Matt Coplon

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

Posts from Matt:

Mind Burglar.

Have you ever walked through a doorway, with something in your hand, and looking down, not know why its there? Why are you here, now? ... read more

The Hand And The Finger.

My grandfather’s room had a smell mixed between distant, stale cigarette smoke and bleach. The cigarette smoke would waft in from the dining room. It ... read more

An Assault with a Deadly Missile.

They took our shoelaces. Our shoes fit like slippers. We had to shuffle around doing our best to keep them on. Touching the floor with ... read more

Skinhead Island.

Tampa Bay once suffered a massive influx of racist, neo-nazi skinheads. And within our punk scene was where they converged. Here, fights were inevitable. Though ... read more

Thirteen Ways of Looking at the Aegean.

The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying. --Wallace Stevens Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird. I. Gate #98. Newark Airport. 6pm: The witching hour for ... read more

The Art of Compulsion.

Washington, DC. Mid July. Humid. Gloomy. I didn’t know anything important about the capital city. I knew it had a little punk history. I could identify a ... read more

Nut Cut.

"So, Joseph, you don't want kids?" I was thrown off. Not by the question, but from being called by my given name. It was a title ... read more

“Craw-sant,” our battle cry.

I got stuck on drive-through in the mornings. Facing East, a single oak tree served as shade, the Spanish moss pulling its limbs to earth. ... read more

Nine Lives.

"Matthew." I propped myself up in bed by my elbows. Staring straight ahead I saw no one. "Spike's dead." I looked to the left, and there was my ... read more

Time to Make the Donuts

A thousand bronze and silver coins scattered across the counter. Or what seemed like a thousand as I counted them one by one. The ... read more

Satan’s Sweet Tooth.

The prince of satanic death metal was directly in front of me. I worked my eyes from the ground up. Black Hi-Tec combat boots. Black ... read more

A Feather Weight in a Criminal Ring.

The cops were coming. We saw them cooking across the courtyard, tires spitting up grass, lights rotating as if someone had just been murdered. We ... read more