Little Man

i sat and watched
a stray cat play
in the trash today
he kept stopping
to peek over at me
i talked to him
out loud but quietly
you’re OK little man
i won’t hurt you
you’re a lot like me
sifting through
discarded memory
in fact, we are the same
we sift through the past
frame by frame
it’s sad but we will not
find the truth today
there’re no answers
to how we go this way
despite how much we dig
Little Man
we will always be lost

In My American Dream, Love Trumps All

There’s no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going.

I made some jokes over the past few months about where I would move if Donald Trump won the presidency. Jokes that were based in fear of what that America would look like. I thought they were jokes because I honestly didn’t think the man could win.

As I watched on election night and it became clear that he was going to win,  my instinct wasn’t to fall back on that fear. Yes, I was shocked and sad but it didn’t make me feel like running. It just solidified for me, my pride and love for my country.

It made me want to write and write more than ever. It made me want to pursue and achieve what MY American dream is. It made me want to do that with more fervor and determination than I’ve ever felt before.

So that is what I’m going to do. I’m going to write and I’ve started putting together what will be my third book and I’m doing it a little bit differently. Does anyone remember the era of Zines? The title is, At The End of Entin Road, a title inspired by the loss of one of my dearest friends. My friend Jamie and I discovered music together, we learned about Doing it yourself and this “book” is going to be the most DIY thing I’ve ever done.

I don’t necessarily write about love or anything all that happy really. What I do write, though, comes from a place of empathy and compassion. I write to find a way to feel connected with people even if we disagree on certain things. I have learned when I write, I expose myself, and when I’m vulnerable is when I make those connections.

I can’t believe that my country is so divided that this feeling of being connected with others isn’t as important to everyone as it is to me. I’m an introvert who secretly loves people. Because of this, I have to do something I’ve only really talked about before. I have to take my writing on the road: put myself on stage and be more exposed, more vulnerable than ever before. I have to and I will.

I’m publicly declaring the following statements of which I expect all of you to hold me accountable for.

In the next four years…

  • I will visit, explore and perform at least once in every state.
  • I will travel and tour more than I ever have before.
  • I will publish at least one book per year.
  • I will publish my first novel.

American, I thought I knew you but clearly not as well as I thought. This is my promise to continue to learn and love you more than ever!

How i Cope with Depression

i’ve been wanting to write something all week and i just couldn’t get my mind around what i wanted to say. It wasn’t until i was writing an email to someone i use to work with, that i realized exactly what i wanted to say. She wrote to me, telling me about how she stumbled across my website and how she felt about me and my writing.

“Although some of your words are shocking and vulgar I adore your writings!”

What she couldn’t have known is the internal struggle i have been going through about my book and the things i have written. Her positive reinforcement was something i really needed with the launch of my book. She was very open and honest about her struggles, struggles i can’t help but relate to. I wrote… “As you know, to feel as low as we can feel in life sometimes is hard enough but i for some reason feel that absolute need to write about it. Not just right about but also share it publicly. it’s part of what helps me. To find out we aren’t alone.”

“To see, after working with you, your great love and respect for the people you work with is inspiring!”

I wrote to her about how most of the feedback i get is positive but ironically it’s the people closest to me that have the hardest time trying to understand. It’s easy to see why especially when you are the subject of the words. How could you be objective about what you read when you are reading about yourself?

“Reading your words made me feel more understood and less alone in that time in my life”

i know that what i write at times will upset people, it will hurt people, people who i love and people who love me. This was and is my biggest struggle with releasing my book but it’s not my biggest struggle in life. Sometimes people don’t understand my choice with how i cope with depression. In my letter,i wrote…”their intentions are of love and caring but what i don’t think they can comprehend is that just a moment of relating with someone who understands is more helpful, more powerful and healing for me than any doctor or prescription.”

And from there i continued to pontificate about life saying…”Life is not all bad, not even close. There are times where it’s hard to see the sun through the clouds and impossible to feel warm in the rain. Some days are hot and other days or brutally cold (well maybe not in FL). Sometimes the wind is harsh and sometimes the breeze is perfect. Sometimes i laugh, sometimes i cry, sometimes i feel nothing and all of if this is beautiful. Life is beautiful and i use words to try and remind myself of that.”

and… “We might not all have the same experiences in life but we all have a story, a past, a secret, a lie, a bruised spot on our heart that never seems to heal. Just another thing that makes life beautiful.”

“After reading your writings I realize someone understands. Someone I adored and looked up to at work understood me and my situation.”

i realize now, that i must continue to use words as medication. The worst thing i could is to have upset and hurt people close to me for no good reason. All of this has a purpose and through the hurt and pain, i think it will make life taste a little sweeter for everyone.

“I just wanted you to know that your writing has had an impact on me, you had already had an impact on me. Your words have an impact! Never forget that, as you clearly often do.”

i have to say thank you for this letter and thank you to everyone who has purchased my book. You have inspired me more than ever and now that i’ve put myself out there, i must push harder and do it more. i want to put this show on the road, why can’t a poet open for a band? i think taking the words off the page and delivering them personally would be absolutely terrifying but potentially the most rewarding thing i could ever do.



#WhoAreYou (part three)

The Interview (part three)

Do you think it’s possible your writing could give people an unfavorable view of you?

What you’re asking me is will people think i’m an asshole, and yes i think there’s a very real possibility of that. i reveal a lot about others and not always in a very kind way. My family will be horrified, people who were co-workers, bosses or my employees will be shocked, ex-girlfriends/lovers might be flattered, embarrassed or completely outraged.

Is it your intention to be shocking.

Like i’ said before, i never set out to be controversial or shocking. i just wanted to be as honest as possible and it turns out honesty is shocking. While is was in the writing process of The Lies That Cause The Cancer i was completely unaware of how what i was writing could make me look. It wasn’t until the editing process that i became aware of how self-absorbed and even misogynistic it could come across. There are definitely lines in the book that still make me cringe and i’ve been living with these words for a few years now.

Why not edit the book to put a better light on you?

i made a conscious decision to respect the words and the moments. Self-editing can be very tricky, there’s a big difference between editing and rewriting. Trust me there was plenty of things i wanted to omit but i knew then it would just be a book of lies. In hindsight, i learned something about myself. Nobody judges me more harshly than i judge myself and i think that’s why my words can make me seem so shitty. It’s because that’s how i felt about myself when i was writing them.




The Lookway

Why, when driving on the highway and someone passes you or you pass them, they have to give you a look. Is everyone on the highway subconsciously hoping they pass someone they know? It’s not a mean look or a friendly look. Is it a look of judgment? Am I driving too fast, too slow?  Don’t judge me, yes I’m singing at the tops of my lungs while picking my nose! Keep your eyes on the road lady!

White Boy That Loves To Suck Big Black C***


This is the graffiti, exactly as i found it, from the left mens room stall at the A&P in West Paterson, NJ. (I know it’s Woodland Park now but I refuse to refer to is as such.) The email is accurate and I don’t know whether or not it’s real but you can email White Boy yourself to see if you get a response.

The reason I wrote down this bit of graffiti was because it gave me an idea for a story. A story about a man who contacts the people on the other side of all the bathroom wall art he comes across and all the adventures he would find himself on. No, it wouldn’t be all nasty sex stories! Get your head out of the gutter pervert.

The more I think about this idea the more I think about just contacting the people myself from the calligraphy I find on my journeys through public restrooms. Who knows maybe some of them are real or at least the contact info goes to someone even if they didn’t put it wherever i might have found it. Again, you seriously need to get your head out of the gutter. I have no intention on meeting anyone in person. How unsavory! Plus you should know how much I don’t like meeting new people. I don’t like to see the people I already know. If you want to see me you’ll have to become a regular or get a job at Chilis. Anyway…

It sounds like it would be interesting to see what people have to say about why/how their info got tagged on a mens room wall. I would be inclined to share such stories with the three of you. OK, maybe I should just write the story as the idea first developed or maybe I should do BOTH. I don’t know, I don’t know if there will be time.

Five Thirty Sunday Morning

Have you ever been in bed trying to fall asleep but your mind won’t let you sleep; it won’t even let you be comfortable?  Does your mind connect you to memories randomly and for no apparent reason? Memories that inspire your heart to put a strangle hold on your guts; that cover your flesh with that warm pasty sensation of emotional discomfort.  Have you ever tried to push that memory away just so that another painful memory can fall into its place? Have you laid there in bed for hours trying to fall asleep but you don’t sleep because of the pain? All those heavy brick like memories continuously cascading down from somewhere high above you; landing on your body causing you’re whole body to wince the second you get anywhere near falling into slumber.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way, and not because I’m happy, but because I run and I hide. I distract myself with too much Television, too many movies and too many fucking hours of working.  All the distractions, all the mindlessness I force myself into, just to avoid a little pain. I’ve wasted at least a third of a year, intentionally wasting time, for no good reason; it’s easier than spending it wisely. All that time wasted, being one of the walking dead, getting wasted, being a “happy American”.  All that fucking time wasted chasing love, chasing spread legs and moist holes or manually depositing my seed into dirty socks.  I’ve become like, not all of you but most of you. I need this pain, this rage to set myself apart from you. It’s my motivation to do more, to be better and get smarter. I need to stop running and hiding, distracting and self-medicating; it’s the only way to hold onto the pain and ride it like a freight train into every brick wall I can find.

I don’t think that I’m better than anybody. I don’t have more talent. I don’t work harder. I don’t have it harder than anybody else. I just see a different life for myself. I don’t care about my yearly salary. I don’t care about finding a “real job”.  The money I make now is real enough. All I want to do is to somehow matter in this world.  I want to matter, not more than most people just differently. Despite how angry and sad this post sounds, the truth is I’ve had an epiphany. I know with all of my strangled heart that I will matter in exactly the way I need to.

I have always had this unquenchable thirst to express myself. I’m thirty years old now, the only way it’s going away, is if I go away. Fuck That! Anybody who knows me, even just a little bit, knows that I’ve always been my biggest critic. I put myself down before anyone else gets the chance. Something is changing in me; I just don’t give a fuck anymore. I don’t care if I’m not talented enough. I don’t care if I’m not smart enough. I don’t care that my spelling sucks and that I have to Google search how to properly use punctuation. I don’t care that even after looking it up I still do it wrong sometimes.  I’m not going away so either is my thirst to create. I will continue to create in an exhibitionist/voyeuristic fetish kind of way. I will continue. I-will-continue.

Another Dead Christmas Tree

I can’t help but notice all the discarded Christmas trees that have started to line the roads waiting to be picked up. Waiting to rot and decay and become compost for a future years tree. There’s something about the image of all these discarded trees that captures how I’ve come to feel about Christmas and how I feel about myself right now. The spirit, that something that’s supposed to come along with the holiday, all the giving and generosity. It falls so flat for me. I sat in a mall food court and watched people get into the Christmas “spirit” and I can’t recall seeing very many smiles. I did see a lot of angry, frustrated faces. I saw a lot of bad-tempered parents dragging around their inpatient children. I listened to coworkers talk about how worried they were about all the money they spent. I listened to the disappointment in my parents voices when they explained how they had no money to spend. You’re thinking I’m just an asshole but I don’t think I am. I know I’m a very giving person; I do a lot for people every chance I get. I’m a nice a guy and I care about people. I care so much that it’s something I worry about all year not just for the Holidays. I worry that I’m possibly not nice enough, that I don’t give enough and that I have to do more.  The dead Christmas trees line the roads and paint the perfect picture of what Christmas should be and isn’t for me anymore. It’s supposed to be about love. I feel like one of those Christmas trees, put out to the curb. I don’t feel any sense of love in the holidays anymore.

I feel like I go at life with a certain amount of tenacity but the harder I go at it the harder it seems to get. I’m not only the nice guy everyone thinks I am, I’m nicer and I want to be even nicer than that. I’ll never stop going at it but sometimes I get tired, tired of trying so hard and falling flat. I’m tired of giving it everything I’ve got just to fuck it up somehow. On New Year’s Eve, at midnight I stood alone on the front steps of the cabin and listened to all the parties in the distance and watched the fireworks across the lake. In that moment, I knew I was letting life defeat me. I’m defeating myself.  I don’t know what I need to turn this around, love? Maybe I have love and I’m too blind to see it. I’m in a dark place grasping at nothing hoping to find a feeling in my heart that might not exist. All I know is that I am definitely feeling defeated and I’m losing faith in myself. I’m losing faith in the idea of love that I have in my mind. The dead Christmas trees line the road and paint the perfect picture of how I feel.

If Not For My Heart, I’d Have No Sleeves

I sat for a few hours tonight at a book store working on my book. I find that I’m more productive there than at home. While I sat there working on my book I started to think about what affect this book could have on people. It’s the most honest stuff I have ever written. It’s also less like poetry and more like a list of confessions. Which is fine by me, I’ve never really liked that idea of being a poet anyway. Poetry is not a word I’ve ever liked, it sounds inappropriate to me.

“This guy just showed me his poetry!”

“Ewwww! That’s gross! Was it short?”

I don’t know if this book is good or bad and it doesn’t matter. Over all the bands, songs, albums, shows, zines, books I’ve done in my life, I am most proud of this collection of work. I am both extremely excited and completely terrified as to how it will be perceived and also of how it will change people’s perception of me.

The truth about me is that I’m a very sensitive guy. If it wasn’t for my heart I would have no sleeves. I put my heart 100% into everything I do. I’m not just talking about writing and music either. I am totally invested into my job. I have to do a good job I don’t know how to not do a good job. I care about everything single person I work with. I care about my friends. I want to help them with their job, their life. I want to make them smile and laugh. Occasionally, I get angry and yell and say mean things but only because sometimes caring so much gets frustrating. I share my life, my stories openly with people because I think maybe that will help them in some way. If nothing else they can get a good laugh at how foolish I can be. My heart is exposed at all times. If I’m hanging out with a girl and like her, I can’t hide it. I say silly things and write cute poems like a 16 year old boy with a crush.

All of this is why I write and play music. It’s why I’m writing this book. My exposed heart gets pretty banged up on a regular basis and I need a way to recover. Being creative and pouring my heart out does this for me. It’s also a way for me to give a back a little for all the love I receive from people. If I can somehow help and inspire just one other person in my life than all of it will have been worthwhile. It has been worthwhile because I know I’ve helped people. I get gifts with cards with little notes saying how much I’m loved, how much I’m appreciated. I get emails from people thanking me for giving them the courage to do what they needed to do in their life. I do make people smile, I make them think and want to improve their lives.

I truly have an incredible life. I’m so proud of the little bit I’m able to do for all of you and will keep doing more because that’s least I can do for you. The bottom line is, you all do so much more for me I could never do enough to pay you back. You’re in my life and for that I am thankful.

Greenville, SC

I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather the last couple days, haven’t felt much like writing or playing or doing anything at all. Despite my lack of writing and blog posts this has been a very introspective tour. There has been plenty of downtime and long overnight drives to contemplate life. I feel like this tour happened at exactly the right moment. It’s in unison with the tides of my life and the tides are shifting. I have conquered a few demons along the many miles and quiet moments of this trip. I’ve also made some plans for my future. I believe they will move me up another rung on the ladder to being content. Overall, in this moment, I’m feeling pretty happy and I’m also excited about the future. Of course, I know that as the world turns, the tides will shift again. Life is a never ending ladder and it takes work to keep climbing. I just have to keep doing the best I can.