Big Al
Project

Six hours ago I bagged Mount Adams, skiing down 7500 feet of volcanic vertical. Now home behind the keys, I am in the valley of death. The brain storm tonight is dark and gloomy, passing more judgements than thoughts. I’m happy she moved on, I never will. I never do. The old game of cat and mouse and I am the mouse. The cat’s whiskers tingle down my spine. My small, fragile spine. It would take nothing to break it. I swing for the stars, running in circles, just to return to

I retreat to the bottom of my lonely milkshake. The straw and I probe for the sickening sweet feeling of certainty. Long gone empty, we wilt under the weight of regret. How the rush had filled our emptiness within, how it left us nothing but sorrow. A second milk shake, one more time. Oreo cookie, classic vanilla, strawberry cheesecake, they are all the same. I weep as they tip the shake upside down. I cry for them, I cry for me. Sometimes this makes me feel better. They mus

Of all the dry spots, I sat in the puddle. I didn’t want my jeans sticking to my ass for the next hour, but through the tunnel all I could see on the other side was the corner. There just happened to be a puddle on the edge of this picnic bench. I chose to die on this hill a long time ago. Growing up, I never frolicked with the other boys. Daydreams drifting from wallball to hopscotch, but alas, I was in my own obit. I never had the courage to break this matter of course, reg

One year ago, I had it. Flipping the hourglass, it was like deja vu all over again. Eat, ski, work, repeat. I was surrounded by fractions of men, tar oozing from all orifices, trudging down the long road ahead. I was not to become a La Brea mammoth, frozen in time for all to laugh at. I decided to think for myself, by myself. Who do I wish I was, and what would he be doing? A writer, and he would be writing. I am a hopeless romantic and the most uncommon, what a pity. I put m

Stop signs (all six!), college ruled, single spaced. Concrete, filled with unwavering rebar, nobody gets through. How do you know? The whimsy of today blotted out by the demands of tomorrow. Who do you answer to, the royal lineage? Light streams into our cage, faithful guiding bands. Lined up in front of the prison bars. You crossed the line! This is my lifeline! I’m at the end of my line! Now in a single filed line I ask you, where did this ever get anybody? You know where.

I am surrounded by Savannah on all sides, since when? The bachelor beach party went accordingly, the boy’s war on Bush Light and Chatham County ended in triumph. I was on my way back from Tybee Island to catch the Greyhound when I was intercepted by the gauntlet. Ambushed by my friends, was quietly slipped a small square of paper. It is only 10 am, but you know how these things happen. Next, a round of Irish car bomb at Sorry Charlie’s. You know what is next. Whisky shots. Oy

The hardest part is dreaming. The pigs wallow in the mud and invite you in. You are splashed with mud, and the pigs insist you are one of them. The filth! Is it possible? I look back at the field of muck and indistinguishable lards, with snouts made for pillaging the earth. Squeals of insecurity. Fat and comfortable, they consume any morsel within rolling distance. They fuck anything that moves. Violent undertones rumble from the sty, they feel resistance. I have nothing aga

I don’t actually hate Tybee Island, just what I become. More, I fear him. Five in the morning, stuffing face with Hawaiian rolls and baked beans. We should sleep soon. Rolling off the couch tomorrow afternoon, I lost roughly 24 hours of my life to a bottle of Rumple Mintz. On a matter of pride, we tether ourselves to chaos. The beach ants here suck down bottomless mimosas damn fast. Watch out in the stomping ground. Everyone is alone on this empty island, dari

I have been left behind. Behind what? It looms ahead, terrible and unforgiving. Like in the dream, I dare not approach IT. No further than my shadow, but twice as fast. Like when you AND the light move, but more. More elusive. So much so, possibly doesn’t exists. Does God? Big Foot? Not fair you say. Okay, how about money? You? Be real now. You don’t follow? You have been left behind. Damn, it happens all the time. The carrot looks swell, does it not? Look ca

I was loaded, but nothing in comparison to my driver. He was coloring outside the lines, drink in one hand, and shifter in the other. I removed my seatbelt and took a big swig from my caguama, I saw no point. Cars were passed, blind corners tested. At the apex of the slightest bend, he would stomp the gas. The man driving went by Tio, as in uncle, to my friend, who brought me here. Why did I trust this man? Our last and only encounter was when I arrived to Morelia, Tio picked

In anxious anguish my eyes burn holes through the ceiling above my bed. The tunnel of my vision penetrates far beyond this cursed town in which I am hostage. From anything of remote resemblance to myself I run, but in folly I trip over my own roots. They rip through the damp stagnate earth, taking control of my momentary lapse. I smile in the glorious release of suffocation. I am dragged from the peak of my delusion, forced into compliance, stomped on by mankind, and laughed

I am writing to the void inside of me. I scoff at the depths of dread, as if everything will go away. But the conflict must be addressed, now or later. Better now. I have spent many years running from the sands of time, but I find my step goes no further than my very first. I am nowhere but here, nothing but exhausted. Running in fear, fear in running, fear in fear. Every step I make, what do you take? I recognize this obvious fact and stop. Insanity would pursue with continu

I’m ever so tired, and the car did not break. They never do. As I lock eyes with the driver, the engine screams in excitement. Objects in motion stay in motion, unless the miserable bastard wises up. Why tip the domino? But he does and we suffer forever after. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. Rolling on the ground, laughter on all sides. Maybe I am laughing at how I bounced off the hood, an impact that would have knocked the lights of any deer. Or maybe I am laughing at the ne

Me, a feral chicken? I can see you have been wiping your ass with that mouth. Are you calling me a liar? I am left with no choice; I throw down the gauntlet. I challenge you to a Big Bird Year, you grouch. The remainder of 2026 shall be spent in observation of our flighty little friends. The winner shall be determined by the longest species list on eBird. I don’t give a hoot if you saw a rare snow goose earlier this year, he was as lost as you are. We are starting fresh, Febr

Since the beginning of man, he has sought eternal life in mythical fountains and violent exploitation. The cost of human life is nothing in comparison. In the name of God and the community, many have been punished for someone else’s foolish greed. But when alone at night they roll in rot, suffering from the time they have truly squandered. In its pursuit, they run from the time they hold so sacred. At least a dog keeps his tail in sight. While they scatter, I pick up the seco

I am a scrap yard baby. Born in the tangle of conduit and wire, day by day for tomorrow. The other half looks down upon my home and notices the animals crawling around in violence and despair. I look down at them, eyes bulging in a slow strangulation by cashmere scarfs. They snuffle, shuffle, and move on. I bound along in my freedom. My chains do not tie me down, they sell. Precious metals and processes and sorting. The industrial hum machine churns, grinds, destroys waste, s

Righteous rat, how you jump. Have your pellets gone stale? The race is over, back to the corner it is. Is it? Was it ever? Maybe always. It should never have gotten this far. Twitchy little rat nose smells evil, it must be so. You verse the world; I cannot place blame. The system has failed. Try to see, the rat across from you is in the same race, the same corner. He is not jumping at you; he is jumping with you. I filled the empty void this week with an obser

Misfortune struck this morning, our boat and captain were lost at sea. Yesterday, I saw a small child and two lifeguards beat to death by rocks in the riptide. A nihilist case study, live in Puerto Rico. After the boat fiasco, kayaks were the only remaining vessel. Launching from the small fishing town of La Parguera, we headed for the mangrove cays off the coast. Let me be precise. “Cayo Caracoles is a picturesque mangrove cay and sandbar in the calm, clear waters o

Do they gather for fear of friendship? Drifting in a drunken stupor of money and margaritas, pleading for affirmation on the beaches of Puerto Rico. It is all here under the San Juan sun, on the sand and shore. The palm trees lean in and whisper a secret: You made it. “But where?” they cry, to no reply. Maybe it was just the wind. With an empty glass of Don Q rum punch in my hand, I stumble into the sea of umbrellas. The delusional smell of sunscreen blinds me, but I forge o

A line to the hydraulic press burst, and our rig and geotechnical investigation stopped dead in its tracks. This was hardly a surprise; nobody thought our rig would last this long. The project was at a gold mine in one of the most violent states in Mexico, Zacatecas, so there was no promise we would ever get the rig home. Or us for that sake. Anything here was dispensable. So, the shittiest rig in the fleet was sent and my job was to keep it running. The procedure for fixing