Author Archives: Gabriel Thy

From the earliest episodes of my life, I was always sure to be found reading, writing, doodling, organizing, goofing, interrogating, readying, doubting, resisting, stalking and preparing the way for an artistic life not so much of grandiose deeds, but of exiled suppositions washing up against the keen but jagged shore of internal contradictions an authentic American life seems to require these days (and nights).

Since I had no natural or precocious talent for drawing, or singing, or painting, or writing for that matter, I thus fixated on the gushing fountain of ideas I discovered in leniency of books, sports, and philosophical stand-up, from I drew local inspiration and occasional comfort. A strong memory for useless and pointless knowledge mixed with a custodian’s command of numbers, were my only apparent gifts, but gifts which I always imagined would take me far. Practicing these mediocre talents with a flair and flamboyance always filibustering any doubts, natural cynicism, and somber recoil of impedances I could parse for certainty has been my stock in trade, until the day when I no longer found joy in the real and sudden uselessness of it all.

In highschool creative writing class, I was always accused of and penalized for straying from the topic…

THERE WAS ALWAYS THE QUESTION of 1) purported priorities, 2) suspect qualifications and 3) undulating distortions of the gear grinding social machine that corrupted my urgency for creative expression. Nevertheless, this foul trinity of “doubts about delivery systems” stitching the social fabric from wooly to bully, served to compel my artistic inertia whenever and wherever this clinging to my guns of memory would take me.

Chapter 11. Sunlight, nature’s best disinfectant was clearing out the last few doppler shadows…

Sunlight, as nature’s best dis­in­fec­tant, was clear­ing out the last few doppler shad­ows bridg­ing the bel­li­cose scen­esters and hair­spray gob­lins al­ready on the lurk for the lapsed chances of­fered to the quick and the dead first and then to the able and the ea­ger still catch­ing up on some great es­cape plan as they race […]

Chapter 10. Elected to the Republican slate of delegates for Richard Nixon from the Great State of Tennessee…

Elected to the Republican slate of del­e­gates for Richard Nixon from the Great State of Tennessee, I was in no way a king­mak­er. After all, Richard Nixon raked in 5,378,704 votes in the pri­ma­ry or 86.92% of the votes cast, and 47,168,710 votes or 60.7% of those votes cast in the November gen­er­al, a pul­sat­ing land­slide vic­to­ry, mea­sur­ably […]

Chapter 9. Mediocrity, or powerhouse upstarts never appealed to this writer…

Mediocrity, or pow­er­house up­starts nev­er ap­pealed to this writer, my grow­ing pen­chant for ac­tu­al­i­ty ta­bles in every­thing that mat­tered, every­thing in its right­ful place, sport­ed vis­cer­al mus­cle all its own, but I was com­pelled to the awe­some place where rock sol­id dy­nas­ties swooned to the Icarian mys­ter­ies a sud­den­ly mol­e­c­u­lar un­der­dog brought in­to the scheme, a seem­ing­ly spon­ta­neous­ly […]

Chapter 8. When my firstborn left home, trimming the mouths to feed

When my first­born left home, trim­ming the mouths I had to feed from eight to sev­en, I cut back from four cups of rice to two. We ate rice near­ly every night for years. Sometimes with beans, some­times with a scram­bled meat dish. Lots of casseroles, too. Times were hard. Hello. My name is Peggy. I have known many, […]

Chapter 7. With this letter to Philip Dare I knew February was turning…

The laws in this city are clear­ly racist. All laws are racist. The law of grav­i­ty is racist. I am mak­ing this trip to Africa be­cause Washington is an in­ter­na­tion­al city, just like Tokyo, Nigeria or Israel. As may­or, I am an in­ter­na­tion­al sym­bol. Can you de­ny that to Africa? People have crit­i­cized me be­cause my se­cu­ri­ty de­tail is larg­er than the president’s. But you must ask your­self: are there more peo­ple who want to kill me than who want to kill the pres­i­dent? I can as­sure you there are. First, it was not a strip bar, it was an erot­ic club. And sec­ond, what can I say? I’m a night owl.

Chapter 6. Three nights before John Lennon was shot dead in front…

Three nights be­fore John Lennon was shot dead in front of the Dakota, and all the fret world mourned el bar­rio del cor­pus christi was rel­a­tive­ly qui­et to the most ca­su­al ob­serv­er, of whom I was one, bel­ly up to a sat­is­fied mind af­ter a quick hand­ful of tacos lengua and a wet bur­ri­to at Crackling Rosie’s end­ed the […]

Chapter 5. It was a story told by my mother to Paul that grabbed…

It was a sto­ry told by my moth­er to Paul over tea and cook­ies and I be­lieve some in­el­e­gant cheese that grabbed me by the Saskatchewans, pitch­ing me in­to a fever dossier and a full count I am prob­a­bly still suf­fer­ing con­sec­u­tive­ly this very day, near­ly sev­er­al thou­sand dawns of Cooling Earth lat­er. Why had she nev­er men­tioned this be­fore. […]

Chapter 4. Our dear Mrs. Middleton the Strict sent us home with a regenerative task…

Our dear Mrs. Middleton the Strict sent us home with a re­gen­er­a­tive task one fine spring af­ter­noon, crisp with the trav­el­ing song of way­ward dan­de­lions and in­vin­ci­ble coun­try singers drunk on the booze left un­de­liv­ered by the winds of tomorrow’s next sur­prise. Her thir­ty stu­dents were to ask each of our par­ents, and in those days, […]

Chapter 3. The Former Congressman Swore An Air Force Hospital…

The for­mer con­gress­man swore an Air Force hos­pi­tal had nev­er been lo­cat­ed in Palm Beach County. He was a home­town boy, an ha­bit­u­al ser­vant of the coun­ty un­til com­ing to Washington, knew every syn­chro­nized inch of that ex­cru­ci­at­ing­ly op­por­tunis­tic, glitz in­fest­ed, cap­ti­vat­ing, terse, par­alin­gusit­i­cal­ly vain but roy­al­ty free com­pound par­adise. But ever since the fer­al drug […]

Chapter 2. We’ll get to the official purposes of my morning…

We’ll get to the of­fi­cial pur­pos­es of my morn­ing rou­tine lat­er, but let me walk you through the ba­sics. Are you record­ing this? Come on peo­ple. Let’s get our sto­ry straight. Will some­body please shuf­fle me a freak­ing elec­tron­ic de­vice that will please on some non-sadistic lev­el work some mag­ic fuck job on our Greenwich Village […]