Tonight is trick or treat. Some kids will come by and take candy and I will rot their teeth with it. They will place out large plastic buckets and I will fill it. I used to look forward to this holiday so much that I staked out every store looking for the perfect costume. Today, I stood in K-Mart and looked around and realized that Halloween had passed me by and we were standing in Christmas. And this year, we're gonna cancel Christmas. Don't we promise to do that every year? Let's just cancel all holidays and chain our legs to desks we don't want to be at. Fuck it. But tonight? Tonight I will hand out candy.

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If our hearts could pump out light, I wish it could be neon.

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There's no payoff for the dramatic amount of pain that we put ourselves through. There's no rainbow at the end of your pot of gold. There is just this and then there is dirt and thank whatever the fuck that that's it.

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There is going to be some gray and I'm going to adjust my percentages and I'm trying to adjust my hue and saturation and then I'll be there, inside the colors, gone from the world of CMYK and RGB and existing simply in the nice and easy two colors which are not colors at all. They are the absence ad presence of all colors. But I don't want to get into a long drawn out discussion about the color choices that define my existence, because I won't even be visible in the world of mixed tones and complementary color choices. I will fall and fall and fall and fall and fall forever and laugh out loud so loud it will haunt your every fucking dream.

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If I can quote someone else,
"Whenever you are walking, you're just moving the ground.
Whenever you are talking, you're just moving your mouth."

Live on credit and the bill comes due sooner or later. This movie is almost over and I have no interest in seeing how it ends.

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"Born to lose and destined to fail," the lyrics scream in my headphones, the only outlet of safety from a world of loudness and confusion. I am a little edgier, I gave up on all the things that were supposed to make it easier to get through and have decided to just do it on my own. I feel like the world's safety net, but I am confident in the fact that I have none of my own and that soon, I will do the little dance that I love so much. I will go into that night like its my last, with the hope that it isn't and the lack of caring that makes me me.

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Another when I was young story.

I used to keep my smut under the bed in a zebra striped gym bag. In college, I dated a girl at home and she asked once, "How many breasts have you seen naked?" I replied, in what I thought was a coy manner, "Probably a million." Of course, I meant in magazines. She said, "Oh, I bet you keep your smut under your bed." She busted into the house before I could stop her and flipped out. "I thought I was good enough for you," she pleaded. "They are old ones," I said. I lied. I mean, if old issues are from last week. I think I am the shittiest liar ever. So...short story long, I ended up outside burning them one by one while she watched. I burned my hands really bad trying to save one. Such is the story of my life.

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Ribs were cooking and I know, I promised to cook things on low. But I set them on fire. They were ablaze. En fuego. There was just char and a little meat, so I bit off what I could chew and fed it to the dog. Don't be sore.

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When I am in physical pain, I imagine that it is a giant tablet. I pull page after page off of it, and each page that is removed is one less amount of pain. You have to imagine how big the tablet has gotten. I would say that it could not fit in a building these days.

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If I have learned anything from Death Race 2000, and yes, I have, thank you for asking, it's that the President should have the most awesome car on the road. And this should be his car. Also, I wish Frankenstein was up for election, because I trust a fictional person who has been built from the body of dead race car drivers than the two idiots running.

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Zip City is Ellwood City to New Castle and back and forth. I had that road memorized. Zip City it's a good thing that they built a wall around you. What you build builds you. You should never think your teens and 20s will make your life what it ends up being.

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Walking to the car when
walking didn't seem all that
important or fun

Looking up to the sun
but there is none
when it's two oh seven am

Squall whine scream
white noise in black sky
hum under fake light source

It's the kind of night
where doing something stupid in hindsight
feels right in second guess

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This window could be anywhere in the world, but it's in New Castle.

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Ellwood City stories #4

The Red Hot used to be on the Fifth Street bridge, which is no longer the Fifth Street bridge. Now it has a long ass, Ellwood City Lincoln Junior Senior High School Blue Band and Veterans bridge, or somesuch kind of thingy do.

Pee Wee's is gone, but Red Hot has remained. They opened a Brighton Hot Dog Shoppe next to it, and it is still here. It's the chili. It will beat your ass into the earth.



I have never had fries anywhere like here, either. And I usually hate fries.

It says something for a place if I like the fries.

Once, when I was a kid, I watched an episode of Kolchak the Night Stalker that freaked me out. See, I used to dress like Carl Kochack. When I was 3. I wanted to hunt monster, but I was scared shitless of them. In the last episode (there are only 20, yet I have watched them all so many times), The Sentry, a lizard creature keeps attacking people. Well, I was freaked that the lizard was real. I had an overactive imagination, and well, encouraging parents. Well, I was in the bathroom too long (and this has remained a problem my entire life, I get lost in the toilet), and my dad wanted me to come out and eat. So, when the lizard was about kill, he would knock on the wall, then bust out. So, of course, dad knocked like the lizard, and I fled the bathroom with pants around my ankles.

Yes, I had a good childhood.

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They have never changed the can. I am sure it upsets some people. But man, I have been drinking this since I was a kid and it always brings me back to innocence. It mixes cherry with strawberry and is perfect to balance against chili. You can't always find it. But it's out there.

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This was Pee Wee's. It was an all night hot dog place in my hometown. It's gone. But I wish I could take you back in time so you could see it. It was all metal, the grill never got cleaned and the stools fell apart and it was filled with drunks and staffed by old ladies quick with a retort. In other words, it's what I assume heaven would be like if it existed. There were no french fries. Instead, hash browns. Brutal chili that could mask any alcohol on your breath. And gyros. But it's gone, like I said. I wish I could smell it one more time, that strange mix of staleness and spice, lingering in the air, people lined up against the wall to buy just one more hot dog.

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Today is my dad's 70th birthday. I can think of no better picture of him than this. He's passed out and snuggling with my dog. He loves that dog. He wakes up early to walk him and he feeds him sandwiches by hand. My dad has so much love in him. It's intimidating being his son, because I fear that I will never live up to the example that he set for me. I've done my best. But he's reached more people than I could ever hope to and loved harder and better than I could ever dream of trying. He accepts me regardless of the fact that I am a complete fucking disaster. And he always laughs and smiles while taking care of everyone else. I wish I had all the money in the world so I could make his life easier. But then, he'd probably still play the nickel slots.

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iTunes is on random and Tom sings, "Sometimes at night, I pray to wake a different person in a different place." Sometimes he screams, "They make all the right reasons to fuck it up." And I yell out, every time, no matter how many people are in my office, "You're gonna fuck it up."

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I stopped dressing nice. No one noticed. I started drinking at 10. Nobody cared. I sleepwalk through life. No one else is awake to see.

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There are places that I refuse to go to because they are too easy to be at and aren't real. I can linger in them for much longer than I would like to admit and then it takes weeks to get past them. But I gave in and fell in the other day and it felt good. I didn't end up staring at the wall. I let what felt good feel good and so far, everything was fine. But I have built these walls and I have made this skin and I have spent more time in the valleys than the peaks than I would like to.

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Summer is gone and fall is here and summer was playful and mischievous. Fall is quiet. Fall is dark before you know it. But there is beauty here, too. The reds of the leaves and the chill inteh night air, the first frost on my windshield, your breath in the air.

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Ritual and superstition govern the day. The rings must be kept, the bride must remain unseen. Everything must go just so and it rarely does. But when you got a less than fifty fifty chance, you follow all the superstitions that you can.

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Walking through the park, I love seeing old couples walk hand in hand. I love watching them talk. I try and glean some feeling from it with my empathy, because I won't ever be there. It's a nice feeling, growing and sharing and just living. And then I walk away in the opposite direction.

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In a sea of sameness, you don't let something go when it's unique.

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Why do they throw rice at weddings? Fertility, some think. Others think that it is to feed any evil spirits at the wedding, so that they have other things to do, and make them happy so they leave the couple alone. Many people say you shouldn't throw rice to birds because it kills them. That's not true. Rice is as harmless to birds as, well, rice. They eat it all the time in the fields. It's just hard to clean up. And you can fall on it, pretty easily. That's why they invented the lie.

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At night, I used to feel like things made sense, but now I just want the day to come faster. I sleep less so that I wake up faster. I used to say that my life was a Tom Waits song, but now I feel like a Modest Mouse song. To wit, "It's the same on the weekends as the rest of the days. And I know I should go, but I'll probably stay. And that's all you can do about some things. I'm trying to drink away the part of the day that I cannot sleep away." I look around the house and realize that it's already dark and that I've been up for 14 hours and yet I am surprised that the daylight is gone. My living room smells like oranges and Jolly Ranchers and smoke and yet I cannot get rid of the need to fill the air and my eyes and my brain with stimulus. I'm going to stay inside from now on, I'm going to just let this couch be my ship on the stormy seas of life. I have tried to open the galley and now I realize that it's time to batten down the hatches and drink and devil had done for the rest. No one's gonna be left standing and all I want to do is lie down and let my head just stop ringing for a bit. I'm shocked that the weekend is over, but nowadays, there is no real need to look forward to anything. I used to give myself little rewards and small goals but now, I've done everything I ever wanted to do and now, I float, and I drift, and I think sometimes it's best to insulate myself inside the walls of my never-paid for castle. Bill collectors are the only people who seem to stay in touch with me, but all they really ever want to talk about is when they're gonna get paid. I try and ask them about the weather or what they think about the latest movie show, and all they want to say is that I owe them $450. And that's what my life has come down to. Who I owe what to, what I have to work toward, and when I will pay them. Because that's what it's really all about. First they only wanted time, but they really didn't, and now, they only want the balloon payment at the end of the failed rainbow. And now I keep seeing the same pictures with different headlines and new abbreviations. "Run from the pigs, the fuzz, the cops, the heat. Pass me your gloves, theres crime and its never complete." Everyone knows my name. And all I want to do is find something that erases my mind and starts me over. I can't give anyone what they want and no one has the cure for the diseases that ail me on a per 15 minute basis. But outside the leaves are turning colors and I like that, I can go with that, I'll cling to that today. They fall to the ground, being leaves, because that's all they know how to do.

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It's a calming feeling when you smell the gunpowder and the flashes and loud noises are all around you. Some people would be a little nervous, but to me, it's very calming. Like a Calgon bath. If a Calgon bath could kill people.

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He had enough. He was catching a bus. He had had enough of baths, of being forced to wear human clothes, of the leash, of having to be nice to the cats. But then he realized he had it pretty good, so he decided to stay.

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I am not half the photographer that N is, but let me tell you, trying to get Angelo to pose in the park with a cam phone? My greatest accomplishment.

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There is a man who walks the park cleaning garbage. He is in his late 80s and he cleans the garbage for free, because he should and feels like it's right. He takes all the cans and trash and gets rid of them, but when he finds a toy, he keeps it. He takes it and nails it to a fence outside his house. And if it's your toy, or if you want it, all you have to do is knock on his door and ask him to take his hammer and pull it off. Then, it's yours. He doesn't want any money. He just likes to wake up and clean the park.

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Sometimes I feel like a failure. Other times I feel like a success. Sometimes I feel like I have no idea where life is going to take me. And there are moments where I know that I am exactly where I always wanted to be. Sometimes my body hurts and I feel my age. But today, I feel 16. Deadlines and jobs and work will never dull the fun in my eyes.

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When you look out the window, you see the highway and I see the trees. The pixels connect thoughts of the city from the country. This is the best time of the year, when kids climb into trees to scream Supremes songs. When corn gets thrown at siding strewn houses. When garish trees are just about ready for bulbs and garland. The year is almost over and I'm looking outside my window some more and I wish I could be looking out the windshield, or better yet, the rear view mirror, seeing this town and this state in the dust as sail is set for towns only read about.

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I used to cross under this bridge every day. I had my route memorized. And now, I have a new one. Someday, I'll have another one. But today, my route is my own. Actually, I'd like it a lot more if my route wasn't planned. If every day, I woke up with no noise and slept as long as I could. Then I'd get up, make some art and make some eggs. I wish I could find a way to heal houses the same way people get healthier. I'd go up to that house on the hill and put on band aids and give it medicine and make it the kind of place where the hardwood yearns to kiss roller skate wheels.

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Today, I don't want to be here. I want to hitch the Airstream to the Cadillac and make the open road our home. The only supplies we'd need are precooked bacon and some peanut butter. Maybe some water. I have the mixtapes and the map. Just bring your singing voice and who knows where the highway will lead.

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I'll tell you what really makes me happy. When I saw her the other day, she had a moment of recognition. And then, nothing would keep her from seeing me. Galloping. Her little legs taking her sausage body as fast as it could go and jumping and excitement and love. There's a lot of love inside this little body, I have decided. I rang in the new year with her by my side and we promised to make 2008 rock. Or something. She was really busy barking at nothing with Jerry the dog, but I think that's what she said.

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Sometimes, I think we're looking down. But the truth is, we're not. It's all up from here, and not uphill. And even if not, sometimes, it feels good to lie in the green grass and feel it squish and move and twist between your toes. Even in the heart of the city, we find the green. And as you can see, the chainlink crisscross has no power over it. It winds its way through it and grows, ever upward. Reaching out into the warmness of the day and opening its arms wide open. I'd like to think that this town isn't forever. That the city isn't forever. That the roads will be as open as the green and all of the places that are cherished will never go away, never fade. That all night stores and drive in movies and theme motels will always keep their doors open for bums and gypsies.

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Sometimes, I want to write something to express how I feel and then I realize that nobody cares. Not even me.

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There's nothing in the world that you can do

My dream is to be behind a microphone in a foggy, drunken bar, singing "The world is not my home, I'm just passing through. You gotta come up to the house." Meanwhile, barflies will cry their way through one last boilermaker and we'll all go home alone.

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Asleep next to me, there he is. A little soul. My reason for sticking around. Long haired shaggy chubby snoring muttastic mutt. I love you. More than anyone or anything else, I love you. You make me laugh every single day. You lick my face when I feel moody. And you sleep all the time. You have a good life. You sure as fuck make mine better. Just think, this time last year, we were strangers. And now, we're best of friends. I refuse to claim that master/dog relationship. We're equals. Now, stop slacking and get a job.

PS - Just kidding.

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The story turned out exactly like I thought it would. Which is, to say, it became a non-story. It became non-important. It became as lifeless as a dead bird smashed under a bike tire. Where once you saw something, now you see nothing. No spark. Slowly drifting into the haze, like a rag handed to you by a stereotypical 70s wrestling heel manager, knocking your own self off to slumber. I hope that in the end, it's just long, long sleep. No heaven. No singing. Just sleep, just rest from the war. I try and fail to hope that everyone sees that negativity is just pointless, until I am caught in their wave and sit here, adrift on a couch in the middle of a carpet sea, asleep dog my first mate, in a world of what ifs and never will bes and why nots and whatever. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. If you repeat things long enough, they become a mantra. It becomes a mantra. Whatever. But you have to believe in mantras to make them real and I believe in absofuckinglutely nothing the fuck at all ever. I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep and then, sleep.

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See, I held out hope for so long that I was unique and special. But the truth was, I was just another page with all the same black type on a white page. The words said about me were the same as the ones on the page before, the one after, and the one after that. The ink stains rub off on your fingers and you wash my words down the sink, as important as the dirt under your nails and as essential as the sand in your eyes.

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CHICKEN WEEK 2 A last thought

We take the black and white velvet and color it with our mind's eye. Splash the hues and make the magic in our heart exist outside ourselves for once. We will make the rooster crow and speak to you in an accent you've never heard before.

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CHICKEN WEEK 2 Postscript

We celebrated the end of chicken week with some of the best wings ever. Sesame wings. Louisiana wings. Oh, the wings. A hug and a laughter and an exclaimed, "Yay, chicken week." See you next year.



Thumbs up, chicken week. Thumbs up.

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Finally, at the end of chicken week, I will give you a recipe.

You need one package of Philadelphia Cream Cheese
As much Frank's Hot Sauce as you'd like
A cup or so of Ranch or Blue Cheese
A block of cheddar cheese
A can or two of chicken

Soften the cream cheese and then add everything except the chicken. Make it all nice and bubbly, but do it slow. Don't burn stuff like I do bacon when I am taking a shower and cooking at the same time. Then, add the chicken, and cook for another few minutes. Make it all nice and coated evenly.

AND THEN EAT! YAY!

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CHICKEN WEEK YEAR 2 - DAY 5 Part 1

Last night, I partook of chicken, as did my cats and dog. We all gathered and marveled at the chicken. Well, I did. And soon, it was gone, as my animals proved that they are top of the food chain. Like sharks.

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CHICKEN WEEK YEAR 2 - DAY 4 Part 3

If chickens have a lobby, and I don't think they do, they would protest this. But then again, I think if they did have a lobby, and again, I am saying that they don't, they would probably protest the fact that we ritualistically and unritualistically conduct a holocaust on them daily. I think I will get wings with bacon on them today. Fuck you, chicken lobby (and, by extension, pig lobby).

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