5/9/14, 8:06pm

Trenton.  Grange Hall.  80′s cover band.  Peepers.  Holiday lights.  Families.

Right now I am sitting in the driver’s seat of my van, legs crossed and hanging out the door, huddled into my hoodie recently dampened by a quick rain.  Cars pull in to the dirt parking lot, catching me in their headlights and pausing for a second before continuing on.  I act clueless of the apprehensive stares haunting foggy windows.  It is everything within me to keep my breath calm, my heartbeat slow, my hands from trembling.  The psychosis is back: dark figures darting throughout the peripheral, strange creatures scurrying across the ground, sounds from an invisible world sloshing around in my ears.  I bought my ticket and should really go inside, but frankly I just don’t know how to be psychotic around children yet.  I want to smoke some medicine to relax, but am again torn about the kids.  I refrain and stay put.

In the window closest to me, a woman with long, thick curly hair is dancing.  She shimmies her shoulders and ducks, smiling to a little forehead jumping in front of her.  They take each other’s hands and the mother begins to spin her daughter as though they are the only two people in the room.  I clench my teeth, trying to keep a stern face while tears rise to my eyes.  Maybe it’s the fact it’s Mother’s Day weekend, maybe it’s remembering how my mother loved to dance.  Maybe it’s just the panic still metabolizing in my system that led me to hyperventilate when it came time to turn the ignition on to get here.  Nothing related – it’s just been that sort of day.

Outside it’s cold.  The air is wet with storms that are now draping the shoulders of the horizon in an evening stole of deep, flowing grays and blues.  A damp breeze seeps through the denim and tickles a chill up my legs.  Sometimes it’s safer for me to participate from the fringe, just beyond the point where the light from the windows gets swallowed by night.  Such a space is usually soft and nonjudgemental of the memories that get stirred up in my head.  I am not entirely here right now and I’m horrified at the thought of making anyone else uncomfortable (within reason, of course); I am known to be a savant in social awkwardness in moments like this.  Loitering the parking lot alone is a bit strange — I know — but it’s just the type of night that makes sense for me to enjoy live music with the budding trees, croaking frogs, and shifty traffic lights.  Continue reading

Photo Essay: Spring Equinox


The last day of Winter solemnly arrived while I was in Boston taking care of some things.  Since I could not wish it farewell from my cabin in Maine, I decided to go to the next best place: Provincetown, MA.  The first set of photos is of that evening as we drove around New England, through Cape Cod, via spending sunset at Herring Cove (the only place on the East Coast where you can see the sun set over the ocean), and then on through town for a night of celebration.  The second set is from my morning at Race Point, where I finally got to see the sun rise over the ocean for the first time, and then on around the coast until I met a cute friend sunbathing on some rocks in the breaker.  I’d never been close to a seal before, so I carefully approached it and laid down next to it for a while.  Together, we enjoyed the first morning of Spring.  Continue reading

Militia Porn

The following is from a catalog that appeared in my mailbox, with a huge M48 Kommando [sic] Crossbow on the cover and some guy decked out in special forces gear – mask and all.  The culture of this magazine is intriguing to me as it reminds me of the gun shows my dad took me to where there were a lot of angry white men ready to fight for America, with their common enemy being anyone that is not them.  They hate President Obama and love Nazi paraphernalia.  It’s terrifying to see one of the most politically uneducated, socially intolerant, and paranoid cultures in the country arming itself like their tomorrow depends on it (which they believe).  This is the same culture I’ve seen involved with abortion clinic bombings, hate crimes against minorities, and mass shootings.  Here they call themselves freedom fighters, god’s army, militia men, and patriots, while their equivalents abroad prefer to be labeled under the more umbrella term of al-Qaeda.  Mind you, I only picked some of the more interesting ones, but for each item here there are many more just as outrageously dangerous and tacky:

  • Replica of the Gun That Killed Lincoln
  • Armor of God Coin (gold-plated w/Ephesians 6:13-17)
  • Throwing Tomahawk
  • German Nazi WWII Dagger (back by popular demand)
  • Brass Balls (scrotum) Key Chain
  • Handcuff Shim Pick
  • Trojan Helmet
  • 70-inch African Spear w/Wood Handle
  • Stink Bombs
  • Black Large Split Hide Bull Whip
  • Tiger Eye Obelisk (“ward off negative forces”)
  • No Bull Walking Stick (“The legendary bull waking stick was originally constructed with the dried penis of famous rodeo bulls…While the natural bull penis canes lacked durability, the polypropylene constructed replica is nearly indestructible.”)
  • Blowgun Kit
  • Book: “Emergency War Surgery”
  • Border Patrol Survival Bowie (caption on blade: “America Will Defend***Illegals Not Welcome”; made in China)  Continue reading