Killing An Arab

What started as a list of pros and cons that David suggested I write has somehow turned into a stark realization about the origin of my work.  We’ve talked about David before, if you’ve been here for a minute– and the list was meant to be about a lover of mine. We both know the…

29x The Pain

Kiss Me On The Bus so we can Stay Free

Café Avenue to Fascination Street

I want All This And More and I Won’t Look Back

Smash It Up and Paint It Black

Sweet Sweet Heart

I was at the pay phone (I don’t know why none of us wore watches). I was getting snowed on as I watched a cop car start to pull up behind my friends. Then I watched in horror as they drove away, my friends, away from me! Fourteen year-old me! In the snow! The cops shined a spot on me and I ran. I ran into the field behind the phone booth. Pretty deep into my Cure phase, I was outta sight in a  hot minute thanks to the all-black garb I was heavily into. Pre-smoking pre-drugs-pre-everything-gymnast-stamina me just kept going. Getting caught for curfew in a small town was a definite thing then, so that’s what we were all trying to evade. Pre-cell phone me was going to be just fine too. I think this is the inherent gene missing in today’s youth. We’re all going to fucking survive, man, with or without our cell phones. Eventually we all returned to the scene of the almost-crime and continued on…after checking the time one more time.

Show Me

This isn’t so much a post reminiscing on my punk rock past as it is a thinly veiled and shortish dissertation on how our pasts can dictate our futures. Sometimes the ideas that we have about life when we’re thirteen years old (the exact age I decided against marriage and children) are the best ones we’ve ever…

Barbed Wire Love

There’s not a relationship on the planet that maintains the integrity it started out with. Everything is Fluid. The hippies taught me to Go with it. The punks taught me to Fight for it. Cuz in the end, “All you give me is barbed wire love.”

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…

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.


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…