Remoy Philip

writer. creator. producer.


Fundamental to this life is the interaction between all. Between the blessings from one's mouth to the curse's of another's tongue. We interact just as much with the natural world around us as much as we do with each other. The sounds that grow from this sharing of a common cosmology is where Hopi can be found.

Hopi wore jeans that day. He entered the bar as ritual to his weekly life. Every Thursday night, his presence would be found sitting, drinking, quietly observing, and even more quietly discussing. He was practical.

The world around Hopi was in constant struggle. He saw, he read, he heard; the world was in chaos. He found his solace in the ocean and in the night sky. The chaos of the winds beating the waves or the constant struggle for brilliance by the stars, drowned out the aggravating tone of the people surrounding him. Humans first creation was chaos.

The bar was dim like most bars, and like most bars, the music was too loud. He sat with worn-in jeans and ruddy shoes that carried his simple body throughout the waking day. He was a regular. No need for ID at the door. Walks in, no struggle, and stays awhile. Hopi sought after repetition and found it in this haven.

The music was always in the same vain. Loud and all recalled from previous generations where young ones, like Hopi, could retrace the construction of the modern world. People speculate over the creation of rhythm and sound while others deconstruct humanities ability to be confounded by the ethos of time. Peoples in search of identity.

The taste of the beer was bitter and dull. Hopi no longer focused on the taste. The taste was not what struck appeal, for if it was, that appeal would fade; however the appeal was found in the fact of knowing that his monotony of reoccurring would be here. The beauty of the simplistic repetition was soothing. They placed nuts in bowls. Nuts that were covered in too much salt; a ploy of the majority. Hopi never ate the nuts. Hopi rarely talked to any outside other than the bartender who tried ever-so-often to stir this young man to words. She was beautiful and she knew it; but her beauty that covered her bones well, was never was able to grasp Hopi and his denim jeans.

He never liked to remember. He would never recall this or that. Hopi just sat. He was not one who spent his minutes to hours wondering "what if" or "remember when." Hopi just sat. Hopi just drank his bitter beer. The people would come in as couples or show up in trios or meet their fellow peers. Rarely would any one come in alone and stay alone, outside of those with the agenda to not leave alone. For
most, this venue, this bar, was the place to find consolation for existence in the laughs or trivialities of others. Hopi never expended energy in this vain.

The night aged on slowly and without effort. The night waned in sleep.

Be Relentless,