I was thinking last night that there is so much of America that man cannot walk on. So much interstate. Does that sound like freedom to you? I tried to talk on the interstate to hitch hike in Vermont and New York, and almost got arrested twice. That's kind of funny, when yout hink about it.

It's the afternoon in Rochester and the sun is like a knife and I'm wondering just what dedication is. I'm wondering how people make time for dedication with so many fucking demands. I'm wondering why old flip-flop crazy-women don't just tell me to fuck off, and cause me more pain than they're worth, more pain than I'm worth ( Read more... )

I spent time today with a beautiful girl from my past, whom I kissed once and marveled at for endless hours afterward. I stood with her upon an old castle-top and watched the lake, like a dream in the center of the earth, rolling and wild. I spoke of the deaths I've seen, the slow death I watch now, and searched her eyes and her lips and her skin ( Read more... )

I spun madly, hot ashes pouring from my lips. Everything felt squandered. I glued dreams to my mind and pressed forward, like a broken machine. I wanted to be a fisherman, I wanted to reel a future out of the algae-ridden pond. I slept at night in the fields and stared drunk into the night-prison, a broken bottle in my fingers. I had stolen ( Read more... )

I am a liar. On the bus to Rochester from Binghamton, I lied to a beautiful girl. I wanted her to dig on me. I lied about my accent and about where I was from and the things I'd done, and I kissed her and felt her velvet lips. And then her tongue graced the roof of my mouth like fire. And I felt rotten, like a thief ( Read more... )