She'll Laugh

It’s perfectly okay to forget about places and people and things you did

I could worry myself to sleep like the best of them

Nowadays I just fall asleep empty with not a care in the world

No wondering if I pissed one or five people off

No wondering when I might get the courage up to leave everything and everyone alone

I really want to do it all again, try it again

Sooner than I think I will

This place

This area of the country

This state

This life right now

There are no rewards

There is contentment

I never “can’t wait to get up tomorrow” anymore

Like a machine here though

I do it every day

Everything I thought was back here isn’t here at all

Everything and everyone is the same

Cold, selfish, uninterested in anything I am interested in

It’s like everything here moved ahead (backwards?) while I was gone

I have no desire to catch up really

This New England place, it’s incorrect

I have nothing in common with it

Lying and saying “I’m a New England person” sounds good

Looks okay on paper I guess

When I think of steel, sunlight and blank skies though

I feel like myself all over again

I guess you can be wrong a few times in a row before you get it right

-------------------

She comes to me every few weeks - I remember how in love with her I can get - I remember how in love with her deep eyes I can be - Her laugh and hands and smile - I can never have that ever really - every few weeks though I return

Massachusetts

Last night went out alone to downtown Salem to see some friends play music. I went down early and found a parking spot immediately so I took a walk around to see the people walking around doing their Halloween shit. At this point I don’t really care about Halloween either way, people seem to love it though. I like this time of year, and obviously being here for it is great, but I could really care less about the dressing up and partying and all of that stuff. It just really seems like a child’s holiday to me. I always come up with an idea for a costume but never have any actual plan to follow through with it. I had an idea for one this year, but I am obviously not going to do it. The last time I dressed up was in 2000 and I think I just wore a long haired wig and a Motorhead shirt or something like that.

I walked around for a little while and it was surprisingly not that crowded for a Friday evening at that early time. Halloween in Salem basically amounts to people walking around, some dressed up in a costume, some half assed costumes that as account of the weather are covered with a New England Patriots jacket. I saw a couple people I know walking and turned around and kind of went a different route to avoid having a conversation. I figured I’d see plenty of people at the show. One thing I enjoy about being back here is running into people I know all the time. On the other hand, I have nothing good happening to talk about so I have to try to avoid anything like that which is why last night I didn’t feel like talking to anyone on this walk.

The show was great, all three bands. The venue, this Thai restaurant was interesting, but sounded great. Ran into a number of guys from the area and beyond. Amazing musician friends that are still into it, always great to see still out there. It made me want to play music again real bad. It’s a low priority on my list right now really. Went out at one point with a friend I’ve known since probably 1984 or so. Always love seeing him, everyone knows him, he’s a great guy, amazing player and it’s always a trip talking music and life with him. We went and “got lit” around the corner with some other guy I kind of know, not that well. Afterwards he offered us some cocaine. No thanks! I’ve never done that shit and never would at this point, and my friend I was with is certainly not into that either. Only reason I’ve mentioned this is I don’t think I’ve ever been offered cocaine in my life.

I am enjoying being here in New England right now. This time of year is nice, perfect temperatures blasting you in the face at night. Walking last night for an hour or whatever it ended up being, crunchy leaves and yelling children and Massachusetts accents following closely behind them, cold air on your face makes everything more clear, at least voices and faces. Trying to avoid eye contact with people though as I get slow nowadays and sometimes it takes a few to realize I recognize someone, and next thing you know you’re being introduced to children and wives and husbands and hearing about jobs and all that kind of shit you don’t have. I feel like the beginning of eighty seven horrible songs.

Brightly Moved

In the summer we would be stuffed into the car and drive up to the summer place on the lake. Hot and sticking to the seats with some horrible sounding AM radio baseball game he’d make us listen to. Going on rusty old rides and eating grease all weekend, that’s all I really can remember about those weekends. Coming home was always kind of a drag. Back to whatever shitty things were happening at home.

I’m probably lying when I say I don’t like being here. I think it’s more how grey everything is and the memory of this time of year isn’t fond. People love fall around here because of ridiculous things like pumpkin flavored shit is out or apple cider is around a bit more. I like it because the trees look like they’re trying to stab the white sky and the ground is messy and disgusting. Crushed up wet leaves everywhere, dark and dreary around dinner time. Outside on days when it’s not a bright blue and orange day here it constantly looks like what it looks like when you give someone bad news. That’s why I like the fall. I’m not going home to share moments with someone under a blanket and watch movies and drink exotic teas. I find inspiration in this crappy looking place. It inspires me to want to escape and leave before it gets worse here. When the icy cold fingers of New England weather strangle every last bit of desire to be outside from you. Less people around sounds like a good time to someone I’m sure, but at the end of the day everyone goes to bed wishing they were somewhere else.

The short days post Christmas here come back to haunt me. Thinking about crunchy pants after a long day sledding and coming home to TV and warmth and cinnamon and all of that. I hate winter though. I really can’t find a single thing good about it at this point. Being completely uncomfortable, freezing and having nowhere to go for months, no thanks. The last few years pretty much stopped celebrating Christmas, never get a tree, never want a tree or any of that empty symbolic crap in my life. A couple of dinners with family and that’s enough. All of it means absolutely nothing to me at all at this point. This is the bright spot in winter for some I guess. I can’t think it’s worth it. The only thing I can imagine being awesome in the winter is being 3000 miles west of here.

Every time I come home at night here there has been this ball in the driveway. Looks like a tennis ball with all of the color drained out of it. There are no dogs on our street just cats so it’s not from a cat. I briefly thought it might belong to some ghost and then I remembered I don’t really believe in anything like that at all. It was briefly frightening to imagine some ghost of a young boy looking for his ball in my yard in the middle of the night. We have all of these creepy woods behind the house that, if you believed in that crap, would hold all sorts of spirits and ghosts and creatures of the night. They do contain some nice inspiration though.

Some of the people I have had the displeasure of talking to lately, I can’t understand. Well, I think of myself being a complete failure every few hours...and then I think of this one particular dude I have had to talk to online a few times in the past couple of months and shit, I feel so much better. I feel myself get weaker by the day and then I remember this guy exists and I can feel like a much stronger person. I kind of look forward to experiencing more of this guy so I can be inspired to be better.

Regardless of all this inspiration coming from everywhere, most of this is an exercise. Feelings that last for three minutes and go away. I never get angry for more than a few minutes. This place is great for exercising and exorcising. Fiction seems harder to come up with without a little reality though.

100 Best White People I've Ever Met

A mans best friend is not a man or a dog.

Telling me that you care is just one of a million things.

She tells me stories that Mother Goose would kill for.

We speed down the highway, and I still can’t get a commitment.

Wish I was taking a vacation in a month. Don’t ask don’t tell.

We spent weeks at a time together.

Will it stop being the latest issue of the newspaper?

My favorite night this year was in May.

I expected to forget what I went for, and then I found her.

The reasoning behind all of this is grounded in bad punk records.

She is short.  She just waves at me.

Her favorite song was my favorite song 10 years ago.

I hate to think that I am not clear all the time 24 hours a day.

We smoke heroin because we don’t talk to each other anymore.

She is short as well. Real smart. I can’t believe I was in awe of her at one point. “She’s one of us” we say.

There was a small pile of dirt left at my door, methodically placed there to get to me. I hear them out there.

She made me think back to six years ago and go over all sorts of letters and notes.

I have a series of things I need to always do. Never walk down stairs in front of anyone.

My guitar sits there now rusty and out of tune, waiting to be completely retired at any minute.

She sends me messages I never delete

We talk and talk and when it gets down to waking up in the morning, I still have the book open.

I lose touch with people for a day and I feel like an exhaust pipe.

The best thing I remember was looking over and realizing the mountain would not tell me I had a call.

She looked best in the morning. Once a girl can look that good, that early, an inch away, she has me.

We make out and never talk about anything. Nobody knows, and nobody ever will.

She is on my mind more than she’s in my mind.

The other thing I need to do is always flush the toilet when I leave a bathroom, no matter what I did.

Long letters from her are rare but truthful.

It always feels like this when I get around to talking about it. Clear and concise.

I watch them smoke many attractive cigarettes in fifteen minutes.

I acted like I was one of them. I acted like I meant it. I asked for paper.

They complain and complain, wonder if they’ve ever smiled

Once they break in though, they have me. I never let them break in.

I swear I never want anyone to get hurt. I’m always good hearted in the long run.

She wears this shirt that makes me just want to watch television with her.

We had a good time, and then I went on my way. Two more tornadoes, and a brush with the police.

Every morning I need to look out the window for two minutes before shower.

The key is to flip it when you can see that it’s not stuck to the pan.

They are out there, arranging more piles of sand to fuck with me. I hear them.

Disgusting dudes with no cocks.

I take these days in stride now, you can tell me if I am “too much for your mirror”.

I was almost attacked by Stevie Nicks riding a Unicorn last night.

Blues music is my only outlet now. It sucks when you’re not allowed to spit in private.

The night he died.

I wonder how many have tried to forget they even met me

She was scared as a bunny rabbit on crystal meth.

Phil Collins.

Right now, I feel like I could jump out this window and fly.

She, the song by Kiss.

I wish I could run on back to Virginia Beach right now. The only place I’ve ever felt so shitty and so good.

I’m perplexed at how they operate. It’s almost like trying to teach a duck to write poetry.

I never got to cook tons of meals like I wanted to.

There are more than one ways over the moat.

I would piss people off at work, and then ignore them until I face them at the copy machine. Three nails at a time.

I opened up my eyes today. More than they’ve ever been open before.

She made her way in, and looked around, and realized she couldn’t redecorate.

I only lied seventeen times today

The last time I was at an amusement park I fell of the merry-go-round. Now I see stars over everyone.

I knew it was wrong.

We talk about what it will be like to walk around Heaven on Quaaludes.

She has a funny way about her. Even when she is angry with me.

Some day I will stop looking at the hand obsessively.

We walk and argue about who fucked less people.

I knew she was bad news when she asked me if I liked “The Fucking Doors”

Massachusetts has a funny way about making you feel like a goddamn loser.

We play phone tag, and I play connect the dots.

Wait, I think we just killed each other.

I hate them, and when they look at you like they do.

I need to open doors at the bottom of staircases after they have been properly closed.

Wait until I show them all

He comes home, checks his messages, and checks his arms. Everything is there, he sleeps.

That faggot Mark

We drink and I make pretend I’m interested. This is how we get along.

She takes her pretty time while I look at old scratch marks on my left arm.

Finally I find her, and she ignores my eye contact.

Once you have them down, you need to start again. It’s so tedious now.

In your spare time, you should not do what you do in your spare time. You are losing.

Married and never happier, yeah okay.

It’s funny how many times I doubted what was happening to me. Now I write instructions.

The way it goes is this: you work for me, I work for you, and the money goes to the house.

I should probably be worried about this.

Gifts I never gave or received, how sad it that?

He tells me I should go for it. I ask him what he has invested in this. “----- -- ----- --- --------“.

Rain came and I shit my pants.

Not sure if I want to die on cement, or a bed.

I met her and immediately made phone calls the next morning.

My one and only way to catch on is to just move on. Look, I know what you’re doing.

We spent time on the rocks, frozen.

We pretend we don’t see each other, and then I fuck it up.

So exhausted I have to be awake when I sleep.

My one last hope for survival, hmm

We walk on red bricks.

Taking time off from time.

She looked at me once.

It’s lonely out here.

Massachusetts.

Evenings.

Lonely.

Never.

Done.

Out.

Master of Puppets

I can push and be pushed into any situation. I try to make my own decisions here and there and really, I never do. I let situations dictate them. I don’t think I’ve put more than a few minutes into a choice in a long time. I have no fucking patience for sitting around thinking if it involves other people. I can just as easily ignore people forever. I can leave them alone and never pick up the phone again if I need to. Most people can’t do this, they are weak and always cave in. I think because everyone ever has failed me I don’t put any kind of stock into people at this point. Everyone is selfish at the end of the day including me. If I had it my way right now I would disappear into the middle of the country somewhere. Miles away from the ocean and the internet and coffee and listening to people ramble on about things I have no interest in, listening to the same questions over and over. Miles away from every single person invading my privacy, family, friends, strangers, I volunteer information all the time so the invasion doesn’t really exist, but really. Someone thinks I have something interesting to say. They must be blind, or have some other motives. Hmm.

Until I get back to reality and living some sort of new routine, this routine is the one. Staring at a ceiling fan, listening to animals in the back yard, watching people read their bibles, fat housewives sucking on milkshakes disguised as coffee drinks, all whites all the time. I sleep three hours a night, the rest of the time I am waiting for some sort of alarm to go off. The rest of the time its all noise all the time. Nowhere to go to avoid their deafening voices and taunts and uninteresting feelings about life.



Early morning dream 06/02/10:
Was in some sort of pantry area trying to run some sort of device that needed to be hooked up to a tank of gas and it was not working. Tank eventually came disconnected from hose and flew around small area before crashing into a wall.



Looking back now on trips I have taken, people I’ve taken them with, certain areas of the country and which were the best. I’ve never done extensive traveling with another person really. When I did it had a specific function, moving. The whole trips were complete stressful times for the majority, and there was nothing really relaxing about those trips. Trips I’ve taken in New England have been okay. Some have been hard to deal with because of whatever weather we were having, and usually the trips were too short. I know everything that’s here at this point for the most part. I’ve been to the top of Maine and looked across a river at Canada, and to the bottom of my least favorite state, Connecticut. So I feel like I’ve seen almost every inch of New England that I need to see. It’s impossible for me to get lost in Massachusetts.

Maybe because they are more recent, or because of the company I was with, or because I am better at traveling than I was say ten years ago. My trip to Disneyland for my birthday last November with G was great. Great that it was early in our relationship and although still didn’t know each other as well as we do now, it was great to spend my birthday at that place I loved as a kid with someone I love. Our trip to Morro Bay/San Luis Obispo this past March was also great. I didn’t know if it would be the last time I saw her or not since I was moving back to Boston a couple of weeks later. That is a great area of the state and I think I really fell for her there so it was particularly bittersweet to leave that day. I couldn’t write enough shitty songs and poems about that smile and well, other things.

Now that I have been back here, and have listened to all of these songs that remind me of here and then remind me of there, I feel like I really want to go back there. I know what is here and I know what is there. I put these things on a scale the other night. Ups, downs. Pros, cons, you know...It’s noisy and crowded here. If I get to the ocean here, it is rocky and cold and I feel like I am pushed against the sea.



"Hey Charlie"
I landed on the ice with a giant “thud”, and got up immediately. I think I had been running but I’m not sure when I think back to that night. Charlie wanted to catch up with me this night, but I wouldn’t let him. I ran, and ran, and ran. Charlie always had a slew of questions to ask me. Charlie always wanted me to tell him a story “from the old days”. I liked Charlie, but he was just too much sometimes. Charlie always wanted me to lend him a cigarette, although he never gave back the “lent” cigarettes I gave him. Charlie was never in love from what I can tell. He was always telling me of some girl he was with the night before, but I was never interested. In retrospect I guess I should have been a bit nicer to Charlie. Charlie pushed. Charlie outright bugged me most of the time.

I don’t think many people knew of Charlie. I never told my friends about Charlie, or the day I met him in the coffee shop. Charlie was sitting at the stool two over from me, and when the large construction man left, Charlie introduced himself. I had seen Charlie around my building, but had no clue he lived in it. In fact, he lived right below me. I didn’t really pay attention to anyone there, except for the couple next to me, whom I HAD to pay attention to because they were so loud. Arnold and Louise, what a fucking couple they were. So anyway, this particular night, it was raining, which made the ice on the ground even more slick than it was. I was coming home from my friends’ place where we had just watched television for five hours straight. Charlie saw me turn our corner, and started in with the questions. What's up? You staying up? Every once and a while I would let Charlie in and we would hang out and get high. Tonight I wanted to go to bed right away. I’m going to bed Charlie. I’m not doing anything tonight Charlie. I started yelling a little. I’m GOING IN CHARLIE! Charlie kept at it. I started running down the street in fear at this point. After the thud on the ice, I made my way into the apartment building.

Charlie came to the door five minutes after I got in. Can I come in? Just for a minute. Charlie was in love apparently. He had mentioned this one girl a bunch of times, but I had never paid attention. I hadn’t been in love in three years, so I guess I was a bit jealous of Charlie. I all of a sudden felt a little compassion for Charlie, and listened to him. Hey remember the time you told me you fell in love with that girl, and she turned out to be your cousin? Yes I remember that Charlie. Remember you told me that it was much bigger than love, and that every time you were with her you felt like she was a part of you? Yes I remember that Charlie. That’s how I feel right now. Who is she Charlie? Her name is Darlene, and she works at the pizza place up the street. Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about, you’ve mentioned her before right? I offered Charlie a cigarette. He said he was quitting. Your loss I snapped. Darlene obviously doesn’t smoke I take it? Yes, she does. Oh. I’m going to marry her. You are? Yes, I think I am. The horoscope says I probably will. And that’s a good source of information for you Charlie? It never lies to me. How come every time I look at it Charlie, I ignore it if it doesn’t say anything good, and when it does, I ignore it anyway?

The next morning Charlie was on his way to the store when he dropped in the middle of the street. It seems a brain tumor fell him. I guess in retrospect Charlie was a good man, he just bugged me a bit too much. The one night when I finally let him have his night with me he dies the next day. I visited the pizza place after Charlie died to see Darlene. She’s at home with her husband the guy behind the counter told me. It turns out that Charlie was indeed in love with Darlene, but this was news to Darlene. Charlie wanted so bad to have love in his life but was denied it over and over, so he made up stories. I miss Charlie. I have no love either, and Charlie had some love, he seemed to love me, but I had none of it to give him when he was alive. My friends now have all gone on and pursued their dreams of moving out of this city, and into homes with their wives, and girlfriends. Today I went down to the coffee shop and sat at the counter next to this policeman. After he got up, I moved into his seat, and asked the man next to me if he was enjoying the unusually warm weather in January.



"Novembre"
Lets cut out the small talk

We are sitting next to each other and that’s all

I am not an interesting person

I am not an interested person

I have nothing to give you really

I can give you stories

I can follow you home

I am good at that

I can make you think I am someone else

I am good at that

I can let you think you know me

In the middle of the night though

I am pulling strings

I’m plotting revenge on you

You’ve done absolutely nothing to me

I know you’ve done harm to others though

I see through you all the way to Hawaii

I sit up late at night writing letters to your friends

I spend hours devising ways to harm you

I sit around inside my head

I’m no better than you

You are truly better than me, which is why I do this

You win one battle

In the end though, I win ten

You fight three battles

I fight none

And I still come out on top somehow

The second you asked me what my name was

That was the first mistake you made

You wife and kids seem nice

I’m really sorry

Really, I am.

Pussy Eating Contest

Found some old shit I wrote once in this old hard drive. Title is obviously a reference to the Sabbath song.

09/03/05 - Oriskany, NY
“Lord of this World”
Wow, it’s ironic that I “hate” New York, but over the last few years I’ve grown real fond of upstate, almost to “I could live here” level. There’s a slight Massachusetts attitude here but people seem friendlier. I literally have had no run-ins or situations with people in cars, stores, etc. like I seem to have on a daily basis back home. I’m thinking I’ll come up to Lake George in the Autumn. Anyway, this place is pretty beautiful (there’s nothing here, refreshingly), yet it’s also kind of ugly. I can feel some sort of weird vibe driving through downtown Rome, NY. It’s almost like how you feel when you are in Lawrence, MA but a little safer.

I planned on going to the show earlier today but ended up falling asleep and by the time I got myself motivated to leave the hotel room there was an amazing strawberry dusk situation happening. Reminded me of my first trip to Tennessee in 2000; I drove 13 hours that day, arriving in Knoxville at dusk and it was a similar color. Where this place is more remote and there is no orange glare in the sky from a big city nearby, it’s more intense here. Sure the thought of upstate New York being cooler than anything in Tennessee is kind of farcical given the great times I had both times I’ve spent time there, I am talking about Knoxville, TN which was basically like Saugus, MA with cowboy hats and more black people…and Waffle House.

A couple of our friends were on mushrooms and drunk tonight which was slightly amusing. I did not have any alcohol. I’m trying to remember the last time I drank any alcohol and it may have been as long ago as June. I was losing the taste for it about five years ago, but it quickly involved into having to force myself to enjoy even half a beer that I “liked” in the first place. At this point I can’t imagine ever wanting a beer. It’s been peer pressure for the last five years, really. In my entire life I’ve probably been into a liquor store and bought alcohol to drink thirty times tops. Whatever though.

The music was great tonight; I stayed for just about all of it. We had a good time mocking hippies, as well as our tripping friends while trying to stand up on a ski mountain in the dark.
The drive home was a little more enjoyable tonight. It’s scary as all fuck, but shorter this time around for some reason, perhaps because I was in a better mood. It was great to see the hotel and get to sit around here in the warm room now. Speaking of enjoying myself doing nothing.



Chapter Two of this thing I wrote about a fishing trip gone weird

2.

These winding roads were enticing the first few times we did this trip, by now they had turned into a redundant series of black and white postcards held in front of our tired heads. Don was out of cigarettes and kept taking mine for the last two hours of the 6-hour journey north. I just wanted to get to the cabin and grab a beer and a place to plant my exhausted legs and eyes for the night. The trance like effect of the John Lee Hooker on the stereo, and the postcards made for an even longer drive. By the time we got to the cabin it was near nine in the evening and I was collapsing on the walk in.

“I need some sleep”

“Chuck, you need more than sleep, you need a vacation” Don opened the door, and we both took a whiff of the all too familiar smell of our summer hide out.

“This’ll do for now” I dropped my bag on the dinner table and made my way to the bathroom.

“Chuck, we should see if the old man is out on the lake tomorrow” Don yelled to me from the room, I could hear Robert DeNiro’s familiar voice in the background on the television Don had turned on before dropping his gear down.

“I’m sure he’ll be out tomorrow, it’s supposed to be a beautiful day out. I’m not sure I’m ready for his stories just yet though, he takes a lot of energy out of our day with some of those depressing stories of the war and his dead wife”

I made my way into my room and got undressed and put the boom box on the nightstand on. A talk radio show gushed on about paranormal stuff like Area 51 and jackalopes and that kind of thing. I like falling asleep to this show when I stay up here. The sky is so amazing out side my bedside window I can imagine UFO’s flying by and being able to see every little light and gear on it. Don was falling asleep on the couch, so I got up and shut the light off, but left the television on. He had been watching Analyze This with DeNiro and Billy Crystal. An okay movie for what it is, and surely it would have the same effect on me if I put it on right now. I shut the light out, and lit a cigarette; the radio was discussing a UFO sighting in Canada, Yukon Territory. I looked out on the lake as I smoked and saw what looked like a serpent in the water, once it reached the bone white moonbeam it turned into a log though. I chuckled to myself and put the cigarette out. I fell asleep to a woman from Santa Fe that could talk to lizards.



12/13/09 - Los Angeles, CA

Two more days and I will be six months without a cigarette. This is obviously great news for my physical being. For my mental being though, there are anniversaries every other day, the one month anniversary of the last time I was in a good mood, etc.

Making some friends out here, but really, when it all comes down to it. Nobody matches my friends back home who I have a history with. They know me well, people here it takes them a long ass time to figure you out. I see through every fucking one of them though. Suggesting ideas and places to go that I have not even the slightest care about. I see through the games played with networks and empty handshakes and silly conversations that sound like they come from outer space or some bizarre world in the back room of some shady tarot card place. All these practices to make yourself feel like you will live longer. Potions and exercises designed to sound interesting in conversations and that’s all. None of this crap does anything, it’s all empty placebos. Then you get hit by a car on Ventura Blvd and die anyway. Or some kid shoots you for $34. I am trying to keep my distance from people now because first of all I don’t trust anything they say or what their intentions may be. You pick that up pretty quick out here. Three months in and yeah even the people you feel you know best are out for something. They all show their teeth in the dark. You see it when they turn around and you can see their tail, their forked tongues and horns hidden under some bad haircut and worse outfit. I should make a list, a list of whatever those things I said were all bad things about back home and what made me want to leave there and come out here. The cold weather isn’t really that big of a deal. Also of note, this whole place is supposed to explode and die like September 11th.



They don’t know shit about me and I want to go home

I would turn on all of them and I will

I can’t take seriously men women and well you know

Back when it was just me and a whole bunch of dead horn players

I thought I was like I don’t know, some whacky guy

Just a normal plain old bore like your aunt and uncle back home though

Imagine if Your Favorite Band of All Time Was The Fixx?

When it is warm too warm to sleep and any idea I ever had about forever is hiding in an unmarked box in it’s fifteenth basement, fire builds in my brain. I feel and see every bad thing coming now two days before it happens. I have several ideas and places I want to be. I have several ideas of what I know will be the reality. Things don’t work out because you wish them to work. Things don’t happen because you will them or want them to happen. They don’t happen when you pray. When your loved one is filled with cancer or whatever else is going to kill them, go ahead and pray and see what happens. Your god sends them to nowheresville, to a void. Enjoy your photographs and memories. All of this shit happening, it’s all my fault. Has nothing to do with fate or because I wanted it to happen. All of the other things though, yeah you know. Those all happen because people are basically shitty. You can’t count on anyone. Everyone lies or is just never there when you really need them or want them.


Today is an amazing day here. The sun is so bright, and I don’t know if it’s these sunglasses I have on but the sky is so blue it looks like the Pacific Ocean. I have a nice cup of coffee here and I can’t imagine a better time to be alive than right now. Things are looking up. I have been getting a ton of writing done, creative writing. I’ve had some great weekends with friends lately, taken some great pictures. I applied for a job that may put me back in California which would be great!

I can’t really deal with the

I actually have to go to the bathroom so I’m not going to finish this one.

Say it to my Face!

When I was 13 years old or however old you are when you get to seventh grade I started school in my new town of Swampscott, Massachusetts. I was fat, had gross long greasy hair, bad acne and wore concert t-shirts all the time. Ozzy, Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden, etc. Concert shirts back then were often “baseball style” with those long sleeves. I was also painfully shy and as I am now, socially awkward. Granted if I know the people I am with I am whatever the polar opposite of socially awkward is.

There were a group of 8th graders I could tell were just trouble makers. One particular guy, his name escapes me now...his face though, he looked like a rat. Tiny little eyes, this rat nose and just this demeanor that was sneaky and shifty. Him and his group of friends were like those kids on the Simpsons, when you saw them coming down the hall you knew they were going to do something to you. So one particular day I was walking down the hall in an area where nobody happened to be at the moment and there was the Rat boy and his crew. This particular day I was wearing one of those long sleeved concert shirts and him and his crew grabbed me and proceeded to tie my sleeves to the two doors to the theater which swung out. I was stuck there for a few minutes until someone, probably a janitor came to my rescue.

Fast forward to couple of years after high school and I was a much bigger person, was lifting weights quite a bit and was considered “mean looking”. I was working at this small supermarket in this disgusting city called Lynn, Massachusetts. This girl started working there, and while she was a nice enough person, she may have been one of the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen in my life. She literally had a dark mustache and really hairy arms which led me to believe that whatever was happening “in other areas” was probably just as horrible of a situation. At one point she mentioned her husband would be coming in to meet her for lunch. So lunch rolls around and I am in the little lunch area and she comes in to introduce me to her husband and low and behold it is Rat boy!

So now I am much bigger and scarier than him, and he is married to the ugliest woman I have ever seen in my life. He shook my hand and we both kind of did that whole “oh hey yeah we went to school together” thing and subsequent visits to work he was always extra friendly to me.

Nowadays, this thing in the news has been “bullying” like it’s some new thing sweeping the nation. I guess with the onset of social networking bullying is worse than it already was. I don’t think it is, I think it’s less than it was. Aside from that incident tying me to the doors, when I was much younger kids were even meaner and nastier. You’d get pushed over, hit, shit thrown at you, etc. Nowadays kids get called fat on the internet and they are killing themselves. I think the bigger problem is, parents are raising their kids to be pussies. In the summer parents are shaving the heads of their young men and sending these little shaved pussies (not the good kind) out into the world to get taunted and made fun of.

My dad never did that “let me show you how to fight” thing or anything, because violence is never the answer ever, but I was at least taught that name calling is...fun. Unless you are extremely thin skinned, “sticks and stones may break your bones but names will never hurt you” If you spend any time on the internet, social networking, message boards, etc quite a bit of name calling goes on. It’s kind of what happens on the internet on the regular. Besides, why are young kids on the internet anyway, they should be reading books, outside playing and getting into trouble, etc Leave the name calling and time wasting to us adults.

July 25, 1980

Only one of these stories is true.

“Hells Bells”
In the summer of 1989 we hung out with a woman named Eileen. When you smoked drugs (coke, meth, crack, heroin, weed) with Eileen you always had to “sterilize” the end of the pipe with a lighter before taking a hit as Eileen had Herpes. I remember one night Robert forgot to do it and low and behold he contracted Herpes. Eileen died alone in her apartment.

“Shoot to Thrill”
In the summer of 1990 we hung out with a guy named Dave. Dave had tattoos all over his neck of Disney characters. He was tough as nails though. The thought of getting the shit beat out of you by a guy with Pluto tattooed on his neck was always such an odd thing to think about. One night Dave found out some kid fucked his ex-girlfriend. Not his girlfriend, his EX-girlfriend. He went crazy and threw a chunk of an old gravestone through the windshield of the kid’s 1982 white VW Scirocco.

“What Do You Do For Money Honey?”
In the summer of 1992 I was experimenting with different kinds of cold medicines. Crushing them up and snorting them to avoid ever feeling sick. I thought this kind of pro-active effort would put me ahead of everyone, like I discovered some new way to feel awesome. When I stopped doing this I had a splitting headache for a whole month, and threw up anytime I tried to eat. I was down to about 105 pounds when I got my first job as a security guard.

“Givin’ the Dog a Bone”
In the summer of 1996 I was driving home one night after attending a church meeting. We had a small meeting with about five us from the church to discuss the upcoming picnic in the park. I was in charge of getting the desserts together, while my wife who was home sick and couldn’t make the meeting was in charge of cold cuts and soda. I was driving home about a block from my house when a Golden Retriever ran in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes but it was too late. I got out of the car and found the poor animal taking it’s last breath. There was an episode of Murder She Wrote I really wanted to get home to see. I had some trash bags in the back of my car so I grabbed the dog and put it in a trash bag and when I got home I put it in one of our trash barrels to go with our trash the next morning.

“Let Me Put My Love Into You”
In the summer of 1998 we rented a cabin in Maine. There were five of us, all men. The idea was to spend a week in the deep woods in this cabin. By the end of the week, one of us was dead, one of us had rabies and I started to believe in God.

“Back in Black”
In the summer of 2000 we walked all around the city at night. Through the park. Down the piss soaked streets downtown. We inhaled cigarette after cigarette wondering where our rightful place in life should be. One night we saw a child about ten years old just walking down the street smoking a cigarette. I stopped the child and asked where his parents were he replied “go fuck yourself you fat faggot”

“You Shook Me All Night Long”
In the summer of 2002 I was living in a place outside of Nashville, TN where if you weren’t white you definitely were not all right. I got a place there because I was working for an old man. There was an ad I saw online somewhere looking for someone to come and work with this old man going through his journals and things in his house. His house was filled with old newspapers, books, magazines, photographs, everywhere. I spent the first two weeks there sick as a dog from inhaling dust. The job paid very little, and my rent was very little. By the end of the summer I had helped Frank write a memoir which we printed twenty copies of to give to various family members and friends at his funeral. Oh yeah. At the end of the cleaning and writing, Frank asked me to euthanize him. He had been alone in that house for years. I could tell he was happy when I was there with all of the lights on and all of his life being organized into boxes and written into documents on my laptop.

“Have a Drink on Me”
In the summer of 2005 I was driving down a highway in a remote area of Vermont. It was the middle of the night and I was going the speed limit. A car flew by me going well over 100 mph. Off in the distance I saw it fly off the highway, tumbling like a child rolling down a hill. I arrived at the area where the car went off the road to a smoking car upside down. A young woman lay on the ground about ten yards from the car not breathing, covered in red and sparkly glass. In the drivers seat was a seat belted man groaning, I spied a number of beer cans near him and outside the window of the car.
“Hey man, I think you killed that girl”

“What? Help me out of here please”

“Well, I’m not sure I can help you here”

“Help me”

“You killed that young girl you were with”

“Are you seriously.....not going...to help me?”

“I’m seriously not going to help you...you’ll go to jail you know”

“Just help me please”

“Nobody knows you two are down here”

“Please sir”

“Good bye”


“Shake a Leg”
In the summer of 2008 I lost my whole family to a fire. We were living in a two bedroom ranch house and my wife fell asleep with a cigarette in her hand and burned the house down. I was at a Nine Inch Nails concert with my ex-girlfriend that night. My wife and I had argued for weeks about me going to the show. She finally “let me” go two days before the show.

“Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution”
In the summer of 2009 I drove my car 3000 miles or so. I drove all over the country that summer. I lost one life and found another one. I left one life and found another. Like any long drive though, by the end of it I was tired, I looked like shit and I had hours of stories to tell. One of these days I’ll write all of those stories down and put them in a book. One of these days I will try to remember how it all happened. It is all written down in my head but it’s unclear what route I took. My muse on this journey was what kept me going and smiling and feeling good. Here a couple of months before the summer of 2010 she is there yet again. I don’t think I could ask for a better more beautiful one than her to be right there.

Blues in C#

How appealing, an empty room with great lighting, surrounded by your friends who wrote amazing books before you were born, wrote the best songs, played the best solos, took the best photographs and painted the best paintings. I spent so many years needing to go out and find something or someone forgetting all of the entertainment and comfort could be found right there. I got used to that after a while. Bringing more vessels into the house via express delivery and stoned trips to used book stores in the middle of the week like a bored housewife. Walking around in the sun wondering what lunch would be the best. The end of the afternoon would come and I would wind down and wait for the house to come alive again. Dinners cooked and TV’s turned on, laughing and yelling and cats making noise and then the snow would eventually come back. The warm indoor drinks and hot air filled lungs had some sort of comfort to it I can’t put my finger on. It got so quiet there in the winter. Then it got real quiet until it all ended.

Sleeping on floors and couches and hotel rooms is not my ideal living situation. It is indeed taking it’s toll on me, not being able to just grab that book over there to see something. I can’t just grab that Bill Evans Box Set. I need to find out where it is. It could be in a box in the basement, or in a storage facility thousands of miles away. I feel like I might as well be a homeless person. A small pile of possessions in my possession and a head full of rain and sunshine every fifteen minutes. At the end of the day friends and family make it all a little better. Ones close by and of course ones far away.



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“The Lemonade Man”

The first time his grandfather played him that “Who’s on First?” skit, he didn’t laugh. His grandfather got upset and never recommended anything to him again. He had grandiose dreams of recommending his one and only grandson with great war books, and films later in life. Since the Albert and Costello didn’t work on him though, he regarded his grandson as tasteless. How a man could be so dismissive to his own blood perplexed the whole family.

On June 26th of that year the grandfather met up with me at the supermarket.

“Harold, how are you?” I asked

Surprised, he extended his open hand and replied “Great”

I hadn’t seen him since the party two weeks prior, which sparked the “Who’s on First?” fiasco.

Phone calls were made, gifts were presumably cancelled, and a bitter disdain for “Grandpa Harry” enveloped the family. This was a family fraught with drama for years. I was merely an outside observer, having dated his second niece for a couple of years at this particular time.

“Hey listen, I don’t want to get involved but, I think you should call Clayton, he’s upset”

“I know he is, but I’m deep in this now…you don’t understand” he said with a scratchy voice.

“Well, I don’t know you that well Harry, but I know one thing, that kid loves you”

Harold didn’t want to talk about it, and it was obvious something else was bothering him. I had no idea how to get it out of him though. There was going to be a get together that weekend, I know they weren’t going to invite him. I planned on going down to his house and seeing him beforehand; perhaps I could talk him into making some sort of amends to the boy.

Saturday couldn’t have come sooner. I made my way up the gray cobblestone walkway as crispy bushes left claw marks on my bare legs. His house was a small affair, with the usual widowed elderly person décor: American flags, television set with 6 channels, plates in their upright position on the mantel, afghan blankets on all of the couches and chairs in the living room. I remembered being under the Easter colored afghan one winter night with Denise watching The Guns of Navarone with Harold, and some other leftovers from a snowed in winter ham dinner.

Harold invited me in, and we made our way to the kitchen. The acrid smell of a spied open jar of vinegar peppers on the counter made me ill. I couldn’t stand the smell of vinegar.

“Want some lemonade, just made it” Harold asked

“Sure” I replied, taking a seat

“You going over Debbie’s?” he asked

“Yeah, later on I am going to go. I thought I’d come by and say hello and see if I can do any more persuading”

“Persuading?” he chuckled

“Well, I really love that kid, and I don’t want him to feel resentment, especially during your…golden years if you will”

“I was having a bad day, I snapped at him, and now I’m paying for it” he confessed to me as he sat down exhaustedly

“I think if you just call over there and apologize, they will understand” a simple but obvious idea.

“Yeah, I have-“

“You know Harold, if it’s pride that’s holding you, fuck it, fuck pride right now”

“You’re a bright kid, and I appreciate your concern, but I have to think about this, I’m not the only one at fault here”

“I don’t think I understand you”

“His mother, she does not like me, we didn’t talk for almost twenty years…I think she puts things in his head”

“Like what?”

“I think she tells him that I am not to be trusted”

“I still don’t get you”

“Listen, I can’t really get into this, but let’s just say that when her mother died, there was an issue with the will, and she thinks I had something to do with it”

“Oh…” this was all new to me, and I felt like I was getting too deep, so I relented,

“…why don’t you stop there, I understand…this isn’t my place to be prying. I just wanted to do the right thing.

I left with my heart in my throat, knowing I was just opening more wounds for the old man in his humble abode. I drove to the party with no music on in the car and thought of all the times Denise told me that her great uncle had helped her out of a jam. I arrived at the party as they were serving food in the backyard. Denise greeted me with a hug and a kiss, and I never mentioned the visit to Harold’s house earlier in the day. In fact, I never mentioned it to anyone at all.

Four days after the party, on a sunny Saturday afternoon a neighbor called the police after not seeing Harold for a few days. Harold was out every morning on his porch reading a James Michener novel, or the Washington Post with a glass of lemonade; after a lunch inside he would water the grass in the front yard and talk to the people of the neighborhood. The neighbors fears and concerns turned out to be true, as Harold was found in the cellar of the house, hanging from the floor beams, with an overturned milk carton a few feet away. A single piece of paper lay on the floor near the milk carton with the poem “The Human Abstract” by William Blake on it:

Pity would be no more,
If we did not make somebody Poor:
And Mercy no more could be,
If all were as happy as we;

And mutual fear brings peace;
Till the selfish loves increase.
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears:
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head;
And the Catterpiller and Fly,
Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat;
And the Raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.

The Gods of the earth and sea,
Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the Human Brain



Guitar playing is coming along a little better now, and I am able to play some blues music to exercise my hands. Playing an electric guitar not plugged in is kind of like going to Kentucky Fried Chicken and ordering grilled chicken. Or like going to a bagel store and ordering an extension chord. Well, it’s not like that at all. Anyway, it’s making me want to play a loud electric guitar, but I still thank that is a little ways away. I did mean to spell that “thank” as I was typing it thinking I was the guy in the Commodores was typing the sentence. Imagine, hmmm...wow I wonder if I could start a band....”yeah it’s kind of like a mix between The Commodores and Celtic Frost”. “We’re kind of like a cross between early Aerosmith and the sound of your ex-wife’s voice”

"Stop, thief"

Looking at old pictures of yourself from when you were young is tough sometimes. Well, tough to imagine “what was I thinking?” I can’t imagine what my voice sounded like, what I acted like and that kind of thing. The thought of going back in time and watching myself is beyond horrifying. Every once in a while you will see a video of yourself and feel strange. Nowadays though, every last fucking thing recorded on the internet, thoughts, pictures, opinions. What will it all eventually mean? I guess you can just not be one of these people. I am this guy like 26 hours a day. I need to move out of it. I need to get away. Life in real time though, it is so plain right now writing about it and photographing it all feels like the right thing to do. Sometimes when I run into people from my way past and talk to them I realize all that passed time did nothing really. The only thing it really did was make it harder to talk about anything beyond small talk. At any rate, I look back from old pictures and think fondly of certain times in life. Most of the time though, I’m not one of these nostalgic fucks unless I start to feel old. Seems like so many people developed opinions and tastes early on and never advanced them. Thankfully I am able to avoid these people, but some of them show up on your social networking pages and you can watch them and their boring ass existence tell the same stories they told you in 1988. There are the friends that moved on, left Massachusetts and made something better happen to their lives. I admire these folks. I read what they have to say and they are always fresh and slightly different than before.


“San Leandro, CA - Summer of 2011”

Not the way I want to come across really,
I am going to blow my brains all over them
The social skills of a group of blind, dumb and deaf children
What are you talking about?
I tell you what I’m talking about
All of them
Look at them bicker and accuse
Try and fail
Judge and opine
Our most common trait is the color of blood
Yet it’s assumed I eat the same foods and drink the same wine
I smashed every last fucking thing in here tonight
I smashed every fucking reminder that I’m civil when I go outside
I think about it, them, etc and turn to fire
I turn to fire late at night for inspiration
I turn to strangers and try to move them somewhere else
I want them to think worse of me than they probably do
They see me and think I am someone else anyway
I see them and know exactly who they are
The subjects of lies of omission
Their disgusted scorned wives and husbands and boyfriends and girlfriends awake all night
They go out with eyes like caterpillars
Creeping all over whoever your favorite person in the world is
Standing at green lights in front of your car
Standing in line in front of you at the bank
Weak and full of shit
I see them and who they avoid
They can’t look you in the eye
They lack any kind of soul
They lack any kind of passion or truth
I watch them and want them to fail miserably
Watch their scorned better halves drag them through the mud and fire
Men in expensive suits sucking blood and cum from every single angle
Their crooked handshakes are gestures empty of anything
Gifts given to pay people off
They think they have some sort of handle on me
Watching me from all sorts of places
Towns I’ve never heard of
Places I will never go
I monitor them more though
I always need to learn and see
I spend so much time being this loser that I end up winning
In the end when I burn every last house down
When I put this sword through the chest of every fuck that ever got in the way
I’ll feel free then
I’ll sleep more than two hours in a night
I’ll move on to a better place
Where I am now
A labyrinth of emotions and feelings
A roller coaster that drags others behind it’s cars
I speed around up and down
I hope they just all jump off at some point
I don’t need any of them
I don’t need any of it
Wait, do I?



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When I think of this girl and how she makes me feel in person. It’s different than over the phone or on a computer. It’s the reality of her eyes and face and smile and the color blue and how she eats and speaks to me. All of these things, they arrive in dreams at night. My brief journey into slumber is often visited by how I see her. On the shore carrying her stuff for the day. Walking upright and poised so I feel intimidated with her. No way any loser could stand here where I am. What have I done right? Said and written the correct things? What did the ones who came before do right and what did they do wrong? After every horrible thing that has come before this it really is hard to feel secure and all of that. I have been trying to do this day by day thing. Sure it works day by day, sometimes though, the month by month is hard. When I think of how close we felt the last time we saw each other. How I made her cry when I should have just said goodbye. How I drove home with so many memories in my head. Was like a California shaped dream filled with all of the amazing times we spent. I’d never trade them or regret anything no matter what happens. On that burning crisp shore we often stood, not the exact places she wanted to show me but her efforts and eyes always make me melt so I can’t ever say no. Whatever fate awaits me I really hope I can always think of that smile as something that melted me and not burned me.