Following on from “The Business of Death” posted earlier this month… January, 2007. It took my father four hours to choke to death. I sat vigil in his hospital room as he fought the fluid in his lungs, his face a mask of agony, unable to speak or communicate in any way. His eyes, […]
I haven’t had sex since 1995. Good sex, I mean. Enjoyable sex. The pain started in 95. A pain so severe that drawing breath felt like I was being tasered in the eye. Sex, of course, was almost out of the question. Pursued and practiced simply because I choose a self-destructive path designed to defy […]
The greatest mystery isn’t why my dad left. It’s what happened to him between 1985, when he vanished into the night, and 2000, when he sued me for control of my mother’s estate.
It’s the anniversary year for Great Society. In April of 2001, I set up Dirtyfreaks.com. I think there was the vague idea that it would be a porn site, but that somehow drifted into becoming a “literary” community. Which, then, drifted into insane ranting behind the guise of “Nacho Sasha” and, ten years later, I’m […]
Christmas. I hate Christmas. I always have. And I don’t mean in that Seasonal Affective Disorder way. I mean, here I am in March and I’m dreading December. It consumes me. I’m always thinking: Oh…god. Christmas. Again. Why doesn’t it alternate years? That’s the healthy way to do it. Christmas every second year. Give us […]
Long ago, a girl once said that I wouldn’t be able to survive the death of my grandparents. A comment that disturbed me then and now. She was so up in my shit that she asked me to marry her, and is now entering her sixth year of aggressively stalking me, and yet she didn’t […]
For quite some time now, I’ve been having a recurring dream. I guess. The dream itself isn’t the same, but it always has the same sort of ending – I’m walking at night in my childhood neighborhood and enter a convenience store. All very mundane! But I’ll still write about it because it’s stupid “project […]
The holidays – starting with Thanksgiving – have always pitched me into depression. I’ll spend the long stretch until the new year pissed off, envious of the happier people, and generally mourning what I view to be a disastrously wasted 36 years.
As I get older, I find myself missing the ritual of Catholicism. I’ve been toying with the idea of popping into a mass some Sunday, getting back into the habit, resuming where I left off when I was 14. Up till then, I enjoyed the church. I even wanted to be a priest, and fantasized […]
Today I want to condemn the highly corporate Silver Spring Farmers Market. Because we should be honest with ourselves. The Silver Spring Farmers Market sucks. So where do I go? I go to the Kensington farmers market, because they don’t know how to use an apostrophe.