Christmas Is Coming – part 2

You can read part one of this entry here.

I come to sitting on the living room couch. It’s time to leave for work. It’s a cloudy day outside but we have 3 tall windows and high ceilings in here so it’s bright.  So bright in fact, you can really see just how dirty the apartment is. Ugh, it’s disgusting. You can see the sheen of dirt on the hardwood floors. My rush is over. Not that it was all that much of a rush to begin with. I’m in maintenance mode. I shot just about a half a bag of dope a couple of hours ago. Which is really not very much, but it’s the state of the state these days. It beats withdrawal.

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No Offense… But You Are White

Zacharia
“What we doin’?” The 9-year-old Zachariah asks as he gets in the front seat of my Honda Civic. He confidently pulls the seat belt across his thin frame and secures the buckle. He awaits his answer. Zachariah is black. He’s got close-cropped hair with a little boy’s rat-tail – where he hasn’t allowed the hair to be trimmed in some time – it sticks out at the base of his skull. He’s wearing black jeans and some cute black Vans knock off sneakers. He’s a handsome kid. In contrast I’m a 42-year-old white guy. We are as unlikely a pair as you will find anywhere. Continue reading

Christmas is coming…

This morning – today is the 23rd of December – I sleep till eleven. I don’t have to be at work till 3:00 this afternoon. The best part of my day is when I get high – about 2 minutes after I wake up – given that the rest of the day will be downhill from there, I sleep as late as possible. When I finally do make the decision to get up I sit squarely in front of the assortment of paraphernalia that I pre-arranged on my nightstand last night. It’s cold here in my basement level, windowless bedroom, but I’m so focused on the task at hand that I hardly notice. I take a razor blade and slit the piece of tape holding together the heroin glassine and unfold it to reveal the silhouette of the powder inside, a pinky finger high and an inch across. It’s my last bag of dope. Continue reading

Point Kids Suck

“Hey let me see that thing?” the big kid named Digga asks Will. “I was thinking about gettin’ one a ‘dem. I want to see how it goes.”

Will looks over at me, with his new crew cut he looks so young and innocent, like a lamb I think, you know – a sheep – I know it sounds kind of weird but it’s what I think for some reason. I know that doesn’t make any sense.

I shake my head, no. It’s a bullshit question. A fake question. Digga just wants to grab the skateboard.

“We gotta get going. We’re late,” I say to him. Answering on Will’s behalf.

I knew it was a bad idea to be skating over here by the gym. It’s pretty clear this is these townie kids’ territory, judging by the number of Southie types that are hanging around. Fuck, what were we thinking? We’re new at this school so I don’t entirely know the lay of the land yet, but I heard about these kids. They call them Point kids because they live in housing projects over in a neighborhood called the point. They are like a tamer version of Southie kids. Continue reading

Oh The Guilt

Kurt Cobain and the Suicide Solution 20 Years Later

The Following is a copy of a piece I wrote for thefix.com

Read the original here

This document is filled with shame.

I have a secret. If I were to tell you this secret, you’d know me – and my inadequacy – completely, so it must be zealously guarded. It’s heady stuff.

Actually… the real problem with my secret is just how boring it is and worse, how self-important I am to consider it shameful. Despite the cost to my ego though, I recognize that after holding onto it for near 20 years it’s beyond time to spill the goods. You ready? I’m kind of obsessed with Kurt Cobain.

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