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286 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 1, 2016
When my girlfriend’s parents ask me what I do for a living…
I pull a straight razor out of my back pocket
Give me ten dollars and I will let you keep this.
Not the finger. The moment. Give me ten dollars as tribute to the truth
that we once stood here, that I did something worth remembering; that
you, on this day, witnessed something larger than traffic, or storm clouds,
tell yourself that this day did not blur by, that this journal entry would be more
than an absent-minded doodle. For ten dollars, I will carve my initials into
your brainstem.
I think the reason pawns can’t move backwards is
because if they could, they’d kill their own kings in a heartbeat.
Instead, we are forced to keep moving, believing we can get to the other
side and become royalty ourselves, but most likely dying on the way there,
sacrificed for a cause we don’t even understand
1. Fuck you.
Some men, however, prefer a grip like a battle-axe mid swing, like ripping the
head off an antelope by tugging on the antlers. Some men treat every hand-
shake like a gladiator’s death-match, a test of strength, a test of will.
Is there a teddy bear, somewhere in your history, being ripped away from a pair
of hands that just aren’t strong enough.
A good write-up in Pitchfork is nothing compared to a good obituary.