I lay here in discomfort ignoring the buzz of my phone nobody important calls me not that often, at least so I lay here in discomfort and… Read more “waiting for freedom”
when you think there’s nothing left: when the rent is almost due when the car is out of gas (or lost in a strange transition) when your… Read more “just laugh”
it was morning and I was in bed; I’d already slept for days when I heard a knock on the door. I ignored it I just laid… Read more “on the day of execution”
it was winter a Monday with rain that could and would not dry. I hadn’t slept in two whole days; I hadn’t threaded the needle or tried… Read more “one for my long-lost friend”
I was ten when I met the little angel that branded my own. Her name was Mayzee, John Candy’s niece, Macaulay Culkin’s sister. I told myself: that’s… Read more “Daddy’s Declamation”
The entire process takes one hour. They give us five and a half grand for Zooey’s 2008 Jeep Grand Cherokee. We go straight to the bank so… Read more “The Taste of Cigarettes: A Memoir of a Heroin Addict pg’s 98-99”
But we, the junkie, sell our soul to Mr Black, and not because of our past, present, or future, because heroin is a nasty black spell that wants to ruin us and does. So once the junkie is strung out and fucked, the junkie looks and cries for anything in their sentimental past to replace family, so everyone the junkie talks about is a “best friend” or “brother” or some kind of “uncle.” Because once you take that plunge, and stick that spike into your tangled blue, helpless veins, you hit the reset button on your life, and relate everything you love and hate—then or now—to an illusion of family, due to the sudden loss of yours. And that hex you have very unintentionally put yourself under—when the doctor no longer feeds the habit they helped start, or when you were too young and stupid to think this could ever happen to you—is the sole reason.
When a junkie loses loved ones, we do anything in our instant messaging power to revisit the past, whether it’s people, places, things, or all of the above. And somehow, it is always the goddamn same as before, never a smidge of difference. That is why we are in the position of revisiting, and not a current state of whatever it is that connects us with this sentimentality.
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she wanted to be a poet so she went to college for 8 whole years (bad start); she became a professor at a junior college instead: (makes more… Read more “molded minds”
it was just the other night… I got a letter in the mail, it was electric like your guitar with those same distorted strings made lovely by… Read more “for a righteous boy”
first, it’s pizza sold by a young John named Papa, then a christian publisher who wants you to pay them to publish your work; then the essence… Read more “the way of our world”