Junk Dreams

There are places I see in my dreams; places like my first bedroom when I was an infant and living in a duplex apartment off Queens Boulevard. I can see it all very clearly. My point of view is from the inside of my white crib. The room is the kind of dim that comes when a baby is placed down for an afternoon nap.
I notice the light blue walls with scribbles of crayons drawn in large circles next to the light switch. And though I have no memory if this, my Mother once told me I used to draw on the walls, which is why they used to take my crayons away from me when I was in my bedroom.
I see this place in my dreams sometimes. The white door that leads out into to corridor is slightly opened. I suppose Continue reading

No Apologies

This is a story about the beginning of my journey . . .
I knew a woman who as a little girl was afraid to come outside and play. She was afraid of making too much noise or causing too much attention and disturbing an angry drunken father.
She told me how she learned to play quietly at a very young age. She use to play in places like her bedroom closet Continue reading

Love Poem

And you . . .

The way you walk or smile;
the way you shift your eyes from left to right
and raise an eyebrow to hint the start of an idea.
The way your voice sounds
and the way your hand feels
when it touches mine
The way you breathe when you lay next to me,
and the way your face reacts to sunlight
as if the sun Continue reading

Officer, this one is for you.

I am writing this specifically to you in return for the kindness you have shown in the past. This kindness is not uncommon between good friends—especially old friends like us. But to confirm, I write this to you because the sort of kindness you showed me is the most important kind of all.

The greatest kindness anyone can show are the tiny reminders that someone else knows, listens, and remembers. Take the sunrise for example. Aside from me, there are few people who Continue reading

People, Places, and Things

One of the first things they told me is to watch out for people, places, and things. At first, I resisted this idea. Perhaps I resisted most because this was something I wanted to give up least.
People, places, and things referred to more than just my old friends or my old stomping grounds, which is where we did the things we did.
People, places, and things meant that I needed to pick my surroundings carefully. This meant I needed to carefully choose who I spent time with. I needed to be mindful of my behavior because above all, these three things are what easily lead back to the path I was removed from. And had I not been removed from my environment, or had I been given the choice of where to go or who Continue reading

From Junkie Stories: The Fishbowl

The room was called “The Fishbowl.” It was somewhat small and white walled with white acoustic ceiling tiles and fluorescent light fixtures, placed accordingly in rows throughout the ceiling tiles, and hung in the ceiling with aluminum lenses to disperse the light throughout the room.

With an aisle down the center, The Fishbowl lined with rows of padded blue chairs with padded armrests on black steel wired frames that were less than comfortable on nony asses such as mine. The floor was light colored hardwood and Continue reading

Why I walk in the mornings

It is beautiful this way . . .
The streets I mean—all wet from last night’s rain. The double yellow line that runs down the center of the road seems to glow a little beneath a dull colored morning. The sky is covered in a blanket of light gray clouds. This is the kind of gray that matches a long beard on a puppet I once saw as a young boy.
Although it is summertime and the heat has been as thick and the air is as humid as a wet blanket; I bundle up in cold weather clothes. The weather is muggy and warm but there is a purpose for my heavy clothing.

After an early rise, I put on a t-shirt, a thermal shirt beneath a hooded sweatshirt with another hooded Continue reading

Monday, July 04, 2016

It is early here on my side of the mountain. The sky is a clear blue with only traces of color left behind from the early sunrise. From my view, I can see the sun filter through the tall trees that stand behind Old Wesley Chapel.
This chapel is very much a part of our history. The oldest grave planted in the small cemetery aside the old church that remains standing as it was is dated back to 1803. The Church remains because it is to remind us of our history.

Continue reading