The Boys of Uptown Schools


The boys of uptown schools slip out of shoes that make those administrators comfortable and into shoes that grant entry onto their blocks
The conversations and code switch
It’s girls girls girls and cousins
Everybody’s your fucking cousin, bro
And slap boxing
And picking the right train car
And days they won’t remember a long time from now

Halloween Idea For Grown Folk

Halloween is around the corner! The candy is already for sale, the kids are all getting their costumes, the Jehovah’s Witnesses are buying their heavy bolt locks, and the extreme pseudo religious types are reposting literature about Satan and witches and the like.

Meanwhile I’m over here trying to figure out just how drunk and/or high I can possibly get while still being fully able to function in West Hollywood, CA with the hundred thousand other folks. Then this idea popped into my head:


Let all the adults in the neighborhood, community, apartment building, or where ever you are know that you’re changing up the game. Tell them all to buy a bottle of liquor, and when you come around to their door, with or without your kid, you’re bringing a shot glass.

Enjoy. You’re Welcome.

Things We Lose in the Fire: A Funny Funeral

You –

You’re losing it. As if your hand is atrophying, that tight grip you once held around your sanity is weakening. What are you going to do if this is it? If this is the moment you drive by your house without even a glance over, and you keep going? You drive until there is no gas, and then you walk, and when your feet hurt, you walk one more mile and you call that place “home.” It smells of burnt wood and dryer sheets and minimalism. It smells of a beauty you’ve never known.

Every Shire word more potent than the last and every tequila shot setting you up for too high a tolerance. All those highlighted Neruda poems in that big book addressed to an apartment in Virginia can now be destroyed. This will be one of the things you lose in the fire. Stoke it and don’t stop until you’ve added almost everything. Until 7,498 photos are all that remain because you know burning them won’t mean those moments never happened. Because the people in those photos, though flawed to their core, believe they are still worth loving, saving, and holding onto.

You are dark with dark places. Your soul has shadows when your face refuses the sun. My god, you are delicate.

Compassion, or humanity, doesn’t suit you. You wear it like the suit they give prisoners when they need to attend funerals. You tried. You stepped into it with audacity. You were hopeful and it made you ugly and soft and you second guessed yourself. Strip down to your nothingness and tend the fire or dance around it.

Dance naked in a place that fills the space between your toes with cool mud and the space between your teeth with sweet coconut meat. Tend the fire. After the memories are ashed, heave in the leaves from the heftiest pile first. Tend the fire. Keep count of everything you lose to it. Hold a small funeral for it all.


Tell someone Autumn has you as afraid as you are mesmerized. Tell them you once sat naked under a tree and listened as she explained how beautiful it can be to let lifeless things die. A giving tree.

A bicycle down a tree-lined street on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the middle of October is better than any Heaven any god could offer you. It’s important you remember that.

You’re losing it, but it won’t be in Autumn. Hold on tight for the next 89 days, 20 hours, 28 minutes.

Collect leaves. Tend.

Not So Crazy

You make promises like:
“I’ll be back in 3 months to take you on three dates and marry you almost immediately after. On some mountain.”

And the crazy part is this:
You don’t think it sounds so crazy.

We Had So Much

There were more than enough laughs
Free shots
Toasts to lives we built on purpose
More than enough stars
and food
There were the girls who came to let loose their hairs
More than enough bobby pins keeping them up
More than enough tonic to make my tequila loveable
Men who came for the women
Too much ice
and lime
We had so many reasons to be glad
but you didn’t come and that was all I really wanted

I Built It Just For You: A Place To Stay

He is a long walk to a place you need to visit because the life I offered gave you anxiety and emergency room bracelets and laughs and moons over Santa Fe and sunsets on the other side of the world and mercurial dreams
When you walk back
If you walk back
I’ll offer you water to replenish and a lap for your feet and a place to stay
We’ll offer everything but apologies