I Write Your Name

    “I write your name in thick blue ink on stones I throw just to watch them sink.” ~Jim Carroll. One day, a very long time ago, I wasn’t even in my twenties yet, I saw Jim Carroll walking through Tompkin’s Square Park in the East Village. Years later, I’d live around the corner…

Happy Loving Couples

But What If I’m Just One? What if my life is just a never-ending scene from a movie? The scene where I’m leaving the grocery store I smile at an attractive creature in the parking lot I think they’re making eyes at me too, but just when I’m about to take the smile too far, Just when…

11th Street Kids

Johnny was an 11th Street Kid. So was I. And So was Jimmy (who you’ll meet)…as well as the youngest one in this story who’s gonna look back and realize that the kids of his 11th Street Pack weren’t actually kids at all.   This is the story of a conversation between three people, two…

Tragedy

Recently, I walked through a grocery store with my friend Drew, in a town I had never been in and where he was the only person I knew. I had just met with him from a solo drive lush with nature. I had also just parted ways with a brand new friend who wears his pain like a garment that he is told he can never take off.

Are You Ready (For Some Darkness)

Our sitting on an aquifer-california is too expensive-I had another “fucking” kid-you were always a nudist you just couldn’t say it when you were too punk-fuck censorship-make art-money is awesome-who are all these fucking people no matter how cool I design this place they still come-the days of cocaine and pizza WERE great but now you’re fucking vegan and I love you too- I love you so fucking much Word. Our Word. Half-breed. Us.

Glad

What do you write about when all of your thoughts are dark? And you write a blog- and you want people to keep reading that blog without wanting to commit suicide- except, oh yeah, you’re also writing a book that’s largely about suicide. Given, you’re kind of sure that you’re inventing a new brand of…

For You

Sorry For Feeling Good. When I was young I wrote everything down. I wrote things down for myself and I wrote things down for other people. Lots of people did the same for me. I still have scraps of paper, song lyrics, and letters from my teens. I find bits stuffed into record sleeves, photo…

Forever Young

What’s more depressing than turning 40 when you’re a perpetual punk rock teenager in a body that’s aging without your consent? Realizing that there are zero punk rock songs about turning 40. And WHY are there no punk rock songs about turning 40? Because Punk Rock just turned 40 last year. Yup. ’77. Argue the…

Who Wrote Holden Caulfield

I spent years visiting the city before I actually moved there at 20, and even with an address to speak of, I still ended each day with the consequential feeling that the city didn’t want me. There were exactly three things that kept me coming back. A boy. A man. And a book.

Pillbox

The box held a myriad of other decades-old scraps of discontent in the way of I’ll-see-you-after-work notes from old lovers, apologies, concert stubs, old house keys, and empty drug bags. That was my metaphorical pillbox. It brought up a question in my mind: How would I describe what goes into a pillbox in one word? The word I came up with is ‘Arsenal’. I also wondered how my pillbox of today differs from my teen-aged one. Because I sure as hell hope I’ve made some progress since then. The arsenal theme has stayed on. It’s still my finger on the trigger, but the weapons are wiser, and I work like hell to keep them pointed away from me these days.