My first attempt at rolling a joint was rather pathetic. It looked more like a small turd covered in paper than something to be smoked. And not knowing to remove the twigs and seeds — of which it had … [Read more...]
London 1966: I.T., the Camel, and a Song Named Me
The camel’s unexpected appearance saved me. The raggedy texture of his fur, his massiveness, and his breath were all undeniably real, no matter how bizarre the setting and cast of characters. Snaking … [Read more...]
Becoming Jill Kerouac
It all started with the word. Not THAT word. But a word — or a string of words, rather — that struck me: There are no Jack Kerouacs or Holden Caulfields for girls. Literary girls don’t take … [Read more...]
Jenny Lynn
Cold wind is building and ready. It is not understood the pent feelings that have suddenly surfaced after long and even further back and then along the slow moving world and probably before the long … [Read more...]
Hear That Lonesome Whistle
I started drinking while the Wyoming sky was pink and you could still see forever. Earlier that day I found just enough smack to keep me from being sick. It got me moving. It got me out in the sun. … [Read more...]
