I’m stuck ass deep in a funk, the pitiful sadness where I start looking for all the reasons everyone should feel sorry for me. Well, F That. It’s time for war on my shit-ass mood. In the end, there can be only one. Here’s what I’m taking into battle.
1. The first movie I obsessed over, in the kind of way that can only be felt by the young, was Pump Up the Volume. It was the summer after my freshman year at Miami University. I was sober for the first time. I was home in my parents condominium, a place they bought not […]
Years ago, I split my time between SXSW Music and Interactive. As such, I received advanced copies of CDs. Most I discarded after a few listens. I still own this one specifically for this song, which I play when I feel life needs a little reminder:
It’s day one back at the job, a return that I actually found to be far more pleasant than I would have imagined. I’m not accustomed to this warm feeling. I had, actually, dreaded today so much because of my life before now. In previous years, a return to my work usually was also filled […]
General Butler State Park. This is my writing refuge. The place I go where there is no other place for me to go. The chaotic swirls of my life don’t find their way here. I am not sure why. I do not question these places. And yet I don’t always trust the quiet solitude. I […]
I’ve been surrounded, for the last 24 hours, by the mistakes of my life. The living, breathing ones. An object lesson in the non-linearity of time. No matter the distance traveled away from them, they are never more than a blink away. I am not sure what to do with them. Which is a lie. […]
The night sometimes wraps itself around me. There’s an oddness to it that I can’t quite explain. Emptiness and hollow, a long, dark hallway. I think it’s way I don’t slow down. Or rarely slow down. Like a child who sprints up the stairs after flipping the light switch, desperately trying to beat the blackness. […]
There’s been only a very short period in my life when I’ve enjoyed flying. And enjoyed was probably not what it was. Probably fatigue, a soured relationship that exists near the back edge between the first months’ bliss and the final months’ disgusted disinterest. The area of empty casualness. My life in Berkeley involved flying. […]
Jim Carroll died today. This is weird for me. But not in the same way that it was weird for me when David Foster Wallace died. Or Hunter S. Thompson died. Those two days were low points in a life that was already spiraling out of control. Dark, evil days. Those two writers were the […]
prologue. "It" is happening again. The "it" that is happens not as much as "it" used to. Which strangely isn’t comforting. The "it" is a creeper, lying dormant for long stretches of time. Hiding. Always watching. Waiting. Which is what "it" does. I know this about "it", which makes "it" not so terrifying anymore because […]