My first bicycle was dragged home by my father, a papa cat bringing his cub a wounded mouse to hunt.
My mother held the telephone to her ear and sobbed.
Four a.m.: The big V-8 growled to life and the speakers blared:
They were a typical 1920s Iowa farm family with a bumper crop of sons who someday would provide free labor:
I walked down Santa Monica Boulevard, past the hustlers lurking near clubs named Offshore Drilling and Spike, past the Pussycat Theater and its chlorinated darkness. I turned left on Fairfax and walked […]
My time in the military was brief, but at the risk of sounding vainglorious, during that period I was perhaps the most important individual in our great nation’s security mechanism.
While filing albums a couple of nights ago, I found a greeting card. It was stuck in a box of pens, computer cables, record cleaner, more pens, and a few pocket notebooks.
Deciding to leave Los Angeles meant figuring out what to do with myself once my last movie wrapped.
I left Upstate South Carolina at age 18. In the seven years that followed I went to art school, managed a record store, fell in love, got a dog, dropped out of […]
Int., Su Casa Apartment #207, Night: Peter Gabriel’s Passion on the stereo. I walk to the kitchen and grab a knife from the silverware drawer. It is cheap and dull. I carve […]