went to a few bars and acted crazy and had a few laughs, but it was nothing like it used to be. while driving around seeing the littered streets of mexican town and the abandoned buildings of cork town, all i could think about was my mother, walking those streets to find a job to support me. worn out old motels that rent hourly, nightly and weekly. hotels that were probably not too much unlike my first home. hookers and crack heads. steam coming from the man holes.

shit, i got it easy. what the fuck's wrong?

I don't like giving up on people, I really don't. When people hang by a thread, I try my best to reinforce it, best I can. I call people out of the blue to see if they're still alive. I go out of my way to drive to peoples' places, all over the damn state. Hell, I was the only person who called Nathan regularly after he was sent to Germany, and I wasn't even his closest friend. But do people ever call me out of the blue? Very rarely. Who went to your birthday party? Me. Who even so much as called me on mine? When was the last time anyone came to my house? Years? Sure, distance and time is a factor. I live out in the middle of nowhere. But has that stopped me from visiting people everywhere, from Kalamazoo to Lansing, to Detroit, to Chicago, to Sault St. Marie? No. And I'm the least likely to have the money for the trip…and I most definitely have the most unreliable vehicle. But I don't care. Even my closest friends never come out here. They complain when they have to drive 20 minutes out to my place. Yet, like clockwork, I drive my ass to their places a few times a week. It's not like anything particularly more interesting ever happens at their places, I just always go.

I'm kind of getting sick of peoples' apathy. And everyone being so egocentric. People not taking the time to listen. People always trying to get in the last word. People looking down their noses at me. People taking me for granted.

If I disappear, who'll notice?

" expect me like one waits for mail,
all lost dropped and cancelled.
like foreign post, i leave twice a day
but take a week to get there.

expect me like one waits for rain,
or sleet or hail or snowfall.
like foreign post, i'm lost on the way
and take a week to get there.

i want to be delivered
'til i'm gone gone gone.

the way it's sealed in my heart, i
t's guaranteed that i'm
in your hands

by morning, when you're ready
to read between the lines
and the paper isn't telling you anything.

if you miss me, drop me a line
in care of fin de siecle,
mit luftwaffe.

it's the end of the end of the end."

If you are lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to have the courage to live it.

I am but one small instrument.

Hrm, the sounds of last summer are starting to be recirculated. Anyone know what I'm talking about? Of course there are cd's that you listen to, that compliment the mood you're already in, but theres just certain songs or albums that make me feel a certain way. I usually tuck them away for safe keeping, for those times when I think they'll be therapeutic. Summer is weird though. Only some albums are strictly summer albums. Albums that remind me of good times, hell, even bad times that somehow look sweeter looking back.

So it's June already. One month ago I was frying in the desert, worried how the semester would end, wondering how things would get done. Well everything got done. Now all I have is work. I've been kind of looking for a place in Lansing. Originally the plan was to move down with my friend Trevor and his buddy Tyler. Tyler was in the coast guard and he got a housing allowance. So I figured they'd be okay by themselves and began looking for a place with my old roommate, Adam, from my first year of college at Michigan State. He's still one of my good friends. One of those friends that I don't necessarily see all the time, but when we get the chance to hang out, we really just clique. Well as it turns out, Tyler dropped out on Trevor, so Trevor is sorta up shit creek without a paddle. I'd like to help him out but he doesn't seem to be showing much initiative to sign up for classes, look for a place to live, etc. For example, last week I said I'd take him in and get him registered for classes. We planned for Tuesday to be the day [yesterday], and he'd take the day off work. Well yesterday morning I get up extra early [for me, about 8am], But when I tried calling, he wasn't answering. So I go over there and he'd gone to work. He could have taken the day off because he works for his family. So basically I took a day off for nothing [and I could really use the money] and scrapped other plans to do this FOR HIM. He's been nothing but a good friend to me and has helped me out so much and I know we'd be good roomies but I don't like this flaking out shit. So I really don't know who I should be getting a place with…someone who is going to have a positive influence on my lifestyle or someone who I've been a little hellion with for years. Guess I'll figure it out, but it's gotta be soon.

OH yeah, did I mention I'm broke because they CUT my hours after school ended? Make checks payable to Bryan Robb. XO I love this shit.

That will be some other tribe, some other me. You'll hold it like it should be held. A glowing flask, an odalisque, a cherry red-ripe flame, with its selling points filled with the narcissism of a serpentine alma mater. Rip it off, tongue it up and chew it with your teeth. Your finger will trace the cracked glass, in its beauty and in its metaphor that you'll pretend you do not see. But you cannot run from something that has already caught you, already nailed its sweetness to your lips and sewn your eyelids with lace. Yes, I see you tracing the glass, but all that's there is a silhouette, a chalk outline of a soul-less you that shed its pristine aura forever ago. And right now I know what is happening. I know that this isn't all you, Isabel. After all, these are my eyes that see and not your emotions I feel. Maybe you need to be there. Maybe I do, too. It could be like old times, when you'd wet your lips and bite my cuff. When your teeth would clench and those lacey eyes would look up and puncture me.

words once came easily from lips and to paper
now there is no triumphant clause. no daydream memorandum. all is trite.
bed sheets only get soiled further and ashtray contents climb.
washes of gray and gold on walls from sunlight filtered through cloth haze.
words from voices that are not my own
words that make bad singing sweet.
and despite their sweetness contain no benevolence.

life has not been so succinctly self.
i have participated as three witnesses:
first, the barer of bad news. sinister and childish, where the only growth is cancerous.
next, the insecure. who has tasted truth, but remains disillusioned by the first.
finally, the other-worldly euphoria that floats in clouds, stair less and without law.
there are no more words. there is no feeling.
there is absolutely no balance.

read about it