Boredom Diaries

The Story I tell the Least.

I. Mother Brain I sat on the edge of Craig’s bed, legs dangling off the edge. It was a single. Narrow. Just five feet away from Alan’s. Another single, pushed against the far wall. Craig was 12. Old enough to cruise the neighborhood at all hours on his bike. Alan was 17. Old enough to… Continue reading

Memory Believes Before Knowing Remembers.

“Memory believes before knowing remembers.” -William Faulkner The pine woods surrounded us. The thin, dark green spikes offered shade at a bare minimum. It smelled like Christmas, partially comforting, when you didn’t whiff someone else’s acrid sweat stink. When you didn’t intermittently smell the surfactant, decomposing shit, creeping slowly into the air through the half… Continue reading

The Cut Up Truth About Sex.

Entry #10 The Cut Up Truth About Sex. I remember biting on her ear I had the whole thing in my mouth and what we had was a failing to communicate because the practice of talking and not saying anything became synonymous with the chaos and confusion of sexuality. They tell you what you want… Continue reading

The Boredom Diaries: Reanimated.

It’s been almost a year since I’ve conjured an unsolicited narrative. Simply put, I just lost the inspiration to write. There was no definitive reason. Being busy, maybe? I read enough, outside ideas flowing in and out daily. This is what I have always used as a previous catalyst. I’ve been traveling enough. A sight…. Continue reading

Being Maiden America

There are few trips I’ve not wanted to see come to an end. Especially long ones. But there was something about these nine days on the road that made this one in particular much different. The players involved? The modus operandi? The scenery? The mutual, unusual experiences shared by the lot that tightened bonds of… Continue reading

Architecture Of A Cult.

Scene One: Winter, 2011. It was winter. The sun was setting earlier on those days. The orange light dull, dipping west, barely illuminating the intersections. Pedaling through downtown, we were stopped by a passing couple. A young man. A young woman. Both no older than twenty. The devotees seemed to travel in two’s, always a… Continue reading

Gator Totem.

Bruce Chatwin was haunted by what was in his mother’s curio cabinet. Behind the glass was a hunk of skin, with a tuft of orange fur sprouting off like a chia head. When young, he seemed certain that is was a chunk of a monster. Many years later, he’d discover it was actually a piece… Continue reading

Wedding Day.

There was a short bridge, a perfect arch over an inlet, a cement rainbow delivering us onto the island. The day before, a Royal Navy nuclear sub had beached itself on some rocks at low tide. The giant black pill, harboring enough TNT to engulf a medium sized city, left helpless after navigation gone wrong…. Continue reading

Cigar City.

“It is worth the while to see your native village thus…as if you were a traveler passing through it.” -Henry David Thoreau Ybor, a small sub city, more like a district within Tampa, has seen dozens of revivals over the past century. The initial renaissance, starting in 1902, gave it tenure as the cigar manufacturing… Continue reading

In Bloom.

Diagonally across the state of Florida is a small town called Fort Pierce. There, in the late 50’s, a group of African American artists taught themselves how to paint landscapes. Those landscapes would become famous representations of a part of Florida unique only to its southern, coastal geography well below the city I grew up… Continue reading

Prologue. Epilogue. The End.

In November of 2011, I took a short trip up to DC. Over the course of those three days, I caught up with an old friend who A. I never get to see quite enough, and B. has no clue how much he has positively affected me over the years. Throughout the late 90’s, our… Continue reading

Philos.

I hoped only for submission. The most viable move: to pin him down with my knees. To swing with both fists, using the ball of my palm, beating him against his arms and chest, but careful never to hit his face. When we fought, even within my own preemptive strike, I always maintained a code… Continue reading