color

We walk past the boat harbor. Sailboats bob in the bay. Purple and yellow flowers line the sidewalk as we pass the water treatment plant. They are not enough to take the mind and nose away from the stench, but the smell doesn’t bother us. It’s something we have come to know as home. I … More color

Parenting 2019

You’re not parenting. You’re giving in. I’m not sure if it’s laziness or delusional behavior, but the way you’re doing it is wrong. Unless your kid can pull herself up by her bootstraps and make herself better because of some intrinsic values given to her by God, magic, or happenstance, she’s probably going to repeat … More Parenting 2019

nice or not

It’s so early, but so late. I wouldn’t have this perspective if I’d had more to eat or less to drink. Nothing would make sense, and these words would not fall into place like this had I not gone through all that I have in my life. And I haven’t gone through much. At least … More nice or not

the urge

I’m too old to get weird, I suppose. But that’s what my core is telling me. Write. Meet with people. Travel. Wear whatever feels right. To me. I want to spend hours reading, thinking, meditating. I want to reach another level of fulfillment without going the standard way of religion or wakefulness or any of the other scripted horseshit ways people seem to go. … More the urge

magic stuff

December 3, 2018                 We’ve got the cold wrapping up all around us. It’s time for long johns, parkas, and insulated boots. Trekking through snow and slush. Penguin-stepping over ice. Or dodging puddles. It is Michigan, after all. Twenty-seven degrees right now at 7:32 pm but it could … More magic stuff

the never end

I lifted the cat and hugged her. Even though she’s shit on our bedroom floor and I stepped in it twice. Barefoot. Once, as I clomped my way to the john in the dark. Bladder so full of vodka, Sprite, and water that I thought I’d never go back to bed. The other, a weird … More the never end

ticking

(this is a work of fiction) Getting too old for these crazy things. Polishing off a bottle of wine at 10:14 pm, well after the kids have gone to bed. Too locked into the norm to believe I can write with the best of them—Stephen King, Margaret Attwood, the writers for Ozark. But I have … More ticking