Archive for the ‘Other’ Category

Throwing away old files today, receipts and paystubs to start. Medical bills I’m not sure I ever paid. Expired certifications. Cleaning out old character sheets from the DnD folder. Next, I’m lead to my external hard drive to see if I stored anything there. It’s mostly fruitless, but I’m in a mood. Just took my first happy pill, you see. And I get to pictures, mostly deleting copies and junk. Shot of signs or houses, visual inside jokes sent to friends. Sorting things into more cohesive folders.

Somewhere there’s a fold I renamed “Old Life”, pictures and videos that span about a year. A year pushed out my mind. The videos are the strangest part. They’re all these short candids. One of us holding the camera, sometimes denying it is on, filming something ordinary and the other sees.

—Are you filming me?

—No of course not!

—Yes you are! I can see the light’s on!

None of them are longer than a minute. Sometimes there is a question or a kiss.

If this was cinemasins you’d hear “protagonist looking at home movies of dead/ex girlfriend cliché”.

I can’t for the life of me remember these being filmed. I can, all these years later remember so clear the reasons we got together and the ways we fell apart, but I don’t remember this in between time — that year we were so desperate to pretend we were grown-ups — simple moments of happiness that I can see on our faces. The blanket pulled over our heads, wrestling on the futon, her standing over a pain splattered drop cloth or me crouched over that side table I used as a desk in our attic apartment built for one, passing notes or glances at the Well because it was too loud, but staying because the drinks were cheap. Crowded, naked in the bedroom, the ceiling too low to stand, waving, blurs of intertwined limbs and LPs and clothes on the living room floors and how ever did we do this?

Pen and ink and squid.

Our past selves are sometimes strangers on the streets possessing secrets we will never shake out of them.



Posted: 17 April, 2016 in Daily Droppings

We moved the hooks around so they hung on the outside of the closet door.

—so there are no coats on the bed. I hate it when they pile coats on my bed. It takes away any chance that any of the guests will fuck on it later.

—good point, I say

She asked me to the bathroom and started talking about a spat with her sister. I left and got the box of wine from the kitchen and opened it. Poured myself a mason jar full and went back to the bathroom. She was still going on.

I agreed with her and left again. Took the pot out of its hiding place (I told her like I always to do, that I took it away for safe keeping, but I never did. I just hid it in various places around her garden unit), grabbed her pipe and lighter (this one read “Damn, it feels good to be the patriarchy”) and walked back to the bathroom and rested it on the toilet.

—Oh! How thoughtful, she said.

She took a hit and calmed down and I went back into the study to write.

I Mourn MacGyver

Posted: 10 April, 2016 in Daily Droppings

Sitting outside of the Starbucks off Logan.

I stopped going to New Wave. They redecorated by getting rid of all their comfortable furniture and opting for thin, stainless steel chairs and deuces. More importantly they got rid of my favorite sandwich, the MacGyver. An exquisite creation of peanut butter, bacon, tomato slices, and some other stuff. The place is more expensive now too, so what’s the point?

It’s nice and I’m not using my computer so I sit outside at a table to myself self rather than at the bar.

Everything about her is layers, her trousers are laced in the back, diagonal hatches of flesh showing,under which patches of stocking material is visible, and under that, flesh. Translucent ivory blouse shifts back and forth making the blue stripes of her bra dance.

—You get a good look?

She turns to me

—Yes. I did, I say —thanks for holding the pose.

—Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?

—None at all. Just daydreaming.

—With a little casual objectification on the side?

—of course. You can only objectify people you don’t know.

She’s taken a step towards me.

—Don’t got much to go on.

—you gonna go home and wank to this.

—nah, you won’t last that long.

The bus pulls up and she walks away.

Mess Hall

Posted: 4 February, 2016 in Daily Droppings

Last night I dreamt Hawk, Ankh, and I were in a school cafeteria (though none of us went to school together). They were fighting about something completely unrelated when Hawk got really angry cause Ankh called his fried chicken strips chicken wings instead of chicken tenders.

—that’s besides the point, she says

But he is not satisfied. He pelts her with the chicken strips as hard as he can, knocking the purple glasses off her face.

—Get it right! he shouts

I stare at the chicken scattered on the floor.

—goddamnit guys, I sigh —I really wanted to eat those

Hawk dumps the remaining fries on Ankh’s head and leaves the basket overturned, then leaves.

This has been my Christmas.

Christmas 2015

I almost wrote 2016. There is so much talking in the news not just the past week or so, but the past six months of the 2016 election it’s hard to remember the year hasn’t even started yet. Amid the horse race politicking soul sucking poll fucking noise I am the most relieved I have ever been for a delayed flight. The security line ran four snaking rows deep in length of the terminal front before even reaching the stretched blue nylon barriers which ran another six rows. It seems security is a convenience issue as we are told bins are unnecessary. We keep on our shoes and coats, no need to remove laptops not using scanners, just metal detectors and sniffer dogs walking the lines making me worry briefly that I forgot to ditch the film canister of narcotics at home, but I know I took out the trash and turned off the Christmas lights so the tree won’t catch fire I did leave the heat on… oh well
We don’t pay for electric.
I am surprisingly awake for this hour of the day and this far into the flight. Overlooking a river that makes me think of spiky tentacles or maybe the thorned horns of a devil. And ponds. Thousands and thousands of ponds.
Maybe it’s turbulence, maybe it’s the man sitting next to me.
He’s wearing this skull cap. Not like a wool knit type. It’s red, non-stretchy denim. It’s dirty, covered in black splotches of what looks like engine grease, but it could be something of black paint. Medium length beard, from where I sit, I can see through it in parts, meaning the hair is thin and has been grown out for some time deliberately to give the impression of being fuller and thicker.
No cloud cover clear to the horizon.
His jeans are the same, dirt hardened through, covered in more black splotches. He’s got thick forearms and a gut. The build of a mechanic or carpenter. Someone who uses their hands but doesn’t move around much. His shirt is the one clean thing. Something out for a special occasion. First wear, by the lack of wrinkles and vibrant never washed colours. Pearl snaps.
The thing that’s bothersome about him though, is his lack of activity. Since I sat down, he hasn’t moved. Hasn’t spoken. No headphones on his ears, no phone in his hand. He’s not sleeping. Not even looking out the window. He just stares at the seat in front of him. Straight and a touch down at the tray table. He doesn’t lean back. In fact, he sits up, almost straight.
When the flight attendant comes by with the drink cart he breaks the statuism to order a double jack daniels and coke. It puts at ease. I’ve always thought of jack and coke as an everyman American drink. He dumps the two bottles in the plastic cup of ice and gives them back to the air hostess before they’re done with our row. He pours in the coke, drinks half, refills it with more coke, finishes it.
While waiting for the hostess to return, well, not waiting really, in the meantime he goes back to his stoic stare. Only now his hands move. He pulls off the tab of the coke can and begins to shred it.
His eyes are still ahead which is why I can write about him so close by. He shreds the tin till it’s a jagged crumpled heap then holds it as though it were a bird’s nest.
The hostess comes back and we drop our cups into the plastic trash bag.
He goes back to staring.

Sore legs

Posted: 31 January, 2016 in Daily Droppings

My legs are so sore I can barely get down the stairs to where I left the notebook. Sore from the steps I took yesterday, the first on the long road to not offing myself. Lakeside is frozen
It’s good to do something about it. I’ve been better of late, which is probably how I did it in the first place, that and Bear shaming me. Up till now it’s been my classic, white knuckles and whiskey.
Luckily I’m out.
Worse perhaps, tonight there was vodka, awful stuff. I was craving ice cream, but all I could find was this mostly empty skull full of booze.
No mixers other than some soda water and a lime.
Tomorrow I’ll be down to fireball and Cholula and one last splash of lemon juice like, cause fuck it, that is pretty much self-harm.



Earliest I’ve been up at in a while in my attempt to be a more approachable member of society.

We’re throwing a party tonight, my first as an official resident at the Academy, and there’s hope throughout the place that it’ll be a night or weirdness to remember.


I should start writing earlier in the day. I had better stuff in my head while still hard with the sunrise. I guess there’s a choice of getting off or getting to work.

Sent off the first application to [XXXX] yesterday, another goes off today. We’ll see what happens.

Got to make cider and get the house in order. I always think I’m gonna come up with something different and special, but it’s always the same:

Fancy unfiltered cider from TJs or Whole foods or whatever.

Clove, allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon (all things whole)


Liquor (used to be brandy, last year it was bourbon, this year it’s blackstrap rum [3 bottles] and a dash of a few other things.

This year I’m going CRAZY! By adding some pineapple juice.

[3 days later]

Holy spoot, I just took my first shit since the part started on Friday. It was about 7 feet long and felt glorious. I’m measurably lighter I’m sure.

Though I had to excuse myself from a meeting with a friend which made for an awkward return to the table. The person at the table next gave a useless, gratuitous little motion as I got up to leave as if they were actually moving out of the way. On the way they give me one of those glances to indicate you were gone too long for you to be doing anything else. Now you have to sit here while we politely ignore each other.