I never would have guessed he was forty-two; maybe fifty-two, or sixty-two, but certainly not any younger than that. He passed me an old canteen that’d been roughly handled and beaten for what must have been decades, and told me to take a swig. I obliged and took a pull–and immediately regretted it. He smiled wide, a big, mostly toothless grin, and his laugh crawled forward from his lungs, the sound not unlike sandpaper scratching over an old log, along with the sound of his heaving exhalation that was rasp and nearly hoarse from years of cigarettes and weed. “JESUS CHRIST.” I gasped, still trying to catch my breath from the liquid fire I’d just ingested. “Moonshine.” He said as he winked and then nudged me with his elbow, looking for me to pass the deviled drink back to him. I did, having no interest in taking another swig. I already felt drunk from the modest amount I’d had. The scenery flew by at a decent speed, and I surmised that we’d left Cleveland some distance behind us. If you’ve never ridden on a train in the middle of the night, I wholeheartedly suggest you try it at least once. And

Continue readingFalling Away

She wasn’t anything to look at, and I assumed that that was why she’d stopped to pick me up. It’s an unspoken but commonly held misconception that a hitchhiker will fuck for a ride, but I wasn’t in the habit or the mood, least of all with such an unattractive woman. I spilled into the passenger seat out of the rain and thanked her for stopping. Without replying, she threw the car in gear and pulled the old Buick into traffic at brusque and alarming speed. I grabbed a hold of the colloquially named “Oh Shit” handle on the ceiling and braced for the rest of the ride as she weaved in and out of traffic like an addict on an ether binge. “Where you headed?” She asked in a Southern drawl so thick that it could strip paint. I shrugged. I had no idea. I didn’t even know the name of the nearest town. I was just going, just trying to keep moving. The destination didn’t matter. “My place then?” She jokingly asked, and then cackled like a witch from an old Disney movie filled with magic and fairy tale endings that never exist in real life. Her voice

Continue readingElvis

I took their money, but it wasn’t about the food or the booze or the drugs; it wasn’t about being able to afford one more luxury or one more item to survive one more night. I played my guitar while leaning against the cracked and brittle building–a wall of brown and brick and heat in the rippling sun. Guitar case open and eyes cast downward in a hundred mile stare, patrons wandered about uninterested in me–they didn’t see a man or a poet or a musician. They saw garbage–a pile of shit that deserved neither their respect or their pity. They didn’t hear the music that I’d crafted and carefully worked during the long days and miserly nights that I’d been travelling alone and in the weather–they heard only the songs of a beggar and a fool. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t just helplessly sitting there with a sign, and it didn’t matter that I was trying to do something to stay alive–I was still just an otherwise inconsequential bump in the road. Occasionally, a good Samaritan would throw a couple quarters or a dollar into my guitar case. I would raise my head, meet their gaze, and smile in the

Continue readingAnd I am just like an acrobat tumbling down from the wire, and I’m fragile but happily broken for what I desire

In the last two weeks I’ve been writing an autobiography. I don’t claim that my life is any more interesting than anyone else’s, or anything even remotely similar. I simply have a very unique perspective on life and believe that there are people in this would that could benefit from it. I can’t really elaborate much beyond that, as it would give away the context of the book and the reasons that I’m writing it. I will say that I’m afflicted with a particular condition that does make for interesting reading. 🙂 I’ve been lost in a sea of yesterdays, sifting carefully through my past and trying to find those trivial morsels and nuggets of truth that will make for a good book. I’ve found that I’ve lived a lot of life in my intervening twenty-six years, and that I have many more ahead of me. As I Read back through the rough draft that I’ve written, Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man” monologue seems even more poignant. I feel that after each successive age of life, the old me has somehow died and only my essence has carried on to now. I suppose that’s the closest equivalent to a soul

Continue readingLost in a sea of yesterdays…