About Someone ‘Coming Out’

Fall, 1989

There were three buildings at my place in Liberty, New York. The first building was the foremost and closest to the road with a semi-circular driveway. The lawn inside the indentation of the circular driveway was slightly overgrown. The Blacktop was cracked and bulged from the roots of a tree that grew in the lawn. This was the main building where I first made my entryway to undergo 42 days of in-treatment drug rehabilitation. This is house is where the patients Continue reading

The Necessary Scrapes and Bruises of Life

I say we need to scrape our knee once in a while. I say we need the bumps on the head, the black and blue bruises on the arms and legs. We need the scars from a bad idea to remind us what not to do. I say we all fall. Whether we fall flat on our ass or on our face is irrelevant

Falls are necessary. We need to fall sometimes. How else would we learn to stand back up, start over, and continue? How else would we know our own strength if there was no such thing as adversity or opposition?

I remember some of my worst falls. I remember sitting in a small cell, listening to some of the other inmates singing rap songs, and wondering what waited for me the next morning. The two inmates screamed their songs to bounce Continue reading

Bedtime Stories For The Insoniac

The Jason Pitkin incident:

Nearly a decade passed after the small Upstate town of Liberty New York was shaken from a tragedy in the otherwise peaceful town. Almost all had been forgotten, and those who were uninvolved had their minds on their own life.

Jason Pitkin was a small, scrawny young man. He was pimple-faced and pale skinned. His glasses were thick, wire-rimmed frames, which were too big for his small bony face. His dark brown eyebrows were Continue reading

Bedtime Stories For The Insomniac

Just for fun: The Parole Board


Manhattan, wintertime, 1989

I was dressed somewhat warmly with gloves that allowed my fingertips to poke through and stood on a roof—high above Lexington Avenue and faced the downtown of Manhattan. I looked at the far off lights on the bridges that connected the city to Brooklyn and their reflection that glimmered across the East River. I inhaled the cold air to find a moment of easiness. It was amazing to me how peaceful these sight could be—even Continue reading

a letter

I sat on a Manhattan bound bus this morning. I pulled my hood up and with my seat tilted slightly back, I leaned my head against the tinted window to watch droplets of freezing rain drizzle down the side of the glass. I watched the street signs and storefronts pass as the bus moved along Route 17. After more than 20 years of commuting from the east, I now make my entrance from the other side of the Hudson River.
I looked ahead to see the Westside of New York City. The tall buildings reached upwards and pushed into the palm of gray clouds. There was something beautiful and quiet to this. I suppose the cold rain and thick clouds looked like a good reason to stay home in bed.
Continue reading


I have always wanted to feel good. Even when I behaved badly, I always wanted to feel something so explicitly pure and genuine. I wanted to feel cleansed—I wanted something to overcome and wash me away from myself.
I wanted to feel as if I were good, or healed, as if to absolve the situations in my mind. I wished for it. I wished I could find something to ease the quiet regret that Continue reading

From The Book of Firsts

My First Event

I walked through the glossy wooded front door that was set in a gray stoned wall. I was greeted with a smile by a tall, bald headed bouncer with no neck, hefty arms and a chub-face. He was an over sized Irishman in a black shirt with the word “Staff” printed in white lettering across the left side of the chest. “ID please,” asked the bouncer. This was nice because after we break the 40 year age barrier, it is good to be carded at the door of a bar and made to prove that you are in fact over the age of 21.

I was given a band to wrap around my wrist and a red ticket with the actual word, “Ticket” on it, which was printed in black lettering with a random number across the top and bottom edge of the serrated ticket. Continue reading