Welcome to my online portfolio, home to what I feel constitutes my best literary nonfiction, poetry, flash fiction, & photography, with links to my published work, as well as the occasional editorial or research update.
All in Literary Nonfiction
Sometimes, a few drag queens need to throw a few damn bricks for things to finally change, or for things to at least begin to change
Mom died in 2010, and since then I’ve usually avoided this specific holiday, focusing on other things, attempting, usually in vain, to keep the memories at bay
the desire and hope for a society that says we can do better, and in turn doesn’t support that industry
Karen looked on with befuddled amusement as her three male festival partners, bare chested, shirts tucked into our shorts like the thousands of women at the festival,
An unspoken, tacit acknowledgement that ended with a view of religious people being not as “enlightened” as those who did not hold such belief
If flags are going up because I remember the dogs name and not the owners, well, they should.
I once likened the non linear, displaced feeling that is so often grief, to an experience of something I know well; surfing a wave.
Broken down into fifteen golden rules, some are hilarious, gross, and crude, while others are serious, simple, and exactingly accurate. And a few are so emotionally resonating, they still cause me to well up.
Affirmative consent challenges the default assumption that women and men are in a persistent state of being available for sex
One might hope that the duality of that experience would offer fresh consideration and alternate views of the deeper truths that define what it means to be a masculine man
I think a more important question is, why does it matter? Given the above, why the unwavering stance over an idea that must be seen as irrefutable, proving that sexual orientation is biologic in all cases, end of story.
I mention those names specifically, to distance them from what I like to call the goat fucker clan. I suppose the term is more than telling. Trust me, whatever you envision is no doubt accurate
Why then, do we need to categorize and sub-categorize every singular element of sexual diversity to an exacting detail? Not trying to be harsh, but Pig, Slut, Raunchy, Twisted, Nasty, Edge, Holewhore, whatever, let’s stop the identity parade
First in a series of satirical articles documenting the conversations I have with my dog. This time we take on that canine problem of erectile dysfunction ... in the ears
When I open my eyes, springing from deep REM to wide awake in seconds, there is no bird hitting the window. Just a nurse in my bedroom poking gently at my shoulder, informing me that my mother is gone. Only a few minutes ago, she tells me
From an early age, imagination and storytelling were not simply a form of play, they were the necessary traits that allowed me to exist as a healthy, happy, and relatively sane child
Then, starting again, I ask her the question that has been nagging at me since Monday, a life's worth of blank pages to fill hanging in the balance
the goal was to experience our work as having been appropriated to fulfill anther’s needs
The culture, not to mention the medical profession, doesn’t still, in a multitude of ways, attempt to regulate female sexuality through theories and models that have little to do with actual science or psychology
Diversity be damned, drive home each example to it’s reductive and diminishing best