Statement of Record



by Jamie Valentino

For as long as he could remember there were two of him, like an evil twin. They looked identical but were fraternal in behavior, though this other person wasn’t necessarily a villain. His intentions were neither bad nor good. Like the couple times he smoked...

Further From Home: Dopehead Theology II

by Erik Rasmussen

Larry could practically see the dishonesty rippling wildly out, a toxic impression his behavior stamped into reality and would eventually, he just knew it, kill this relationship as the substance had killed so may emotions inside him. 

Forgiveness on one shoulder, a killer on the other. 

I’ve Got AIDS

by Michael Wiener

I’ve got AIDS, man. Not sure how it happened. Life’s cheap, here. It’s funny, ‘cause this used to be a pretty vibrant neighborhood. Then they starved it on purpose, swear to God. Powers that be, the bankers, Mayor Koch, probably the Fed. NYC, Drop Dead, exactly right. They don’t give a shit.

Further From Home: Dopehead Theology

by Erik Rasmussen

He took his time, enjoying the prep and process. He was in no hurry. It’s like getting high was as narcotizing as being high. Striking matches and relishing sulfur smoke and opening rubbing alcohol bottles and smelling ethyl fumes were its own kind of rush, a flood of natural adrenaline and dopamine ringing euphorically in his limbic system, an irony that did not go...

Further From Home: The Paruresis

by Erik Rasmussen

It was more than casual, The Desire. And it wasn’t “desire” strictly speaking, he had to grudgingly admit. Larry’s girlfriend Liz, on her way from Brooklyn and stuck in LIE traffic, texted him during the traffic’s ebb. He was sick and he’d told her he was sick, making vague reference to a weird virus going around Long Island and moaning about back pain as he lay on his...

Further from Home

by Erik Rasmussen

In a galaxy far, far away, Larry lay dope sick on his parent’s couch.

This was before addiction had taken hold, flu-like, in the early years when he was immune to addiction — he was born free of the congenital disease — his immunity built by witness, by inoculating revulsion to his own family members’ personal struggles with the condition. He was a dope head romantic.

Love’s Garden

By Alexandra Bowie

One day she started talking about reincarnation. That was interesting, because most people in our town went to one of the big evangelical churches whose parking lots took up almost as much space as the farms they’d replaced, and I figured Mary did too...


By Susan Buttenwieser

The woman in the toy store said the kite would be easy to fly. Sonny has his daughter hold the string while he tries to get it airborne. But the kite is flimsy and the wind ripping off the water batters it onto the sand. He tosses it again and again, and each time, it torpedoes straight down...


By Marge Lurie

Maybe I was wrong, but I thought I knew what he meant. At a certain point,

you're old enough that it does all count. You've put your time in, one way or

another, and it has led you to where you are. The path you took might have

led you somewhere else entirely; and different paths might have led to where

you are. But, for better or worse, your path was your path.


By Andrea Scrima

I only realized in hindsight how close she'd come to killing me. One day, how many years later was that, I suddenly had to think—and how long had it been since either of them had crossed my mind—of course, of course, she was pondering it all the while, imagining sending me sailing straight off the cliff with one good, hard push...


By Susan Buttenwieser

They take the Red Line inbound, switch at Park Street for Kenmore Square, the car filling up at each stop with more and more fans and their requisite accessories: Red Sox baseball caps, T-shirts, jackets, flags, foam fingers, kids with streaks of red in their hair. By the time they reach their station, it's so packed, they can barely move and are swept along with...


By Nicole Elizabeth

She points to a man on a stool at the end of the bar. He looks like the creepy old guy from the Metallica Unforgiven music video. It's Alphabet City, he probably is that guy. He looks up at me, winks. Someone once told me that if people wink at you, it means they're lying.

Statement of Record

Follow Me