Day Four:
4:00am
Can’t sleep
Vacation days slip away quickly.
Valuable friends of mine have urged me to take a stand and “Put up or shut up,” so to speak. I took the challenge but I admit this will not be an easy one. The last few days have been filled with steps leading towards a goal that I’ve had for quite some time. I’ve wanted to work on this for a long time but all I did was come up with excuses. Well, the time for excuses is over. And that’s a good thing because Continue reading
I agree when you tell me, “The past comes with sharp hooks.”
If we allow it, the hooks can sink deep in our flesh and pull us backwards. If we’re not careful, the claws from our yesterday can keep us from enjoying today; and moving forward, if we’re not careful the hooks, which hold us back will annihilate the ability of a better tomorrow.
I admit to the hooks of my past. I admit to the old routines and methods, which at the time, made sense to me. I admit to the burden of harsh memories and hurt feelings. And going further, I admit to my participation in this unhealthy cycle. I admit to my wrongs exactly as they were. And I acknowledge my wrongs to dull the sharp hooks of my yesterday; to keep them from sinking in and to keep them from ripping at the flesh of my sanity.
Rather than allow myself to Continue reading
Nothing fills a room like emptiness. And though there may be a chair in the room or a stainless steel fountain with a toilet below it; and though there may be place to lie down, or a spot to rest or sleep—like a narrow bed or a hard wooden bench, there is equally nothing around but a bricked room of incarceration.
There is a floor and a flat ceiling. Continue reading
There was a small blocked off section in the far right hand corner at the back of The Old Man’s shop on Archer Avenue in Jamaica, Queens. To explain, The Old Man was a licensed steam fitter—and since school and I decided to agree to disagree, I woke early with The Old Man to undergo the Monday—Friday working life of long week days with the all too often short weekends.
The shop was as anyone would expect it. There was an area up front where the cars and company trucks parked. On the Continue reading
The wildest love is young love. This is the kind when love happens like magnets pulling together, and wherever you are, wherever you choose to go, this is the kind of love that causes us to sneak away, to find a closet somewhere, or maybe even a bathroom while trying to hush each other to keep our operation discrete. A love like this is new and so unexplored. And even the quick little secret getaways, the ones that cause us to go in places where we could possibly be caught; and living on the edge or on the verge of something so wild like Continue reading
One of the best drives I ever took was a drive out to the east end of Long Island. The drive was taken with no reason, no one with me, no destination in mind and with no time frame to go, continue, or turn around and come back home. I had a full tank of gas, which was good because I had very little money. All I had was half a pack of Camel Light Wides—they were the thick ones, which are the same as other cigarettes; only these were thicker in girth instead of longer in length like the 100 brands. I’m not sure if they sell these anymore—but if I were to ever go back to the habit, these are the ones I would smoke.
I had somewhere around 20 bucks in my pocket and a few cassette tapes to sink in the tape deck in the dashboard of my beat-up, blue, 1984 four-door Chevy Celebrity.
For as long as I can remember, I have Continue reading
I was asked if there was ever a day in my youth that I would live over again, exactly as it was, without changing a thing. And there a few moments that I wish I could have back, exactly as they were, without changing a thing. I save these moments in my mental rolodex and keep them in the folds of my memory, to hold them when I need to, and to relive in moments like now
I am thinking of an afternoon. It was Continue reading
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
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
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
The Written Addiction 