Category: The Vesica Nervous
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Four Ankles Deep In Gutter Snow
Deeper in the gutter go / Find the darkest place you know
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Unmasked Mugging Shots from the bottom of a coffee cup
A circular portrait of morning mourning the end of solitude & home.
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It Has Been Five Weeks
It has been five weeks. It will be the rest of my life. That is absolutely harrowing.
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Run The Other Way…
I physically get up. Look for a door. Go through. Can’t outrun it. Why even try? Freeze, fall, flail. Face.
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Nobody Here But U.S. Chickens
We are born dependent. We will die dependent. The space between depends on how much we fight or embrace that notion.
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The Medium Is The Message Of The Sunday Sabbath
A dirty little secret I’ve learned from that quiet voice behind the curtain in my mind is that I have no clue what I’m doing, and everything good I make is actually coming from a much deeper reserve. I’m just the figurehead.
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Forging the Strohax
The alchemy of the linguistic stim. I once read a piece by Grant Morrison on Chaos Magick and creating a sigil. Morrison is a modern-day shaman, a psychonautic genius who channels profound truths into the two-dimensional universe of the graphic novel. I read his piece as part of a compendium by a group called Disinformation.…
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The Long Dark Compartment Syndrome of the Soul
Do I tell this story? Should I tell this story? Have I already told this story? Forgive me… this year has been a lot. In addition to the malestrom of late-stage capitalism’s decline into oligarchy, I’ve been spelunking the depths of my own personal cave. Dante wasn’t kidding when he told of “rings of hell”…
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The Abusive Father and the Wayward Child: Framing Nationalism as Trauma
A very sick, cruel, sadistic, manipulatively maladjusted sociopath is punishing the half of the country who haven’t sold their souls to him. The Democrats refused to allow him to strip working-class people of food stamps and healthcare. Surprisingly, they held their ground as he and his minions kept the government closed—among other things—to stave off…
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AN Open Letter To President Donald J. Trump
Dear Donald, May I call you Donald? You’ve made it quite clear that you would like to win a Nobel Peace Prize before you die… and let’s face it, brother, you’re not looking very good. It’s becoming increasingly clear that you’re not the one pulling the strings anymore on Pennsylvania Avenue. You seem to have…