Things We Have to Kill

“He, who was made of unsuitable things bound together by some force of will, of unimaginable power, hung suspended in the magnetic field of its ceaseless movement like an apparition. Disintegrated, blown by the wind into the autumn haze, he drifted quietly into the forest, the dark forest of his youth.”

Believe it or not, this beautiful passage is a cull from Another End of the World. It just didn’t fit the scene. Like Steven King says, to be a writer, sometimes you have to kill your babies.

Devil Art

Artwork from the first single of an upcoming album “Devil,” to be released early October. The body of the song was written more than a decade ago, during a calamitous time in Louisiana. The rest is more recent, from abroad–a time-lapse that strangely holds together, though I could well be mistaken.


LA taught me how to lean on poles, sit on curbs, sleep on buses, trains, in crowded terminals, flower beds… the flow is so varied, and constant, that everyone is completely depersonalized. Nobody stares at you, only that you never return the stare.


In these quiet days of dark rooms to evade summer, I often pace the sidewalks at night, extending the dark environment to its logical end. If life were only this, if there were some way to study, to absorb the strange, wonderful, disturbing events of these turbulent times, to create, to write… but this is only a lull. Continue reading