So it’s good Friday —I’ve never been one to honor religious traditions or any of that bullshit but I come from a long line of poor Irish Roman Catholics— today is a heavy day for them, because you know, the whole Jesus thing. Easter is heavier. On Sunday, they will drink themselves to a stupor, say a quick Hail Mary or two, and then they’ll think their right with the Lord.
I’m more excited for the boardwalk. The Keansburg Boardwalk is a mecca for broke locals to spend their quarters on rigged claw machines and fidgety rides on Easter as they walk off their Stouffer’s Lasagna and Bloody Mary’s. I like to go there to people watch and admire the broad range of folks that crawl out from beneath the wooden planks of the walk. Like creatures from the black lagoon, Easter has always brought the real creepy crawlers out into the streets.
I have been thinking about the Bayshore a lot lately, the ten or so miles between Sandy Hook to just south of the Amboys, a dozen small towns that all look the same. I have roamed these streets my entire life.
I have puked my guts off of every pier into the Raritan Bay.
I have been chased by the police across every town line.
I have laughed and loved and screamed and fought in every dim-lit shore street.
I have copped on every corner, I have walked holes in the soles of my shoes from Matawan to Belford half a million times to the point where I don’t even keep my eyes open anymore.
I’m writing this on the day it’s due. I have five other deadlines I’ll probably miss this week. I’m still working on figuring this whole thing out— the job, the writing career, the shows, and being a functioning human.
I’m twenty three and the same kids I graduated with are bar-hopping until their parents credit cards are maxed out and I’ve done all that off my own dime. I’m tired. I’m burned out. I’m still getting fucked up when the world gets too heavy but I’m bored of it.
In three weeks I’m leaving for Kansas City. I’ll be there for five days with Rebecca. I’ll be doing three readings at Prospero’s Books with John Dorsey, Jameson Bayles, and a bunch of other great poets. I’m excited. I’m stoked to leave the area and breath Midwest air.
I’ve toiled with the idea of traveling. Selling all my shit and hitting the road for good like a 2016 Kerouac. Today, I’ve made the decision that is what I’m going to do. Going to figure out something. Save up some dough and bounce around for a while. Try to find the sunshine from another horizon.
I’ve lived a thousand lives but I haven’t even lived yet.
Time for a rebirth.
Happy Good Friday,