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Life and the Hike

We started the hike just after 7:00am.

Heading a short ways down Haverstraw, we parked the car in a small lot off the side of a quietly unused road at the edge of the woods near Diltzes Lane. This was the start of my fourth true hike and my first true test of endurance. My pack was not light, by any means. With the exception of my tent, sleeping bag, and mattress pad; I carried all that I would need for an overnight stay, which is a plan that will soon unfold.
Marking the starting point, I pulled my water Continue reading →

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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 →

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Real Fiction: A Hard Glimpse of Reality

“I come through shattered pieces of an amazing image
soaked with moisture
lying still

                 . . .and waiting

I’m waiting for another wave
or another way
to beat the system
and escape symptoms  

She dives for me
angry—like the wind when the storm picks up
She dive for me like a hawk towards its prey
and sweeps me away Continue reading →

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Letters From a Son

As a man, there are things I would like to give you. These things are not something that can be bought in a store. They are sensitive to time because time is of the essence and a fleeting aspect in our life. Some of these things I would like to give lose their option with time. Life steps in and the window of opportunity closes. This is fact.

I never gave you the opportunity to Continue reading →

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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 →

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I remember

I was thinking about the words sung by the late, great Bob Marley.
“Good friends we’ve had.
Good friends we’ve lost—along the way.
In this great future, you can’t forget your past.
So dry your tears, I say.”

See, I remember when we used to sit on a concrete bench in Prospect.
We were young and daring. The entire Continue reading →

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The Cruise Ship

She stood on the balcony of her suite with her hands spread out on the banister. Her palms faced down, as her eyes gaze out to the sunset, which fell slowly into the distant palm of the Caribbean Sea.
Her long white flowing dress was backless. Her long hair was pulled away from her face and tied back in a bun. She stood curious, watching the sky change as the large cruise ship headed south for destinations of white sand beaches and tall palm trees.
The wind blew passed and the Continue reading →

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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 →

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For Olivia

 To Liv:

I have this small tiger near my desk in the loft of my home where I do most of my writing. He’s a small Bengal tiger with a green short-sleeved shirt that has red writing across the front. I keep it near me because this little guy means a lot more to me than just a little stuffed animal.
I know it sounds crazy . . . me being a grown man with a stuffed animal and all, but you’ll let me, I can explain why this little tiger has been with me for Continue reading →