I hate this town. I hate this house we live in, stuck in the middle of nowhere, miles from anything. I hate my school and the hick kids that go there. I have no place to retreat to except for inside of myself. All I can do is read books. After school, sometimes I just crawl back under the covers of my unmade bed and read, even when the weather is nice. It can be weird to be lying in bed on a sunny day but I have a hard time thinking of a good reason to get up. Sometimes I sleep. Continue reading “A Murderer in the Family”
It’s the fall of 1984. I’m 13 years old and in adolescent purgatory. All I can do is wait to get older. I’m stuck in the suburbs when I know for a fact I’m meant to be living in the city. Boston is the city I know best and where we (my mother, brother and I) moved from 5 years ago. I wish we could move back. New York would be even better. In NY I could learn all the real hoodlum tricks. But it’s not to be, at least not for now. I’m stuck living in the sticks. Continue reading “Everything Means a Lot…”
I am among the few who on September 11, 2001 was both physically within a mile of the World Trade AND managed to sleep through the attacks.
I admit to feeling a bit ashamed about my lethargy, but I have an excuse, albeit a lame one. I was on California time. Continue reading “I Slept Through 9/11”
My brother Jonas invited his punk friend Christian over to our house today. The two of them are sitting up towards the front of the school bus, close to the driver talking about whatever it is that dorks like them, talk about. I figure it’s one of two subjects, Star Wars or RUSH. Who knows, maybe they’ve figured out a way to talk about both things at once, the fucking homos. Continue reading “Fucking Ewoks”