Rain is falling now. I am wet as Kevin’s jumper. The wolves still scream like Pau did when he was “fouled”.
I came upon a mirror today in an old house I passed by. I look rough. Rough as an Oklahoma highway. Like if you took what I-40 looks and feels like under construction and made it a face. Like George Muresan and Vlade Divac’s faces had a baby.
My hair looks like I had help with it from Drew Gooden. My Jayhawk brethren. How his grooming decisions did confuse me.
I found a working clock inside an old gas station as I scavenged this morning. It had the date on it. Today is October 31st. Happy Halloween, Diary.
What shall I dress up as?
What’s that, Diary?
Oh, Diary, but where will I find a Sasha Vujacic costume on such short notice?
Ahh. Jokes are good. That one was bad. But jokes are good.
I remember the old days of trick or treating. Walking about Orange City dressed as Corey Matthews or Casey Jones or the Red Power Ranger. Things were simpler then.
It was my birthday five days ago. I did not know that. If memory serves me, which it may not, I spent it under the tarp on the side of the road as the rain fell. Happy belated Birthday to me.
I came upon a mountain pond two nights ago. I camped there. I lit a fire and pounded out a beat with sticks on empty bean cans and kept the trees company, singing to them my own version of Neil Young’s Helpless as the flames flung shadows on the forest floor. I sing because I need to and sometimes I do feel helpless.
It is odd to think, Diary, but a short time ago I was writing a blog for GQ. Me and Jimmy Goldstein, The Model Whisperer, penned some of the same pages.
Now I write for the wind.
My mind wanders and so do I. I regret not having tried things. I think about if I could have done more. I should have tried harder to get things moving on my screenplay for Kazaam 2: The Collison Collision, starring myself. Perhaps if destiny leads me to the ocean and there are others there I could produce it as a play.
Let me dream, Diary.
I am all-in these days, Diary. There can be no tiptoeing. I do everything all the way. There are no half measures. Not in Walter White’s Albuquerque and not in this empty world. You go full or you don’t go at all.
I am a Pontic Aztec and I run into the wolves that are the dealers. But I have no Jesse. I am alone. So I tell myself to run.
I run to the ocean. There is salt in the air around me and I know I am close and that is good. Sonic Happy Hour good.
I invite the wolves to give chase. Come at me, bros.
Still in the streets.
Strapped with them thangs.
She in love with the G.
So she tatted my name.
I’m the biggest boss that you seen thus far.
And Diary…I am the danger.
*Again, this ain’t real. Part 1 if you’re inclined and bored: http://drawllin.tumblr.com/post/33760702696/nickcollisonapocalypse
Part 2 if you’re inclined and super bored: http://drawllin.tumblr.com/post/34152089308/the-post-apocalyptic-diary-of-nick-collison-part-two