In Control – a flash fiction.

Hello there observer.

“Tom, there’s no way that they can take another round. See that ocular leakage, way over tolerance.”

“Yeah, yeah I know Bill. I can hear too can’t I? Ancestral recall or personal identification with Canis lupus do you think?”

“No family resemblance but that baying is putting my skin on edge regardless. How you want to do this? We’ll get some sympathy views if we drag it out—personal favorite of mine I’ll have you know since this is our first time working together—might even get a couple more weeks out of the budget. Holds a lot of risk with this pair though from what we’ve seen and neither of us wants to explain why we’re carting off a pair of body bags.”

“Fair point. How would you feel about a hybrid? Start off slow but keep an eye on a drop dead date where it all crescendos again and forces a clean cut. Watched Geoff do something similar once. Takes finesse, as always, but it can be done.”

“I’m game, closeouts are your arena anyways from what I hear, I’m better at the fluff and the early game. Just let me know the confidence and insecurity tables you want to use before we start so I can keep things on track.”

“Retro-consideration and empathetic quotients are going to be key factors as well. Can you send Jim to let psych know that we will need their numbers first. Future orientation has always been lacking in 5KY3 and like you said, we don’t want any b-bags.”

“No problem. Such a shame.”


“Really thought it was going to work this time.”

Mountain Trail

Meandering feet fall between the scent of wildflowers and moss,
deeper into the mountain side this long trail winds.
Water courses on a ceaseless tract towards the valley,
runs furiously far below where the air is cooler
and the sun rains its heat against the rapids.

Heated Gaze

All credit for image to

Summer becomes the tone of fresh and old love mingled.
Of exhilaration, fascination, inspiration,
all put in skin sacks, given names.
Each heat riddled day the sun bakes us,
we are entwined in passionate reverie,
where no mere words will penetrate the sanctum.

Addiction is a Beast

To highlight the feeling of insanity that comes from active addiction.
Feels about right.

A sense of calm resignation is starting to settle in. So often shunted aside still for madcap panic and desperate flailing as this faltering shell of a body which carries an acidic sonofabitch that wants out while refusing to take pleas, no’s, or prayers as a hint to get lost. It’s there on the outskirts as the magnitude, the absolute fucking magnitude of how colossally I’ve screwed the lives of those around me up, while trying to ruin my own existence..

It always sat there just on the outskirts, even when it should have been blatant. The self concocted cocoon of ignorant bliss I had woven around myself to keep the realities of life and the need for growing up at bay made sure that even if I was looking at it head on, I wouldn’t see. I’d spin it internally, sometimes to deflect the judgement and actions needed, sometimes to punish myself further and feel so amply deserving of it while begging confusion to those closest to me.

God help me. I sat there blind to love, affection, nurturing, opportunity, friendships, my children, the actuality of LIFE itself. 

All in favor of an endless repetition of the same monotonous actions. Awake, chase, get high, drink, crash, rinse and repeat ad infinitum, The same rhythm that most humans are going through their awake, cabinet, coffee, drink, functional, productive, competent portions of their day to day.

What has it cost? 

I’m sitting in the mountains which are my peaceful place, body too exhausted to hike or sleep. Dimly aware that I’ve imploded yet another beautiful person’s life, tucked mine into an 18’ trailer, and spiraled into oblivion while desperately fighting a battle that can’t be won on my terms. Beginning to come around the edges of what that actually means–to be so viral, so toxic and caustic in someone’s life that you can literally see it reshape their entire being from what they were prior–knowing that even if it wasn’t intended, that’s what happened. 

To know that the fiber of your being is so saturated in selfish self-hatred that it closes you off to the possibility of trusting and believing that anyone could actually love you for a person you don’t even know any longer, yourself? Knowing that sounds like Narcissistic Personality Disorder and digging around to see if there’s ways to be less of a screaming manchild asshole only to find that if it’s really the case, there ain’t shit to be done?

To realize that I don’t even fucking know what things I actually enjoy in life? To have focused so many countless hours on a single destructive course that it has literally obliterated all remnants of understanding about what joy means. How love is shown. What fun is. How to treat others or myself in any sort of a humane way laced starkly with the deep confusion of always being at odds with myself to begin with. That I have erased inborn gifts, destroyed my mind, poisoned my body wildly–that I will die younger than I had to and may never have the chance to see my children again. That my children have been growing up without their father.

Being aware now of the wreckage and turbulence behind my passing from those unlucky enough to have had me walk into their life “chaos incarnate” as I used to joke. To not even be able to apologize in any sort of a meaningful way yet because time and action is all that really will matter, could matter at this point. To not be able to say thank you sufficiently where I mean it within such limited scopes as I’m tooled to have the capacity for. The endless dreams that have died in lieu of one more hit, one more drink.The beautiful dreams that staggered onward beneath the weight only to have the carpet ripped out from under them again. The smashed hopes that held them aloft for so long.

It is seriously time for a change. So for the first time in YEARS, I’m throwing in the towel, surrendering, and just going with it. I have a bed at a program starting in a few days, a kennel for the dog, a storage spot for the trailer/home, and a hiatus from school while I straighten myself out and make some so critically needed changes. Peter Pan with a crack pipe and a 100u shot–fuck it’s old. 

The next time I write will be on the back end the next 30+ days probably, so until then, thanks for everything and all the kind words, help, camaraderie, and digital awesomeness that is everyone else out there. Addiction’s a beast. Mental illness is a beast. But neither gives any permission to keep perpetuating that cycle endlessly or to inflict them on those around you.

Time to give up the fight and go back to the drawing board, starting fresh all over again.


Take them
speak them
see them
Syllables crawling
spinning, clawing
freely turned.
Whip them
soothe them
love to let them
linger for the burn.
Aching blessing,
listen guessing,
minds unfurl.
Use them,
consume them,
believe them,
don’t be spurned.
Light step dances,
crossing lips,
and tongue tips,
spilling hope
for which we yearn.

Heart in the Mountains

My heart is hammering in my chest and sweat is a faucet from my disheveled hair staining a shirt, and lower down, jeans that haven’t been changed in days. I feel quite certain that death is imminent on several levels, but man look at the view.

White water crashing through a mountain side so big it could just as easily be the backdrop for a movie set as be real. This trail I’m perched next to leads deep into the peaks and crosses the river in the way that a glitter strewn hike at a unique deep woods hot springs did many lifetimes ago. I have no doubt the top is beautiful–but so–right now, is the view from down here. Such as it is, even in the kaleidoscopic myriad of events in life we sometimes have to look up out of the maze instead of revel from the heights.

If I had accepted that as a mentality, I surely would have been able to enjoy the elevation up there better as well as rolled more smoothly with the valleys.

Tomorrow is another day, and for the moment, while I may have found myself here on the wings of a story that felt heartbreaking familiar, and events that leave my imagination twisted with concern and a sense of deepest confusion – I’m thankful that this is where it brought me.

I have nightmares nightly, unending tweaks with mental and emotional nudging to contend with daily it seems, all repercussions from some shitty life choices. Carving out this moment was so worth it. I mean after all what good is being an oddball if you can’t find yourself in the forest half expecting friendly woodland critters to come out and greet you with sage wisdom and adventure?

All while sober as a clam.

Today has been a much better day than I thought it would be, thank you cosmos, or Loki, or God. I’m sorry for any missteps along the way as I stumble through this life looking for footprints home while leaving some new ones of my own. I’m heartbroken all over again at my amazing capacity for ignorance and irrationally hurtful actions to those that care(d) enough to wade through the soup of a catastrophe my life has been. I have always thanked the world in glib commentary, resentment, stubborn bullheadedness, and plain ire – rarely gratitude. The stupendously complicated feelings of loss and remorse I feel over the mixed actions and emotions I’ve had of late makes it feel good to find at least one solid sensation that I can rest my hat on momentarily.

One day isn’t much to repair a lifetime of shit parades and Richter scale registering chaos…but it’s a starting point and I’m appreciative for it.

Sunshine Highway

One more time through that fucking door. It’s heavier than ever but maybe that’s because I finally know the weight of all the waste and damage left behind. The broken smiles and hearts in both directions, and only the fucking Gods know what the real goal was. It’s a slog ahead in the best of circumstances, and whether or not it means anything in the end I guess rests on something everyone has to figure out in their own time. Wish I was faster, or maybe slowed down a bit…hell, my fucking stories aren’t even what I thought they were anymore. When you’re the hand that twists the rope into a nkkse, even if someone was dangling it there with subtle suggestions that you might feel like you’re flying…still your hand that did it. So to everyone the helped and cared, thank you. For all the shit that I didn’t and still don’t get that had some kindness or humanity behind it that I ignored or didn’t see…thank you for your patience. For the mercenary fucks that twisted out the last strands of anguish or chuckle at the wounds of another, I’ve done it myself, and it’s still fucking horrible. To the ones I can’t or will never be able to speak with again, you have no idea how badly I feel about what’s gone on. To the kids I left behind in my selfish and narrow world. I will always regret my choices and love you more than you can imagine. Fuck it all… last time.

Night Tan Under the Supermoon

Layer a white cold blaze

in circular pool


where the reflection of day

carries to the infinite

teeming void.

Shadowscape of eternity

ever beyond 

incandescent blue skies,

milky clouds,

beyond sun-blinded sight,

always sitting.

Wonderland of possibilities

bending even science

to use imagination.

Endlessly faltering

towards an unknowable end.

The Gods baubles

spin deftly

through the deepest darks

of cavernous black gone noir.

Never bound,

never stuck,

not clasped tight inside

of opulent bondage 

as we marching mortals

on our madhouse Earth.

Into that idea –

that dizzy concept which

forged new words

to try and constrain

something so terribly VAST –

where all is birthed

through cataclysm,

fiery destruction,

demises so profound

dust from their corpses span eons,

rages as a furnace

crafts awakening

in billions of new forms.

Peace is found

within mirrored 

microcosm eyes

of any

who would choose to pray,

take silent reverie

in joyful awe,

of beauty without boundaries,

and their own

immeasurable nothingness.

Rhymes with Crass


You brittle sword blades that play at being soft,
with your fucking allure and goddamn velvet looks.
All supple and inviting,
green and enticing,
even though I know you’re full of bugs.
I’ll lay down,
Sucker for your edges on my skin.
That’s Spring,
time for lying shoots,
stubborn goofs.