I’ve long suffered from seasonal depression, and written desperately about it here, but, this year, I actually feel pretty good about the holidays. Christmas is around the corner and I’m just fine.
How’d I do this? Simple. I’ve spent the past 20 years embracing a culture of hate and anger and I’ve ostracized my entire family, creating irreparable rifts between all of us.
And, before you say how sad that sounds, remember that this is the family that tried to keep my mom’s lover 100 feet from her coffin during the funeral and actively sought legal reps to get all that in place while I sat there stunned and grieving. The family that condemned me when I was 12 merely because I resembled my father. And that’s all just the very tip of the iceberg. That’s, like, the tamest stuff.
Continue reading ‘Vanquishing Seasonal Depression’
I figured I’d cheat on this article and break from the Vignettes Project. I figure all you folks are in post-family mode. Happy and safe and holiday-drunk, right? And it’s “Black Friday,” which means I should post a link to my Amazon Wishlist! Eighteen pages of cult culture, and I turned on third party ordering so you can get me shit for a penny.
Continue reading ‘Holiday Interlude’
They call it the hour of the wolf. Those hours just before dawn. Many folk traditions believe it’s when most people are born and when they die. Ancient armies would rise and offer prayers to their gods during this time, then march into dawn and battle. In the modern era, the early morning hours between 3am and 5am are the most common times for UFO sightings and other paranormal events.
Many still hold the superstition that the hour of the wolf is a time when the veil between worlds is thin. They are certainly lonely hours, hours we’ve all experienced at some time or another in our lives. Driving home from a party, plagued by insomnia, preparing for an early start for one reason or another. That dark, pre-dawn stillness can be oppressive, consuming.
It was 3am, eleven hours after he died, when my father came to visit me.
Continue reading ‘Hour of the Wolf’
My grandfather was the family patriarch for many years, holding court and always dreaming of returning to the family seat in Parkersburg, WV, which he fled after World War II in the years when New America was born.
Continue reading ‘By Association’
Following on from “The Business of Death” posted earlier this month…
January, 2007. It took my father four hours to choke to death. I sat vigil in his hospital room as he fought the fluid in his lungs, his face a mask of agony, unable to speak or communicate in any way. His eyes, shining with fear, would occasionally lock with my unforgiving stare. Pleading eyes. Begging for release, mercy, an end to all things. Each time, I would only offer a quick, tight grin in reply.
No…no. This is how you die. After all you’ve done, you’re going to die here. Forgotten. Accompanied to hell by the boy you destroyed, the man who hates you.
In the end, exhausted by the spectacle of his death, I stood and told him that I forgave him. If that will let you die, I said, then I forgive you. Before I finished the words, he gasped his last breath.
My father had won again.
Continue reading ‘Choking to Death’
I haven’t had sex since 1995. Good sex, I mean. Enjoyable sex. The pain started in 95. A pain so severe that drawing breath felt like I was being tasered in the eye. Sex, of course, was almost out of the question. Pursued and practiced simply because I choose a self-destructive path designed to defy the reality of the pain. Every coupling, for 12 years, was a teeth-grinding agony that whited-out my vision and filled my brain with a horrific internal scream.
Continue reading ‘God is Dead’
The greatest mystery isn’t why my dad left. It’s what happened to him between 1985, when he vanished into the night, and 2000, when he sued me for control of my mother’s estate.
Continue reading ‘The Business of Death’
It’s the tenth anniversary year for Great Society. In April of 2001, I set up Dirtyfreaks.com. I think there was the vague idea that it would be a porn site, but that somehow drifted into becoming a “literary” community. Which, then, drifted into insane ranting behind the guise of “Nacho Sasha” and, ten years later, I’m still sort of spinning around in circles in some vast emotional desert.
It’s also the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Yes, I know, every motherfucker in the world has written an anniversary article on that topic. Simply typing this out now makes me almost crazy enough to go blow up another building somewhere just for the sake of a distraction.
But, I’ll go ahead with this article. Because I’m an evil dog rapist. Though it’s boring to reminisce about the meaning of 9/11, and the changes that it ushered in for my city, my country, and my world. I think the thing to talk about is what it did not change. The fact that people before and during 9/11 were fucking waterhead assholes and, ten years later, they’re still a horrible plague.
Continue reading ‘Generica, 9/11′
Christmas. I hate Christmas. I always have. And I don’t mean in that Seasonal Affective Disorder way. I mean, here I am in March and I’m dreading December. It consumes me. I’m always thinking: Oh…god. Christmas. Again.
Why doesn’t it alternate years? That’s the healthy way to do it. Christmas every second year. Give us time to recover and catch our breath.
Continue reading ‘Season’s Greetings!’
Long ago, a girl once said that I wouldn’t be able to survive the death of my grandparents. A comment that disturbed me then and now. She was so up in my shit that she asked me to marry her, and is now entering her sixth year of aggressively stalking me, and yet she didn’t know the first thing about me, or my family, or my life.
Continue reading ‘Death & Family’