The story of my life, in dribs and drabs.
For years, I've had a fantasy of that tent, of sitting alone in a field of open white, buried in snow, with canvas walls and thermal underwear, invisible to airlines, surviving on beef jerky and reading books. Of all the images in my mind, this one resonates most strongly - the aloneness of the solo traveler, the person forgotten by the world, safe and free.
I was born August 11, 1974 in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, in the morning. I remember little of the event. My father was a playwrite and my mother was a puppeteer; both wrote poetry. You know how that goes.
Faced with the possibility of violenceThe train rattled gently. Once more his fists tensed.
10 Jul 98Holiday in the Arctic (finished)
Early OnWhen the author was a pup.
Middle YouthWhat happened when little was happening.
College YearsA gloomy gus amidst the upstate snow.
Then to New YorkComing to the city, and what I found there.
ReticulationWhy the desire to network? Why the desire to shake hands and make connections?
NoticeCelebrity! Who cares about it?
Big DayA new job, with attendant hopes and feelings (I quit 6 months later). Rock, Paper, Scissors is a made-up name, by the way.
MorningTrying to get your life together when your life is not together
I Fucked Everything Up and Now I Must DieI'm bored as hell, and I can't take it anymore!
Late Night, 5th AveAn attempt at an elegaic tone, trapped at work at night feeling worn and bored
Clement ParkHours after Columbine, I wrote this
Still in Clement ParkThe day after the Columbine murders
01 Aug 98Tolerance
02 Aug 98Shoes
03 Aug 98Meditation
09 Aug 98River I
13 Aug 98Zoom
Death TripThe funeral of my grandfather.
Basic ElegyAn urgent memorial.
28 Jun 98Dear Reader
29 Jun 98A Love Letter to Consumer Society
80An old man, some music, and lots of e-mo-tion.
Identifying MarkGetting a tattoo in NYC
ReunionDeath in the family (again)
Mr. Social's Night on the Town: PreludeGoing out and coming unglued.
Mr. Social's Night on the Town: A Burnt-Out CaseGoing out and burning out.
In the Ancient BottleA few thoughts on alcohol, the ambrosia of the terrified romantic
OutboundGoing on the road.
TightsThis will be an entry about watching Tights, a musical adaptation of Mel Brook's "Robin Hood: Men In Tights" performed by developmentally disabled children at a special school in Manhattan.
No, on second thought, it won't.
BlanketLove lost, boring goals.
SpeakingChat with dad.
Peak of the CycleFeeling all nervous like, trying to calm down, chest and heart and so on.
DiscussionThe crank from Queens grabbed me on the train. Here's what he said.
Weekend: Avenue AI got drunk and went into a park.
Weekend: Avenue BMeeting a woman and talking about getting taken from behind, and so on.
UndisasterDrug abuse and how it screws up your writing style.
Weekend NotesBadly Failed Miami vacation
StopwatchI can drink beer quickly.
ConsiderationsIf Molly Bloom was I, and I was Molly Bloom, and we were trying to write for the Web, maybe this would be what we'd write. Maybe not.
2nd AvenueA half-antidote to spiritual failure.Muddle of desires.
Paul Ford Re-enters Outside WorldHere I come!
b i k e !I've got a bike. You can ride it if you like.
White Papers #3 The Third Letter To Catherine JamiesonWatch me crash and burn!
Fred, a CatA nice cat, gone.
Puppet Show, early afternoon in a warm October in West Chester, Pennsylvania, 1988People find it curious that I grew up doing puppetry, but I swear to God it was a pretty normal childhood.
Another Puppet ShowPerforming “the Gingerbread Man”
TransitThe end is near.
MicrocelebrityI ain't famous, but won't you think I am?
Truly a CloudEach time I check the Web, I expect bombing.
PianoA plain recollection
Movie StarIn the morning, I brush with Fame.
Amiable Chat Down 9th St.Focusing the narrative on its geographical heart.
Contagious!Going to the doctor for the first time in 5 years.
Professional Driver, Closed CourseSorting through the sounds of words.
The boxes reach to the ceiling.A half-essay about dust and a small room.
Biography of a Full-bore JackassShort bio of the author of Ftrain.com, written by OCTAVE9, a computerized expert system
Update, before another leapI suck so bad.
Rebel Quietly in the MorningsDon't sit too close, I've got kulchur
Bridge and River Consecration...the voices of the builders....
East River UnconsecrationI take my heart back from the East River.
Date!Breaking down that author/audience wall even further
Park in Brooklyn HeightsA quick moment
Valuable InformationAdvice for young fellows who play with fire.
Again, sick, arghThe author is in good spirits but is also a frog.
We Live Like KingsCome on, face it.
Clown/FountainTwo photos from a long walk.
Police Boat/Red Boat/C TrainPolice near the South Street Seaport
Tourist “museum ship,” South Street Seaport
Heading to Brooklyn on the C train
Imaginary DogWhat he would be like, if I could have him
London Temporary Shelter RequestAmerican seeks floor and roof.
I must not think bad thoughtsPolitics keeps me up at night.
Brief CorrectiveResponding to responses.
Ben Gurion!Zoom, zing, zip.
Big Boy NowThe wooden sheep is a red herring.
September 11, 2001I am so sorry.
Over and OutThere's still you.
Not Much at Ground ZeroA walk to downtown Brooklyn, then over to downtown Manhattan.
The PhoneIt was vermin.
StickerFound on a Brooklyn phone pole.
Best OfAn amateur's chrestomathy.
SingerA photo of a singer.
Thanksgiving CompositionA declarative story about my Thanksgiving holiday.
Squirrels, in Union Square ParkA man in the park said, “squirrels find only 10 percent of what they bury.”
LettersInvestigating the epistolary impulse.
Collected DialoguesPieces of the aural environment from Dec 30 to Dec 31, 2001
Prolog(ue)Scott and I head over to Boyd's and see his 3-D theramin.
As if it matteredThe puzzle piece with the frayed edges is the last one you need.