at home

down among the broken souls I used to be a king but having had my moment in the joyless sunlight dwindling some midweek afternoon in November among the flapping garbage I returned unremarked upon to the streets, shoeless and murmuring and staring for reason in the windows of the shops there. I couldn’t go home. There was a home – a place I lived with a kind of a bed and a kitchen with no food in it, the dog ends like drowned flies in the stained tin sink, a toilet cavelike with limescale, a few books – but home was where they knew where to find me. The  crowds, the bells, the looming church, the judgement beyond the mouldering viel, waiting for me, at home.

the kid

They’d had to resuscitate the kid twice and were beginning to consider that there may already be some degree of life altering brain damage before the truth just kind of crawled out of me like I was purging myself of some awful, alien parasite and it was out there and I was done and for the first time I saw my best friend as something not even human but as some terrifying, furious god and I knew I was going to run away from him and from everything as soon as I could because I was far too much of a coward to stay around and even pretend that any of this could ever be forgiven or even partially mended.

Unsorted Polaroids from a life in a shoe box.

old gods

we run back to the old gods, who are reassuringly furious at our sins. we call on them to save us from this decadence. we call on them to save us from ourselves. the old gods reply in the space in which the new gods just listen, endlessly tolerant, weak and indulgent while withholding the judgement we crave. we run to the old gods for old judgements. the old gods remember who we think we used to be. the old gods speak in a simple tongue that thrills our meat. the old gods are not afraid to be beasts. the old gods devour what they  know to not be worth understanding. the old gods are our parents before our parents became our friends. the old gods raised us from the soil. the old gods will return us to the winds.


“”there are some places where if people knew you’d visited they’d never think of you the same way again, they’d never believe you could make it back without dragging your own personal Mai Lai with you at worst, dog shit onto the carpet at best. Don’t go telling folk everywhere you’ve been, man – they’re scared enough of where you might be going.”

dialog frm an imagined life, ~39