For as long as I’ve lived, I have never been anyone else but me. Although there were times when I tried to be someone else—the truth is I could never be anyone else but me.
Over the years, I have changed several times. My tastes have changed. My opinions have changed and my Continue reading
Category Archives: Bedtime Stories for the Insomniac
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
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
A Day In My Life
There is a little flophouse motel between North Birch and North Ft. Lauderdale Beach Blvd, which is also known as A1A.
Just beyond the edge of the better hotels and resorts like The Ritz Carlton and other pricey names of well polished accommodations, The Seville Hotel and Apartments was tucked inside a mid-block location.
The rooms were small and the walls were terribly thin. The floor was Continue reading
Bizarro Fiction: Lust and Blood
It’s called paranoia. It’s part of social anxiety.
It’s part of lunacy, they say, but I call it life. . .
Delirium slips in under the wire, like a surprise visitor, and it dwells as a voice in your head. Can you hear it?
I know I can.
First, the craziness comes in like a slow and subtle storm. And you start to second guess yourself. You wonder things like, “Is anything really worth it?”
You wonder if it will pay off and when.
“When is my turn,” you wonder, and Continue reading
thoughts from the bus
Waiting to move, I am sitting on a bus, tired, and my body is sore from the long day which ended a long week. It is not much different—this day between the last.
The momentum is no different; neither is my routine or me as I am, older, grown, and halfway towards a goal I set out to reach a long time ago.
I am no different in my approach and no less dedicated achieve this thing, which I call, “My trick.”
I am sitting in an aisle seat on an outbound bus, huddled in a close proximity to dozens of strangers that undergo the same routine as me. The woman to my left smells from bug spray. She is somewhat large and dressed in all black with sides of her head shaved and frizzy purple hair on top. She stares Continue reading
From Bedtime Stories for the Insomniac: Jail and the Metaphor
This is it . . .
The door closes in the sound of a terrible echo that slams shut down a long hollow corridor. This is the sound of justice ending its sentence with the painful sound of an exclamation point.
On the left side of the hallway is a tall concrete wall that reaches up to a series of frosted windows along the length of the hallway at ceiling height. The unclear windows are partially opened and tilted Continue reading
From The Junkie Diaries
In the thick of it:
It was the beginning of summer in 1989. I was closing in on my 17th birthday. My friends and everyone I knew were off somewhere living life as teenagers should, and there I was, stuck on a job and wishing I was anyplace else. My hands and face were dirty with soot and grease. My long hair was matted with sweat after working in boiler rooms as an apprentice for The Old Man shop.
Inside my thoughts, I waited hours for that moment when that imaginary whistle screamed at 5:00pm. At last, the week Continue reading
It’s Worth The Trip
I sat in a bench of armchairs at a little airport in the small town of Melbourne, Florida. The hour was early and the airport was mostly empty. Overhead, the lights brightened the white ceiling and glowed over a blue, Miami style carpeting.
I was amongst a small group of passengers that arrived early to quickly slip through the security checkpoints. Men in suits walked with urgency. They passed with business hats on their heads, a newspaper folded in half—tucked underneath the free arm while the other gripped to the extended handle of a wheeled, carry-on bag.
I admit that I am a guilty fan of people watching. Yet with no one around to watch, I settled down to take in the sights. I could see the morning sky through the tall windows throughout the gate area. Airplanes slept dormant Continue reading
The Inner Monologue Of An Everyday Man
Written as a stream of consciousness.
These were my thoughts as I had them today.
Wednesday . . . Thank God, the week is almost over.
“Take a deep breath.”
I got this
Standing on Franklin—waiting for a morning bus into the city, I watching gray morning clouds drift across the top of Harriman Mountain. The trees on the mountain have all become green, which makes for a pretty contrast beneath the gray rainy sky and the strands of long, cotton like clouds that drift by.
Spring . . .
I am at a moment where time Continue reading
The Written Addiction 