This is the last known photo of my dad. He was a drifter, a ruffian, a troublemaker, of sorts. Left for a pack of smokes one day and never came back, I’m told. It was pretty sad. … Not really, he was great, actually. He drank too much, which wasn’t easy to be around, but … Read more

There will be no savior or lotto win, or golden ticket that comes – only our incremental steps that add up, eventually. A life not speculated on, but lived. It’s where my newfound happiness originated.

All the retired and middle-aged white people, with enough extra money and time to go to Trump rallies, as well as enjoying the constitutional freedom to complain about what a “Disaster” they’re convinced our country has become, might make us all proud to remember the dignified standards of behavior they’ve always held up as an … Read more

On 9/11 2001, Lana and I lived in Staten Island and commuted to the city each day, so we were both a part of the immediate population who experienced what happened first hand. I even helped clean apartments in the buildings overlooking ground zero in the months afterwards (nothing noble here, it was just a … Read more

For the Death of Dustin Essary: a music novel (Chapter III) “Fugin’ cops keep comin’ ’round, tellin’ me I gotta move an’ shit, askin’ me how I got here … Like I did somethin’ wrong to somebody, or like I gotta fugin’ screw loose or some shit… Well, hell yeah, I got a fugin’ screw … Read more

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