The call to arms, to duty, rang— its echoes rolled across both land and sea; putting your life on hold, you answered it, and once again you donned the Army green. Some hesitated, questioned the call, you gathered up your bags and met the plane; you said goodbye, and tears did fall, but, with honor, flew into the cloudy gray. When you stepped into the desert bright and dry, hot wind first blew across your face, you didn’t shrink away and hide your eyes— head held high and proud, you took your...

Fatmah “Assasins do not make perfect martyrs; martyrs, however, make perfect assassins.” —Ammasoh Nidal, Prophet of the Moon Cold, filthy water pulled Fatmah from the blessed darkness into a world of bright, infinite agony. She blinked the dirty water from her eyes as best she could, unable to wipe it away. Her hands were bound tightly behind her. Fatmah attempted to focus on the face of the infidel standing before her in a blood-soaked leather apron. It was pale and cruel. Like a spitting ...

So there I am, on my way to the big NA Berkeley Candlelight Fundraiser. A safe pass for my very first unsupported. That’s one of the reasons I chose to take it there. Because I know the coast is most definitely not clear. I’m walking to the BART station, kind of enjoying the feeling of being alone as I travel, not only for the level of trust and work it represents, but for the sheer pleasure of simple solitude, a luxury we do not enjoy at the house. I’m carrying my Venti Komodo Dragon Bold co...

Prologue The Bible says the Son of God will return like a thief in the night. Now, I’ve never placed much faith in the Bible— hell, I’ve never placed much faith in anything— but I believe that part. You see, when I met Jesus, he was coming down a fire escape on Sixth Street with a DVD player under one arm and a laptop under the other. To be perfectly honest, I was in no mood to meet the Christ that night. No mood to meet anyone. Why? Fuckin gaffle! Gaffle is a street word that can be either a...

Mirrors don’t lie. That’s what I was thinking as I scraped the razor over the last of the stubble on my chin and wiped leftover wisps of watery shaving cream from my face and neck. I looked at my reflection as I rinsed the disposable razor beneath the tap—clear eyes, wide smile. Mirrors don’t lie. I watched my reflection as I slipped on a white, collared shirt and buttoned front, and then each cuff, in turn. Carefully, fastidiously. I took my eyes off of the mirror as I slipped a plain, stai...

Prologue The Bible says the Son of God will return like a thief in the night. Now, I’ve never placed much faith in the Bible— hell, I’ve never placed much faith in anything— but I believe that part. You see, when I met Jesus, he was coming down a fire escape on Sixth Street with a DVD player under one arm and a laptop under the other. To be perfectly honest, I was in no mood to meet the Christ that night. No mood to meet anyone. Why? One word: gaffle. Gaffle can be either a noun or a verb. In...

I see looming before me, a table, course-grained mesa populated with deep white plates, crisp bacon captive in the warm, dense fog of steaming, buttery grits and runny scrambled eggs, a grandfather, massive and strong! in three-year old eyes, long before the predatory ravages of whiskey and time, before the stroke, before the wheelchair that will attach itself to his palsied, shriveled body like a steel and rubber leech, a grandmother, vague and insubstantial, a timid ghost haunting the perip...

I see, looming before me, a table, course-grained mesa of deep white plates, crisp bacon captive in the dense steam of buttery grits and runny scrambled eggs, a grandfather, massive and strong in three-year old eyes, long before the predatory ravages of whiskey and time, before the stroke, before the wheelchair that will attach itself to his palsied, shriveled body like a steel and rubber leech. I devour the grits, shoat at the trough, Consume savory strips of bacon with cannibal glee, liber...

The path is overgrown, but there, under bent grass and untamed blooms, hidden beneath the fallen leaves of oaks, but there. We were younger then, and the future but horizon, that shimmering and dancing line where meet the earth and air. In truth, we never walked it arm- in-arm, but at times you took my hand in yours, and fingers touched, and lips. Even though the path was bare, fresh dirt beneath our feet, we couldn’t see where it would lead, we innocent. So beautiful you were back then, like...

Every night they come: the white trucks, the vans, the men in bright green vests and rubber boots that unwind hoses like frayed threads of sanity. Outside the U.N. building, in the square, the invisible disperse like locusts from a chewed field,to the library, to the alleys, to the quarter toilet over by City Hall—the one with a hole where the stainless basin used to sit, the one that’s only good for bad now, the one I almost stabbed that guy in because I didn’t have the guts to stab myself. ...