greyhound southbound

I love you, greyhound, but how can your employees be so impossibly deranged. The price is entirely too high for the standard of service. Next stop, macon, georgia. Send me luck oh god of travels. In the hands of these types, I will need all I can get.

little charlie


FORT WALTON BEAST (fetal part 2)


New Jersey moves past in a complete blur.  Jesus’s beard refracts the glowing midday light, while Mary Magdalene’s third eye opens wide to consume the blurred landscape. Little brother rolls around in the backseat gaining cabin fever and attempting to iPod DJ his way through the country.

Mother Mary and I are penniless so Jesus pulls out a stack of ones he collected performing miracles on the Bedford Avenue Subway platform. Being the prophet that he is, he turns water into Pabst Blue Ribbon.

excerpts from life is elsewhere:

In the gray routine of lessons and homework the glory of his inner world began to fade. (33)

Who was he, then? What was his inner self really like? He tried to lean over his inner being to take a searching look, but all he ever glimpsed was the mirror reflection of his spying gaze. (ibid.)

…it’s not the artist’s job to copy anything, but to create a world of his own lines on paper (34)
the bourgeois is the person who wants pictures to look like real life; but we can laugh at such people because (and Jaromil loved this part) because they were dead and did not know it. (35!)

FORT WALTON BEAST (fetal part I)


So it’s 7 am and I am on the F train back from Staci, the greek mafia princess’s house.  It’s strange to be walking around in a daze on First Avenue and First Street as the sun rises, knowing you have to jump in a southbound car with Jesus and Mary at noon. My eyes are barely open and I can’t quite make out the DOMINO SUGAR sign as I cross the Williamsburg Bridge. The sun beats down through the faded glass windows of the train and my phone vibrates in my pocket…

“We’re already in Pennsylvania, sucker.” The screen reads to me from Jesus himself, mister Moyese the Four.

But it was all a game. I saw them sitting there at the Rabbithole, sipping coffee and putting down omelettes like the apocalypse.  The scent of eggs and double espresso weighs down heavy upon my sour stomach. Mary begs me to eat some of the wet eggs, so I take several bites and claim satisfaction.

Greg walks into the bar, begs me to finish some photographs of his oils for him while he hands me a stack of twenties. The next thing little brother knows, he’s scrambling his way into the back seat of a white diesel suburban. The engine cries out as we speed across the Bridge, thirty minutes ahead of schedule…

incredible tales of synchronicity

dear world,

why, oh why must you be so cold to me? but thank you for the bit of warmth the sun is providing… i really appreciate that.

love always,

my apologies

for the utter lack of updates. i moved to brooklyn with jes… i love it here.

i’m working on copy writing architectural documents. it’s actually some interesting stuff + a great boss!

i have included an image of marls howling with the brooklyn sirens.

i love you and miss you.


what’s in the box?

sorry i was gone for so long.


so what’s in his box?