Summer’s end’s around the bend just flying
the swimming suits are on the line just drying…
–John Prine
Two years ago, Philip Elliott asked me to write a column for Into the Void after reading my essay in the Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review. I’d wanted to be a columnist ever since I discovered the great work of Hunter S. Thompson and, as great poet Christia Madacsi Hoffman suggested, I needed to write about something other than myself. The landscape is different now. The news bums me out. We are the generations that have done nothing to stop the blood and fire that have come to kill us and burn the planet down. Perhaps nothing can be done. That’s certainly how it feels and anyway The Coarse Grind and my column “on writing” has become a veritable Artist’s log and credo at the end of the world. To wit…
…At 45 I’m not celebrating the life but glad I got one. It’s not free or perfect and it doesn’t feel as good as a bourbon at sunrise, cigarillos in the shade and anyway the complete and utter devastation that comes from fucking within an inch of your life, drenched in sweat and dead under her slow and spinning fan…continue reading at Into The Void
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Photo courtesy of Sarah H. Bloom.
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Going for the Throat 