Mine was five houses north of Front Street on Merrick Avenue; and mine was the room, up the stairs and to the left. This is where it all began. This is where I went from sleeping on a bed with Popeye the Sailor sheets to something more fitting, like say, a bedroom with Black felt posters on the wall, with black-lights, and strobe lights along with as small globe light that sent tiny prism shaped colors across the ceiling. There was a Jim Morrison tapestry hung over my Continue reading
Monthly Archives: January 2017
Old Junkie Poetry
I ever tell you about what happened
after the package from 134th St?
The wind blew and my body folded.
It was like a dream
It was like nothing I had ever felt before
or expected to . . .
Tension turns into warmth;
the spine gives way without weight to establish gravity
and the soul reverses into atmosphere.
White powder slowly transforms Continue reading
Notes From This Side of the Bench
From Junkie Stories:
All was quiet around me. I was in a strange holding pattern, awaiting a new placement in new housing, and unsure of what would come next. Outside, a sharp wind blew through the trees and snapped with a wind so cold you’d think the branches would crack from the frost. I sat alone, wishing I was elsewhere, waiting for a ride over to a place I call The Farm—I was a million miles from home and a million miles from the things I missed the most. I was also million miles from the strong dose of quiet storms that sent me in terrific nods and left me bent over, halfway down to the ground, and spiraling into a sense of beautiful emptiness.
There is something to this life Continue reading
Waiting for a walk
I’m waiting for something and I know it comes soon. Even though we’re only halfway through January; I’m waiting for the ground to thaw and the sun to warm our side of the Earth. I’m waiting for the first signs of spring when red-breasted robins dance across the lawn.
I’m waiting for the sunrise to come earlier so I can go back to taking my early morning walks. I start at my Continue reading
About Fellowship
I truly believe there is strength in numbers. So don’t go it alone. I have seen proof of this and watched the benefit of brotherhood change the world for those whose life was tragic and sad.
“A fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem, and help others to recover . . .”
This is only an excerpt of a slightly longer preamble to define a primary purpose.
Last night, I spent a lengthy amount on the phone with someone. He is a young man trying to find his way—trying to figure out what steps to take, where to go, and if at all possible; is there really a solution?
The loneliest moment Continue reading
Letters From A Son
Dear Pop,
If you ask me, I say the best part of the day happens at sunrise. I say it happens before the streetlamps give way and surrender their post to the new day. It’s beautiful here in New York City. Sunlight is on the rise but nightfall has yet to loosen its grip. There is a brief pause in the skyline—same as there is a brief pause in us, just moments before we inhale and exhale. The moment is still, just like we Continue reading
How It Started
When there is no one left and when the room is more empty than you ever thought possible; when all else has failed you, and all that you held closely has unexpectedly slipped quickly through your fingers; when the sound is so quiet that all you hear is the high-pitched ring of nothingness, and when the room is so painfully still that time drags and seconds move like individual eternities; your thoughts are stuck and your heart is broken, you’re numb and Continue reading
A Prayer for The Angry
Blessed Father,
Although I am drawn to it, I cannot give in. I cannot surrender and go the way of my anger.
Although I am drawn in and feel justified to respond; it is better that I leash my tongue instead spitting back or saying something to defend myself when there is no need to; for this is the way of my enemy and I will not liken myself to them. Continue reading
Hope After Heartbreak
Alone at my bottom with nowhere left to fall, I was most afraid that my bottom had a trap door. And when I say alone, I mean the worst kind of alone; I mean the kind with no one to turn to and no to speak with. When I describe alone, I describe this from inside an empty apartment with naked walls, no pictures, and hardly any furniture. I had an old television set, but no cable. I had one VCR but only two movies. The walls Continue reading
Carrying The Message
I took a long drive to see an old friend at a time when he needed a friend most. He was a good friend and a good boy once. But that was a long time ago. The good boy I knew was buried beneath a history of child abuse from an alcoholic father. The boy I knew was buried beneath the scars of his lifestyle and buried beneath years of drug addiction, jail time, and beneath the life that comes with being a low-level street junkie. But years ago, I swear, his eyes were one of the brightest. His laugh was contagious and his character was enough to always catch attention.
There are Continue reading
The Written Addiction 