I hate the fallout of friendships.
I hate the unmovable and imaginary line that splits down the center of the room, leaving us with the idea of, “You’ll stay in your half and I’ll sat in mine.”
I hate the cold war and the dirty looks between old friends who can no longer stand the sight of each other. I hate the lingering resentment and I hate it when memories appear to shine light on our foolishness.
It is right to Continue reading
She moved into the room. Her blue, silk collared shirt was unbuttoned beneath the jacket of her dark gray pants suit. She stood barefoot in the doorway—the twinkle from the candlelight glimmered in her eyes. Her blonde hair was cut to shoulder length, which was tossed over to the left side of her face. Her lips appeared moist and shiny in the dim light and her mouth was slightly open, revealing the slight hint of a brightly white smile.
He watched her from the bed. His body was undressed and halfway beneath the covers. His back was propped up on the Continue reading
We all find ourselves on the wrong side of excess.
It starts out like a good idea . . . . doesn’t it?
But then the good idea turns and by the time we find out
it’s too late.
The morning after . . .
Eyes open slightly with face buried into pillows. The sudden awareness of pain surged up from the top of my neck—my head was heavy and the only smell was the remnants of last night’s remedy.
The sunlight that moved through the bedroom from underneath the curtain was too bright.
I knew that outside, life continued. There was no rest for the weary. At least, not in my case. I could still smell the alcohol and the aftermath of a drink that was thrown in my face.
To the best of my recollection, this was done by a girl who I apparently Continue reading
I sat in a small room with a nurse and a man standing in front of me with a white jacket and a stethoscope around his neck. The office was like any office inside a hospital or institution. There was a desk in the middle of the room. There was a machine that takes blood pressure. There were small cardboard boxes with tongue depressors, plastic guards for the metal thermometer they stick in your mouth, and a box with rubber surgical gloves.
Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed in the Continue reading
Insomnia . . .
I lie in bed and try to find a comfortable spot on my right side. I straighten my legs. Then I curl them. I move the pillow to fit the contour of my neck and support my head. Then I pull my legs from the covers. Then I cover them back up because the blankets feel more comfortable that way.
Next, I roll to the left side and straighten my legs. Then I curl hem back. I adjust my pillow to fit the contour of my neck and support my head. I try to lay as still as I can with my eyes closed but the growing thoughts, which began as tiny seeds, have already grown roots and sprouted throughout my mind.
Once this happens, the thought process takes over. And once the thought process takes over, I cannot sleep until the energy from my thoughts is spent. This is like sitting in a car as it runs with a full tank of gas and waiting for the gas to run out without driving anywhere. I have to wait for the energy to fade. The problem here is this usually happens 20, maybe 30 minutes before my alarm clock says it’s time to wake up.
The tiny seeds, I just mentioned. The seeds that root and sprout become like weeds in my mind. They devour the minutes of rest and suffocate Continue reading
I was around 19 years-old when I saw a violent death for the first time. It was wintertime and Old Country Road was busy with a heavy flow of late rush hour traffic that congested along the strip at the entrance near Fortunoff’s and Roosevelt Field Mall. The cold weather was tightening its grip.
Homes were undergoing the temporary renovation of Continue reading
I was asked why I do what I do . . .
I think for this text, it would be better to read my words and imagine them being read to you in the sound of a smooth, calming voice. Consider a voice that would sound the way a grandfather would sound while reading a bedtime story to his grandchild.
I, myself, never had a grandfather. At least not one that I met. I only have an imagination of what either of them may have sounded like.
I think for this text or any text, Continue reading
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 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
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
The Written Addiction 