Got my bike out of the shop. Not the one I pedal, the fireball orange one with the motor. It is a motorbike, one could say. I am happy about this.  It needs to spend the night with the battery charging. The bike needs some work.  It needs a tuneup. It needs a bath. Thus doth the pot blackguard the kettle. Goddamn you Wild Turkey! (1) I’m going to sit here and get drunk. That’s plan A. I was going to stay sober whatfor I could ride the bike. The bike needs work. Goddamn you, bike. ... Read Full Story

So, I’ve been forced to write poetry.  I think the point of poetry is basically to remove plot from prose, the more the better. I find the process ridiculous. Want to know how to write poetry? It’s easy. Remove most of the important words and insert line breaks at random. For instance:     Dramamine is the end of any real travel   There’s no one here, just the glow Of sun in blades Through the pulled shades. A living room is couches and chairs and ridiculous things ... Read Full Story

There was this old house I used to frequent next door.  It was a stunning example of Depression era microarchitecture.  All the walls, including internal, were 2X6 studs (vs. the more common 2X4), latticed over with slat and plastered until the walls were nearly a foot thick.  The basement was austere, but well finished by hand labor and user designed.  Everything about the house was over-built.  Anywhere roughcut lumber would do, the owner/builder had personally inspected and dried true boar... Read Full Story

The last of the cars fell down from the sky, upside down and immolated.  The first of the dust covered crawlers emerged, leaving maroon slug-trails of blood and effluent humanity.  The panicked people had already crumpled to the ground in horror or ran blindly into the skidding traffic.  Rock Hammer beheld them sidelong and allowed himself a brief, unbelieving head shake. She was saying something. It was at the end of a tunnel. The hissing scrape of a gray tunnel sound grew and receded as her... Read Full Story

That’s my new Answer. To everything. It seems like nothing is ever really linear anyway.  So, when the subtext starts pushing up from between the lines and jumbling the script, then I say fuck it. It’s complicated.  I’m not going to try and read any of that jumbling invisibility or infer some occulted meaning.  I’m just saying It’s Complicated and ignoring it. I foresee a few issues arising. What if it wasn’t complicated? I don’t give a shit, you shou... Read Full Story

*Note: This might confuse the shit out of some long time readers, especially those from the old blog.  Get over it. “Is that blood on your shoes?” “Probably. Hard to tell.” 1. Rock Hammer does not offer information. He sets a boulder sized fragment of a rock on my table, spilling some soup.  Without asking, he shuttles the coat and gloves on the bench opposite me out of the way to make room for his cask-like body and a near demolished framed backpack. He is wearing sh... Read Full Story

There is this thing I do. I start with twenty-five perfect form pushups, the kind where your chest brushes the ground and you have to keep your head up to keep from smacking your face on the concrete.  That is reasonable, I think.  I give myself a short break. Very short. Then I do twenty.  Again, this is no big deal. I’ve only done forty-five of the things.  It starts to wake up some muscles I forget about sometimes.  Those little guys in your shoulder, for instance.  They suck. A shor... Read Full Story

Over the last two months I have had very little caffeine.  It was next to impossible to find and decidedly detrimental to my physical abilities. I have since made up for lost time. I’m sitting here convulsing.  My fingers have the clammy pall of death and my eyes are forgetting to blink, turning my corneas to blood and dust.  I have Billy Cobham and Jack DeJohnette dueling it out in my head.  The smallest bit of trivia sends me skidding off into the dark night of the Wikipedia, lost for... Read Full Story

Maybe the last few months turned me into an accomplishment junkie. Something must have happened. I’m home, now. I’m resisting with every fiber of my being walking out of my job.  I’m trying everything to keep myself from withdrawing from school.  I’m resisting telling everyone to leave me alone and let me leave.  Let me go. Let me explode off into the night and be gone.  I’m good at gone. I’m no good at here. I’m trying to remember how to do my job.  ... Read Full Story

And returning before long. It’s been an interesting few weeks. Posted in Uncategorized Read Full Story