Full Blue Moon Dementia

“Well, at least I don’t smoke,” he says – his hands shaking as he unfolds the morning paper. Feeling smug he grabs his quadruple Starbuck’s carmel macchiato latte and gulps down a foamy slurp. “Losers,” he mumbles and looks around for something to eat that contains at least 3000 calories, all of them from processed...

“Hello?” “Mister O’Neil?” “Yes?” “Hi. How are you doing?” “Okay.” “This is Mister Steinway.” “Yes.” “I was just calling to see if everything was alright.” “Uh huh.” “Is everything alright, Mister O’Neil?” “Yeah.” “Because we seem to have a problem. We haven’t received this month’s check.” “You haven’t?” “No sir. We haven’t.” “I, ah.” “As...

He started to write. Stopped. Highlighted the entire paragraph. Pushed delete. Stared at the monitor. A blank word document hung there in the pixeled space of the screen. He felt numb and lifeless. As if his thinking had ground to a halt. Nothing was coming. Or, more to the point, no words were flowing from...

My new music project: ON-X. Currently available for listening at Myspace Music.URL: http://www.myspace.com/onxnoIf interested, please either cut and paste the URL into your browser, or click on this post’s title to get there. CD now available on and other fine internet music outlets. Unfortunately this project, life and school have kept me way too busy...

Sitting slouched down on a park bench in Midtown Manhattan, it was all coming back to me. Romancing that first hit on a joint I’d taken fifteen years ago or beating that crusty gray cotton for the tenth time when I knew damn well that there wasn’t another hit left in the spoon. Of course,...

7:30pm, the sun is setting. A passing siren breaks the silence. Outside, the wolf pack howls. Sitting on the floor of the warehouse, my mind wanders to the paper I’m supposed to be writing. I hear another siren approach. “Big fire,” I think, and then the wolf pack starts up again. There’s something about a...

Splinters of wood, chunks of the doorframe, fly through the air as the door cracks in half and falls on either side of me. In shock, I stand there, immobile. Outside I see what looks like a hundred cops, some in uniform, some not, guns drawn, faces and bodies tense. A tall, heavyset blonde police...

It’s late at night. I should be in bed, asleep. Instead, with more writing to be done, I’m laying on top of the covers, my head propped up against the pillow, the phone cradled haphazardly under my ear. I can hear her talking in that small voice of hers, saying the house is warm, the...

I don’t mean there’s a crackhead outside that I can see through the window. I mean there’s a crackhead pressed against my office window. He’s up on the ledge, a few feet above the bushes, his face pressed flat against the windowpane, one eye staring down at me, the other wandering. I hear him talking,...

He doesn’t really care any more. Was a time that all he thought about was making sure he posted, on time, once a week, Mondays, like clockwork. These days it’s enough that he gets out of bed. “Shouldn’t I be feeling guilty?” he asks himself and then rolls over, pulls the covers close, a pillow...