Matt Coplon

Work by day. Ride by evening. Write by night.

Posts from Matt:

Collapsing Into The Whatever.

How in the hell did this happen? The placement exam, eighty multiple choice, covering everything I knew nothing about. In it being so wide open on material, ... read more

Vocal Shrapnel.

“Fuck” Was the word that started all this. I used it to express exasperation. Driving while on the phone, my wife in the passenger seat, “Fuck, what a mess?” ... read more

Resurrecting a Corpse.

The Law of Conservation of Energy. One of few ideas I retained from a year’s worth of high school physics. Its main premise: energy cannot ... read more

Till Death Do Us Part.

We had spent the entire Fall building our jumps. Four total at that point. The main lip dug about six feet under sea level, we’d ... read more

Cyclone Barbiturate.

It was a shotgun home. Narrow and rectangular. An old cigar worker's abode from the early twentieth century. Up front, facing the street, two absolutely ... read more

Soul Sucking Literary Suicide.

It’s been a year. Twenty Six posts. Roughly twenty six thousand words. Half a novel. Each entry a tiny sample of things running past and ... read more

Revving Up Like A Deuce.

To have an Achilles’ Heal is inevitable. To have a laundry list of Achilles’ Heals is inevitably human. For me, my metal weaknesses include and are not ... read more

Neo-Nazi House Party.

Wherever they were, we went. We, the middle class kids, flexing behind our socialist, do-good for all banner. We served food to the homeless on ... read more

What The Desert Brings.

Simulacra, by definition, is the ‘imitation of someone or something.’ Jean Baudrillard goes even further, ‘the substituting of signs of the real for the real: ... read more

The Unbearable Greatness of Being.

In November, I visited Gram C. at her nursing home. Although I stopped by as often as possible, it was always hard to visit. Each ... read more

Be Sure To Wear Flowers In Your Hair.

“‘The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer in San Francisco.’ I think that’s how it went? Was it Thoreau? Maybe Emerson?’” I listened briefly to the ... read more

Cock and Balls.

Driving has always been difficult for me. Depth perception. Speed. Using the proper signals at the proper time. But, the more I drive, the more ... read more