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Lying Flat

I spent most of the day and all of my money on little plastic capsules that contained tiny white boulders and a terrible addiction. The sun had been gone for quite some time and the roads were wet from a cold winter’s rain.
The streetlamps and occasional headlights from passing cars glistened against the black pavement and across the yellow dividing lines on the street.
When the wind came, the traffic lights swayed with the colors of red, yellow, or green reflecting against the slick pavement near Green Avenue and Front Street.

Front Street is somewhat of a main road in my small Long Island town, but the traffic was few at that hour. The street is lined with modest, single family homes—most of them are one-story in height, and because of the late hour, all of the homes were mostly dark with the exception of a few scattered Continue reading →

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Father’s Day, June 21, 2015

There is a plain white t-shirt I keep in my t-shirt drawer with two, traced out hands that are drawn in two different colors, and above this are the words “Happy Father’s Day,” with each letter written in a different color.
I keep this shirt in my t-shirt drawer, not because I wear it, but because it is a nice surprise to accidentally pull out while trying to rush through the morning and find an undershirt.
This is one of the first father’s day gifts my daughter gave to me. There are more, which like this, are different artistic creations. Some are drawings with clumps of glue and sparkles on colored construction paper. And this too is something I can vaguely remember doing when I was a little boy in some art class somewhere. Probably my last creation like this would have been made in Mrs. Humley’s Continue reading →

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Irving and the Luncheonette

At the start of eighth grade, I used to work in a small luncheonette with an old man who most people saw as miserable. His name was Irving.
He was always frustrated and his face was wrinkled.  His nose was large. His eyes were squinted and angry. His head was bald on top with gray hair on the sides.
Irving wore black-rimmed eyeglasses, which often dangled from a string that hung around his neck. He always wore Continue reading →

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Sex Prose

She woke as though she never slept. Throughout the night, her mind continued, urging for the man she wished would fill the empty side of her bed. In a crowd of thousands, it could only be him.
Him, the one who brightened an inner light she had not seen glow for way too long. She woke as though her mind, at last, had come to this conclusion—it could only be him. There could be no one else.
Him, the one she dreamt of.
The man who for so long had been faceless was at last reveled and personified. It was him. He would be the one she allowed herself to dare with and love.

She wiped away the excess Continue reading →

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Thought from the Tattooed Minister

I was sitting in the rear pew of an empty Church. I was not there because I believed or because I was saved; I was there because there was no place left for me to go. I was emotionally emptied and bankrupt. The term hope and faith seemed like a far-off glimmer of something I always wanted, but yet, whatever I wanted always seemed just inches beyond my reach.

The Church itself was quiet and the room was cold. Sunlight came through the stained glass windows and brightened my surroundings. There was nothing dark about the room. There was nothing dark at all—except for the hole inside my spirit.
Outside the sky was wintery blue. There were no clouds in the air or leaves on the trees—except for the evergreens. There was no Continue reading →

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My Wednesday Morning Motivation 6/3/15

In my case, awareness is something that often comes in time. Either my eyes were closed or my attention was elsewhere, or rationalized—but something happened—something, like the turn of a switch, and then suddenly, the lights came on and my vision was cleared.

In my case, different scenarios led to different awakenings. As I see it, life is separated by different levels of awareness. And I, myself, have gone through different stages along the way.
One morning, I opened my eyes and realized that I had been sleeping in a bed, which was beneath a roof that was over a home that belonged to someone else. I realized  that I had been living in a world that never belonged to me.

I looked around at the Continue reading →

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A Bedtime Story For a Little Boy

Little boy asked, “Daddy, will you tell me a story?”

With all the love in his heart, the father smiled and agreed.

Once upon a time, there was a little baby boy. He was a good boy and everyone loved him. The baby boy had an older brother, but the brother was only older by a few years.

In the mornings, the baby boy would sit in his high chair and his brother would sit near him at the kitchen table. Their mother would make breakfast and the two boys would eat together. They laughed and they sang. The mother would smile happily as she sang along too.
Most mornings, the father would Continue reading →

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Sober

I used to wear my past like a badge of honor. I used to see “The life,” as cool—like I was some kind of infamous gangster who always managed to slip through the fingers of law and consequences. I saw myself as untouchable.
And the junk—the cocaine habit, the vials of crack, crack pipe, the candle and bent-upwards spoon I used to cook my batches, and the alcohol, or any substance I used to put distance between myself and everyone around me were all tools of the trade.

I was asked if I felt proud of my past.
I am not proud of who I was.
I am only proud of my accomplishments that stemmed from what I used to be.

I admit to myself, to God, and to everyone that I have Continue reading →