Seventeen weeks post hysterectomy, sixty days sober. Lots of crazy shit has been running through my mind. I feel like I’m trying to cross a busy one-way street in Boston, at night, only I can’t find a break in the traffic pattern.
André, You’re Despicable. More, Please.
I was immediately both curious and excited about the contents of this bottle. It was sleek, slender, and gorgeous. The tiny beads of condensation teased and trickled their way down the neck of the bottle which held pink and bubbly liquid. The label looked classy. In a bold, shadowy, sexy font it read: André. Very classy indeed.
And Lenny Bruce is Not Afraid
“If there was anything else in the entire world I could possibly do to earn a living, I would. It’s a terrible job. It should not exist. Like Cancer. And God.” Lenny Bruce
How to Write a Book and Still Respect Yourself in the Morning
When you only give people tiny pieces of your life—bit by selective bit—there’s bound to be skepticism and the ever lingering thought, “Did I really know this person at all?” And I have to ask, “Does anybody really know…anyone?”
Into a Dreamy Hornet’s Nest
Edgar Cayce said that dreams are just your subconscious and your superconscious mind communicating things your conscious mind doesn’t know or won’t acknowledge. For me, there’s always more…
Brave New World, Infusions, and Vitameatavegamin
We started iron infusion treatments that lasted for two and a half weeks. I got poked, I got iron, I got breakfast, I got pampered. It was like a fucked up spa situation taking place in some parallel, sci-fi universe. It was very Brave New World…
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