Two men argued on a crowded eastbound train from New York City. They pointed and shouted at each other during the evening rush hour. They cursed and threatened each other. One of the two men spoke with so much anger that strings of spit flew from his mouth. The other man was equally as angry, but he screamed less spit.
The argument erupted very quickly in the cramped isle, which was overcrowded with standing Continue reading
Watch Your Mouth
I have to remember something:
My words are like a line in the sand. Once I cross the line—then I’ve crossed the line, and coming back is not always easy.
I have to remember that words said out of anger have sharp teeth. And sharp teeth hurt. They leave bite marks and the marks remain even after the anger subsides.
I need to remember this . . .
Back when I was a kid, I remember Continue reading
Something from The Tattooed Minister: Blue Collar Preaching
It was the end of a long day at work. I had just spent several hours repairing, moving, and replacing several old cast-iron radiators on a vacant floor in a building above Grand Central Station. My knees hurt from kneeling. My lower back hurt from lifting and my shoulders were sore from swinging pipe-wrenches.
The main struggle with this job is the old pipework. Many of the valves I had to change were original installs, which meant the valves were locked tightly in place back in 1927, and they have not been disturbed since.
Some were swapped out throughout the years, and some were easier to remove than others. Most, however, are what we called “Squeakers.”
We called them this because of the loud, whinny squeak that echoed in the demolished empty Continue reading
Time
Time is always the same. A second will always be a second. A minute will always be a minute, and hours will always be hours. The speed of time is never any different; it is simply ongoing and inevitable, moving forward in measures of seconds, minutes, hours, and days.
To us the time it takes to round the clock is relative. To us, time is subject to emotion. A minute of laughter is quick. However, one minute of pain can drag on for what seems like hours.
The truth is time has no regard for our emotion. Time never sleeps. There is no way to pause, stop, or rewind. There is no way to fast forward or ease time back to a slower motion.
Time, itself, is an ongoing machine. It is more Continue reading
A WALK IN THE PARK
The morning was no different from any other during my lazy teenage days of summer. The sun was awake and high by the time I left my home. Outside, the winds were slow and warm. There was little to do in my small town. There were few places to go and only a few ways for me to get there.
There were no classrooms to attend or teachers to contend with. There were no homework assignments, no detention, trips to the principal’s office, or progress reports to worry about in the mail. There was little else besides the idled time of teenage life.
There had been an Continue reading
For Tommy
Saul Williams once wrote, “Only believers in death will die.”
I had to think about this . . .
If it were up to us, our loved ones would never pass. No one would ever become sick, or suffer a minute of sadness or pain. If it were up to us, we would always remain friends. No one would ever leave, and if they did, nobody would ever part on bad terms.
Unfortunately, it is not up to us.
We were young once. We ran Continue reading
About the Lost Child
Sure . . .
I have good memories of bad things. This is why I kept doing them, which makes sense because nothing is addicting when it feels bad. The truth is many of the things I did felt so good that I began to explore and branch out to find other ways to feel even better.
Nothing like this begins with tragedy. It was all in fun. Stupid games like, Ring and Run become bigger and better. It starts small—like prank phone calls or small plots of youthful mischief to kill the boredom.
Drinking started with stealing sips of adult beverages whenever I had the chance. Then I became brave enough to dare and learn what happens when I drank enough to feel the results. It was like daring the world and dancing on the edge between safety and trouble. I found a different kind of Continue reading
Sex Prose from Sessions in the Balcony
I think I was 15 years-old . . .
This was not going to be my first time, but it was going to be my first time with a girl I never met before. I was introduced to a girl from the next town over. I liked the idea that she knew nothing about me. This way, she might not judge me. I liked that we did not know the same people and she never heard any of the local rumors about me.
She knew nothing of my background and I knew nothing about hers. I met her through a phone conversation, but I had never seen this girl in the flesh. We began speaking by accident. At first, I thought she was a girl I met in a mall—but she wasn’t. As it turned out, the girl I met gave me the wrong phone number. As a joke, she gave me the phone number of her friend instead of her own. (We’ll call her friend Jessica for now)
Jessica was a year older than I was. She came from a wealthy family and Continue reading
Taking a shot
Sunday morning and my eyes open before the sun. Today is my day off, but yet, my body is in routine—so I’m awake. Outside, the wind howls and the clouds look like they will be thick when daylight comes. This would be a perfect morning to sleep in—but again, my body is used to a routine, so I am awake as if today was just another day on the time-clock.
It’s amazing how our body fits into a routine. I am rarely late, but I have a terrible fear of becoming so. I suppose this fear came from past experiences. I suppose this came from my time on The Farm.
Being late meant you didn’t eat. Being late on The Farm meant someone was going to yell very loudly and yell for a very long time. It meant a day of humiliation. I suppose this created an inner-body fear that my subconscious refuses to let go of, which is good, because I am rarely, if ever late.
I watched an interview of an amateur cage fighter with Continue reading
Note to The Old Man
If I were able to speak to you, I am not sure if I would know what to say or where to begin. I am not sure I would recognize your voice or if you would recognize mine because it’s been that long.
I write mostly. I don’t speak out loud as often as I used to. I suppose I don’t speak because the words never seem to leave my mouth in the right way. But on paper, I feel more comfortable. On paper, I feel I’m able to express myself easier.
I was so young when you left. I was young and Continue reading
The Written Addiction 