Hard Work (March 10, 2020)

Lazy doesn’t begin to describe me. At 33 years old I’ve done nothing. I’ve fucked a few girls, been to a place or two, did a few drugs and didn’t die. Some who know me would say I’m funny. Other people would say I’m a nice guy. I think both camps would agree that I’m weird. Still I’ve done nothing with my life. I’m lazy as fuck.

I’m doing laundry today. Man I’m really going for it. I walked two floors down, fumbled with some keys, opened a door, walked to a basement, placed four quarters in a machine and then walked the three floors back up to my apartment. I’m about to see if I can retire from chores. I’m shouting "Oh, he’s got to win MVP if he puts them in the dryer" as I reach my apartment. I light the already half smoked bowl and celebrate.


I’ve always been as lazy as I am today. Hard work is as annoying as the people who always do it. Kobe Bryant is gnawing at my subconscious but I gotta do what I gotta… I HATE hard work.


From what I understand the cycle of hard work goes as follows. 1. Do the hard work. 2. Improve at the hard work. 3. Love the hard work because 4. There’s only hard work. Hard working people exhaust me with their lifestyle choices. There seems to be no leisure involved. When I think of hard working people I picture them getting up early to start their day, a regimented schedule, sweat already by 5 a.m., books on tape while in transit, thermometers on a vision board mapping out progress, working out during lunch breaks and so on until a late 10p sleep time. I’d almost rather die than to be that.


I can do work. Hard, long (settle down), all day work. At T-Mobile I was a “Retail Sales Associate” but in actuality I was a mini manager with terrible sales acumen. At Two Men and a Truck Dorian and I would sometimes work from 8a to 8p lifting heavy furniture and having minimal breaks. My job at Goodwill was to lift stuff with no help for eight hours. That job I kept for a year. If hard needs to be done for sure I can do it.


It’s from all the hard work that I’ve seen and done in my life that I am so averse to it. I understand what needs to happen for things to get done. Thinking about how things can fail or succeed is an exercise I do daily. If I’m to do hard work it requires a lot of focus, dedication and precision. Anything less than All is an insult to the thing that I’m working on. Outside of beating my dick there is nothing in the world I want to work hard with.


Right now I’m 33 with no money, no career, no car and like two almost jobs. This is hardly working for me.

Starting Over

I feel like I’m at the beginning. Like I pressed a reset button. I’m back to zero and working towards one. At work whisking through aisles I become reminiscent. Well, why not? Everyone around me is 20 years old. Either they just left high school or are still in it. They'll all look back fondly one day at their time working at a grocery store. I’m just starting now. 

I live by myself. Finally! There’s something to boast about. Some of these kids still live at home or with their roommates. I can rub that in their face at least. They'll laugh at me snubbing them while I walk my ass to the T. I need all the mental edge I can get. I have to justify why we’re on the same level. 

In some weird magic eight ball scenario I envisioned this. After spending night after night in a T-Mobile store with seemingly no escape, my dreams died. The best I thought I could do was walk into a job and charm my way to the top. With my credentials I can do that at a grocery store. 

Literally, I was hired in a fire sale. Giant Eagle was giving away jobs. The company they commissioned to organize the sale even offered to pay us (still don’t know when that’s coming, hurrumph). Me and some nigga who left the state and came back 30 years later like witness protection were hired at the same time, no questions. I think I was asked “Did you fill out an application online,” and “What job do you want?”

As long as I didn’t molest kids I was in. My piss wasn’t even tested. I scribbled down jobs dating back to the Reagan era on a beer cooler just to get rejected by a distributor. All Giant Eagle wanted to know was “WHAT HOURS DO YOU WANT?” 


I’m a 34 year old, straight of out high school, genius baby. My knees and life experience project the 34 years and my resume shows that I lived in Pittsburgh. My life is running through aisles, talking to pretty teenagers, waking up early and doing just enough work to get by. I haven’t just gone backwards, I’ve started over.

Letter to 14 Year-Old Julian (April 17, 2020)

Dear 14 Year-Old Julian,


You’re fucked. I’m just kidding. Hi, this is your future self. I’m almost two decades older than you and a lot is going to happen, not just in your life but in the world around you.


None of that fucking matters though. You’re the GOAT. My bad, it’s 2000 or 2001 where you are. GOAT is an acronym for “Greatest of All Time” which is usually used by sports writers. You’re that. Those questions, those never-ending questions, they’ll be answered in time. All of those feelings, emotions and thoughts will make sense the more experience you get with yourself and the world. Trust me, you’ll be getting experience.


The world is about to change something fierce with the internet. Here’s an example. I’m typing this letter on a laptop computer. The laptop is connected to the internet and the world wide web has waaaay more sites than I could’ve imagined at your age.


About an hour ago I was able to download 40some pictures onto an online storage unit that I pay $10/month for called Dropbox. Those 40 or so pictures were downloaded within one minute. I can pull up videos from websites and have them look crispier than that “Matrix” DVD, all within seconds of thinking about it. These things are a far cry from mom’s computer with its slow ass music downloads.


Now, imagine everything that you can do with a computer. In the years to come you’ll be able to do all of that and more on a mobile phone. That’s right, no more bus schedules or Map Quests since Google (you’ll see) has damn near perfected Google Maps. I won’t go into detail but cellular phones (or cell phones) will be better than a Dick Tracy watch and everyone will have one.


I hope I’m not boring you...us...you know. Boredom will never be a problem. Currently I’m in the year 2020 and for reasons I won’t get into I’m at home by myself a lot. Between video games (they’re sooo good now) and the massive usage I can get from the internet, I’m always able to look at the vast world around me. There’s never a dull moment.



But I’ll get to the important part, girls. In my 33 years of living, girls have taken an almost lion share of my energy. If you’re anything like me (hehe) it will take up yours too. You’ll probably figure this out (or you know it already) but be yourself. Being me has taken me to places I never thought I’d be. I told you you’re the GOAT and its true. Girls like you now, believe it or not. Girls will continue to like you. If you pan out just as you have been up until 14 you’ll continue to develop people skills, be funny, charming, honest, trustworthy, open, diverse and have a keen eye for things. You’ll still jerk off everyday, don’t get it twisted.



I could probably write you a book on girls but what’s the fun in that? Most of your greatest moments will be failures, even if you do differently than me. Failure is necessary. You will fail countless times in search for your place in life, hopefully everyone will. You being fear averse is going to help you build up courage. At 14, if I remember correctly, I was a little bitch. I wouldn’t even walk up to a girl I liked or say anything. If I could rewrite my life differently and go back to your age, I would fail more. You’ll understand soon. Get out there and experiment. What won’t kill you will give you wisdom. In 2020, with basically a Library of Alexandria at everyone’s fingertips, people are still dumb as fuck. Wisdom will still be scarce.



The only issue I have at 33 is trying to figure out a career path. I still don’t know what I’m doing. I’m waiting on some unemployment money (as is everyone else, you’ll see) and am about $200 short on rent. Before this period I was working at a restaurant as a server. It’s not as fun as it seems but the money is plentiful and I would honestly recommend you get into this industry before you turn 30. As nice as the industry is its a young man’s game with long shifts that require a lot of energy. Also there’s hella hoes.



I’m 33 now and I’m looking back on the life I’ve had since I was 14. You’re certainly in for a ride, my friend. The best advice I can give is to be you, start a stretching routine now, drink loads of water, shy away from alcohol (believe it or not I drank a lot in my 20s, yuck) and be brutally honest with yourself. Honesty requires a lot of work that you are more than capable of. Being honest coupled with a desire not to intentionally hurt anyone has made me a deity. No matter how much information, entertainment or distraction there will be in this world, being honest is something people can’t download.


Good luck, kid. I hope I was able to help. One last thought on failure. You’re 14, all you have is that time. In 20 years no one will remember your failures. Not you, not the people who saw you, not the ones who judged you or the people who supported you. No one will remember your successes or your failures. Fail a fucking way.




With The Utmost Love and Respect,

33 Year-Old Julian

Arnold Palmer

Here’s everything I know about Arnold Palmer:

He’s from Mt. Lebanon(?) or some Pittsburgh affiliate, he popularized golf and created the golf superstar, his drink is THE SHIT and he’s dead.

If I hear someone talking shit about Arnold Palmer here’s what I know:

He fucked your grandmother in high school. Western PA, motherfucker. Show some respect to the GOAT.  

Riot Police

If I were killed by the cops there would be a riot. Like a big riot. East Liberty would be filled with people from all over the city, protesting my unlawful murder. Even Jewhill would have a vigil. Big impact. Mike might stop making drinks and start questioning the Mayor when he walks into Cappy’s next time. The city would lose its collective bargaining agreement with civility and storm a place or two. I mean they killed Julian Hicks!

What have I ever done to anyone? Even the Chief of Police would make a statement:

“This young man was a model citizen. He patiently waited for my office to fix his issues with McGann and Chester’s thievery over the course of a month. His mother should be given a medal, not a son full of bullets...”

...or something to that affect.

Chelsea and Theo would do a dab in front of the police station next to Katie blasting “Waltz Me to the Grave”. Chelsea Leber would turn Pheonix on they bitch ass, fly straight to Peduto’s place and burn it to ashes. The city would be a whole mess if the police killed me. What the fuck for?


First of all, good luck painting me as a criminal. Go to my Twitter and the bio is “King Lesbian”. For ten straight years my tweets will show hilarious inside jokes, weird black boy street wisdom and me obsessing over hoes. Maybe the corrupt Popo can say I raped a bitch and shot me fleeing the scene. I really have nothing on me.


If they slide over to my Instagram then I might start to look a little racey. My bio there is “400 Years of Slavery Coming Home to Roost”. A little Malcolm X-y pre Mecca, don’t you think? I have a picture of me shooting a shotgun (poorly, I’ll add) in a post from five years ago. A casual observer, however, might miss that pic for my latest which is me holding a dog in my arms like we just eloped or something.


If a dirty pig shot me for being the black Mr. Rogers then the whole neighborhood would squad up. I got hitters all over the city ready to ride for my corpse. Imagine the pogo stick damage done to police vehicles over the course of a trial/investigation. And when the verdict for my killers comes back “Justifiable” or “Not Guilty”… sheeeeeiiit… Then it’s on-on.


The whole city will burn. Instagram is gonna be one giant middle finger compilation of my greatest selfies and tagged photos. All my friends and extended family will band together under the legacy I’ve built with them, share stories. My tragedy will bond all those amazing yet separate individuals into something greater then I could ever do alive. My nigga Hongching will take pics of the protests and market the whole thing. I’ll spark a revolution with my blood.


















Lolol jk. Niggas ain’t gone do shit.

11.14.19

In this hotel room in... Blountville, Tennessee I am laying on a bed. Russ is on the bed to my left and Tone on that WEAK Ass rollaway bed to my right. Tomorrow we finish the last half of the drive to Pittsburgh from Wetumpka, Alabama. That means going back to the many things I don't want to return to. In Pittsburgh my life sucks. On the road my life sucks less, that's even if it's a school tour throughout whogivesafuck, america.

I can feel dreds on my forehead and parts of my neck now. They've already started to make me believe someone was next to me. Now I think something foreign is on my temple, neck or forehead. Nope. Just dead hair freestyling into this mess-do. It'll help in the winter that's to come. From now on I'm riding the bus.

Back on the bus, back in the cold, back to the hibachi grill and back to being a nothing. It's to the point where I'm not sure exactly what I hate about my life. In 14 hours I'll be able to figure it out. We SKKRRRT back to Pittsburgh where I'll have no money, one somewhat day to chill out and then go back to work. Back to that.

I don't really see hope in my future. Former President Jimmy Carter was hospitalized today. He had a successful stay in an Atlanta hospital for his brain surgery. He survived two cancers in his 95 years prior to this. This is President Carter addressing his church family.

"I obviously prayed about it. I didn't ask God to let me live, but I asked God to give me a proper attitude toward death."

I just put my head down. I want to tap into that feeling. I want to be okay with being nobody. I want to be okay with the death of my dreams. I want to be okay with the idea that I can just have a job. Fuck hope. This hotel room might be the height of my...whatever this is. This fantasy world I keep trying to create.

Get paid to be me.

I have to be okay with the idea that I won't ever get paid for fame. I'm not funny enough to be a comedian. I'm never going to be an actor OR lol a model lol My perspective is cool... Nakama... I have to be okay with maybe just being a cool coworker. Yeah. 'Julian is a cool guy to hang around. I tell Julian everything. He's like my therapist. He's so funny. I love him blahblahblah' 

I want to be okay with that being my legacy. Get a paying job and be an introverted, wise, perverted, Master Splinter, King of the Rats ass nigga. $50K max but maybe I get extra time off every year. Maybe I can work 9-5 and do theater part time, fuck a stewardess. I can have nights and weekends free to do Big Brother, Big Sister things, see Hongching more. Gain management skills and increase my salary. Work my way into a corporate lifestyle that suits me. Wear tailored suits and go to nice events. Find a chair, hang myself in my apartment. 

Jimmy Carter isn't afraid of death anymore. Jimmy finished his above quote saying:

"And I found that I was absolutely and completely at ease with death."

I don't want to die but I certainly don't want to die like this. Jimmy Carter might be completely at ease with death. He did become a fucking president after all. 

The Long Walk

Working is a great sin to my humanity. I should never work. Work kills my spirit. From the moment a person places my name on a schedule to be somewhere my stomach tightens. There I am, accountable and responsible, sweating and sad. 

I was fired from my sales job in 2017. I was given the “bad” news via phone on July 3rd. I was happy. I knew if I still had a job they’d have scheduled me for the 4th. I had a party to go to. The moment I was released from that call a weight was lifted from me. Finally I had free time. 

That feeling lasted for three weeks. Somehow in my infinite resourcefulness I had a job again. I still remember the first day, the bus ride downtown. For three weeks I had complete freedom. I stood on that bus in a deep depression. I was giving up one of my core values for the ability to eat, live and pay rent. 

Walking to the new job was killing my soul. I remember slowly merging with the Downtown Pittsburgh foot traffic wishing I would be swept away. I never wanted to work. Until that month I had no idea not working was an option. I remember standing in front of the big restaurant doors. Once I went inside my spirit was depleted. 

I had a depression walk just years earlier. I was walking late through Squirrel Hill. The long windy road that stretched its hands for a half a mile had no buildings to look at. Above and beside me were trees, dark and still, a compliment to the sparse amount of street lights. I knew exactly where I was going but I was still lost. 

The depression followed me all the way to... wherever I was walking to. At that time I was existing as a sales associate who made no sales. I was no older than 27, no younger than 25. I had more understanding of the wind than I had of myself. In the silence of the night and solitude of the walk there was nowhere to hide from my mind and all of its yearnings. 


Xpogo is the only gig I liked. Right now I should be practicing a welcome speech for a new gig I just got. This year I was not only given five months of complete freedom (thanks COVID) but also free money to float me. I was able to pay bills, buy food, expunge my personal debt and have unlimited free time. That period is ending though. The long walk continues.