Category Archives: luck
Its the eve of my 30th birthday.
God give us all life I am preparing to enter a phase of life that is bordering on mythological to the street kid Read the rest of this entry
All she wants to eat is peanut butter.
I’m trying to figure out breakfast on my ten minutes off the line of a busy french bakery. Peanut butter.
I’m trying to participate in an adult discussion about pizza toppings. Peanut butter.
I’m crying alone in my bed at night, feeling like everything is caving in and I am never going to be any use to myself or anyone else…
I traded my food stamps for a ukulele last year, she is called my Baby Grand, she is my most portable piano.
Here is the album I made, using more microphones than I have seen anywhere but Queer Rock Camp.
She had been run down, in the street near the school that she had been wandering around for her entire life. Though one family fed her, all the children at that elementary school loved her. They chased her and pet her and each one knew beyond doubt that they were her actual favorite kid. Though Milevas’ social influence was far reaching, I had surprisingly never heard of her until the day of her untimely demise.
It was my first day working for a new family. Two lawyers who were raising their kids a few blocks from the fated school. I had been to the house once before for a brief interview. Today was two weeks later and I stood waiting for the youngest to come crashing out of the double doors at the end of the hallway that led to his classroom.
It was his birthday. Ty was…
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Whats the most people you have ever fit in a vehicle going over the bay bridge? Read the rest of this entry
The house was much cleaner that it had been in recent years. My Dad had found a good deal of time for vacuuming and stacking since his most recent wife had run off to pursue the empty promise of an 18 dollar an hour paycheck in the deep south. The dogs were down to two and he was debating selling his truck.
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I live in a yard, in a lovely shed with a sliding glass door and one perfect window. It was insulated by a friend who lived there before me. She had fabric hanging from the ceiling because she hadn’t perfected drywall when she did the ceiling and she said looking at it reminded her of constant failure. That sort of thing doesn’t bother me the same way, so their is no fabric hanging from my ceiling. Read the rest of this entry
When I was small there was a farm next door to the house where I spent every other weekend, alternating holidays and one terrifying summer. That farm had aggressive geese, pigs, a large barn where a mishap on a rope swing landed me with a large sliver in my ass, and horses. I remember riding with the kids over there, always bareback because the tack was too much for us to wrestle at 7 years old. Read the rest of this entry
Stories are not disposable. Stories are the living, breathing middle of all things. They should not be thrown away. So along with new writing and updates there will be reposting of tales from these years of blogging.
There is a lake very near Butte Montana. It is one of the largest lakes in the United States. Forty billion gallons of what can very nearly not be called water anymore.
This lake is very special. Called the Pit by the residents of Butte, the water is red and it’s surface shimmers like liquid mercury.
It was made of human ignorance and self-importance, a vision of power before wisdom. The people that made this place are like many of us. Toddlers who are smart enough to open the bottle of drain cleaner but inexperienced about what will happen when we drink it.
This lake was once the top of a great mountain pushed into existence by the steady dance of shifting plates beneath the surface of the Earth. This mountain was somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 million years olde when it began to be bled for copper. It…
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