Category Archives: History

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 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 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 […]

Chapter 1. Never fails. Another fat day in the frat boy war…

Nev­er fails. Anoth­er fat day in the frat boy war zone, lov­ing­ly called The War Zone in some parts of the Deep South, finds the smil­ing pres­i­dent slid­ing anoth­er five fin­ger dis­count speech into the Mid­dle­sex Amer­i­can Saw­buck Party’s spend­ing habits, and it seems he’s tak­ing no pris­on­ers with this one. Tweet, tweet. Some prayers […]

Prologue. Events No one can rightfully remember…

Decon­struc­tion along the vines of high­er learn­ing has been well on its thorny way since Her­mes took note of slim odds on per­son­al sur­vival in a God v. Man piss­ing con­test. Try­ing to keep up the ancient façade was trou­bling enough, but when God quit talk­ing and human­i­ty wouldn’t shut up, even the trees in the […]

About The Author

From the ear­li­est episodes of my life, I was always sure to be found read­ing, writ­ing, doo­dling, orga­niz­ing, and with the most alge­bra­ic of pur­pos­es, 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 […]