memoir
Fathers, Sons, Soldiers, and Poetry
We both hid a part of ourselves behind a soldier’s body armor and camo paint and when that didn’t work we retreated behind the smile of a beer drinking buddy.
PTSD
commentary
Past Sins
The inevitable Graham Platner rant.
commentary
Thoughts and Prayers and Thank You For Your Service
...I pity them. I feel genuinely sorry for all of them with their yellow ribbon stickers and “would’ve served but” because I experienced something else during those dark days, something they will never experience for themselves.
commentary
Memorial
An hour and at least a mile later I still couldn’t shake the feeling of that place. The heavy sense of loss and futility and the gnawing question of “why?” would linger far longer than I cared to admit.
essay
London Homesick Blues
We were in Westminster Abbey when I broke completely. I was tired. It was hot. The crowd was thick. I couldn’t stop to read the names or look at the stained glass without being bumped or jostled. I couldn’t hear. I felt like everyone was in my way and I was in theirs.
memoir
Barrooms: (Crescent City Chapter 2)
It was mellower somehow, almost melancholy. It’s only recently that I’ve recognized it for what it was, a type of therapy, a crutch, or maybe a helping hand as we transitioned out of military service and faced our future.
essay
Dark Night
The room was still too bright and too hot and too loud and the world outside of it was still too dark, but laying there, thinking about the first act of our lives it felt like…man even now I don’t have the words…
memoir
3rd Floor Tigers
From my bed I could see into the hallway, and out to the nurses station where a pair of bored looking women in colorful scrubs sat typing away on aging desktop computers. But there was something else. A shadow. Something stalking.
commentary
A Black Dog in the Sun
I couldn't help but shake my head. "You motherfucker..." Jack just looked at me with big sad eyes and wagged his tail. "Whole goddamned world is falling apart and you're just sitting in a sunbeam." If a dog could shrug Jack would've.
commentary
On Pearl Snaps, Cowboy Boots, and Fascist Pricks
Every interaction was a minefield. I was withdrawn, depressed, the only ray of sunshine was my spouse and kid and good country music on the car stereo. I pulled on those old battered boots of Mister Billy’s and they felt right. They felt like home.