the hermit crab

The Water Fountains

I am a hypnotist,
it’s true.
I have several pieces of paper
that say so.
I know what you want it to be
but it’s not that.
I keep trying to tell people what it is
but no one will listen that long.

I have been a student,
a dishwasher,
a receptionist,
a world traveler,
a house painter,
a pizza delivery driver,
a box packer,
a floor sweeper,
a shut in,
a massage therapist,
a laborer,
a bartender,
a shoe salesman,
and a waiter for by far, the longest of these.

I have tried my hand at astrology,
novel writing,
op-ed writing,
and I even walked into a communist bookstore once.

I have lost track of lovers,
been addicted to sugar, caffeine, cocaine and alcohol.
I was a boyfriend once, to someone
for less than a year
and in love with…

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Now the World Knows! World Mental Health Day 2016

About a year ago, I was contacted by a media group in the UK asking if they could interview me and possibly publish an article about my experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Well, a year later, it’s here.

The Sun, UK has published the interview, as well as the Daily Mail.

What the fuck.

I have mixed emotions…

My main concentration is to raise awareness- with mental illness, DID, suicide prevention, rape… I mean, just things that I’ve personally dealt with. That’s my entire focus. I want people to inform themselves, to know that DID specifically isn’t this silly little game, but it’s YEARS of personal turmoil. It’s trauma, it’s real life pain, confusion and work.

When I started this process of being interviewed, I was in such a different place in therapy, in life, with myself. Now that this has been published, it is actually quite trippy to see my progress.

(I’d also like to point out that there are definitely a few errors on the articles. One of them being that Rogue is a “sex addict.” So not true. )

ANYWAYS, there’s lots I could say on the subject.

And to new readers, yes, I am real. 
Yes, DID is actually a real disorder.
No, I’m not like Sybil. I’m a relatively normal person just like everyone else.

Overall, if you’re curious about Dissociative Identity Disorder, I encourage you to educate yourself.

Here’s a link to an article I wrote regarding DID from a personal standpoint-

And here’s a link off of NAMI:

The Mechanic

my feeble Homunculus
red Jew
the top of your hat
is carved out
to fit a small light
I have called you brutal names
my albatross
looking back I see the film
loosely lifted
outwardly your small eyes
in contrast my
to the space between us
as uncertain as dice
you remain
I am not a graduate
nothing on white to
tell that I am licensed
I am a mechanic
like him
rewiring myself, instead
always battling the
electrical currents
always zapping my fingers

Sunshine- Todd Snider- on a Suicide Attempt


Standing on out on the

Edge of the building

Watching the traffic below

Drinking a beer and thinking of jumping

Not far from ready to go

Below me the crowd

Slowing gathers around

Cops cars with news cameras too

I just can’t get out of this pain I’m in

And I don’t know what else to do

Sometimes i feel like

I’m so uninvited

Like something so out of touch

They tell me depression

Runs in the family

Well, that doesn’t help me much

The crowds yelling “jump”

Over a cop on a bullhorn

Making them harder to hear

He’s saying something about

Having so much to live for

I’m almost threw with my beer


Squinting my eyes to

See through the sunlight

The crows even bigger now

There’s no point in wondering

What afterlife’s like

It don’t matter anyhow

We’re already in hell

As far as I can tell

Just listen to these people scream

This feels like a rally

In a high school field house

I feel like the captain of the team

Well, here goes the captain of the team…


Follow the light to the Garden of Eden

You stand at the pearly gates

Saint Peter comes over

His hand on my shoulder

He’s telling me I got away

He says, “You know you can’t kill yourself

And still get in here kid. But you look like

A victim of circumstance

So I’m just gonna break every bone in your

Body and give you another chance”

Waking up slowly

Looking around me, alone in a recovery room

But closing my eyes

I can see the new sunrise

Over acres of flowers in bloom

I don’t know when it will be

But the next time you see me

I’ll be tapping to a whole new beat

Walking souls in to the holes of my shoes

Down the sunny side of the street



Losing Ulla

Tears pushing through…

I miss you, Ulla. I miss you. Even though I’ve never met you in person, I’ve never even heard your voice, you were there for me 2 years ago when I needed support. You helped guide me and shared my dark humour.

You are loved.

Birth of a New Brain


Ulla’s dog Solo

Ulla. Where do I begin?

When I told someone yesterday my friend died by suicide, adding that we never met face-to-face, I sensed that she didn’t understand the power of a virtual friendship.

Of course that’s not her fault – if you haven’t experienced being friends with an online “kindred spirit”, it’s hard to relate to the idea. But I was frustrated all the same because it was a genuine friendship.

How I hate writing that word “was”.

Ulla was a better friend to me than most of the friends I’ve ever had; hell, she was there for me during some of my toughest times far more than some of my relatives.

Oh Ulla.

She supported my writing, and — this was big– she helped me grieve my father’s death. She truly understood what it was like to lose a parent since she had been through it too.

She sent me…

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Girlfriend Sweater

what it feels like:

thieving, merciless.

black bitch grasping for
both my calves.
stomach bile bubbling in the
cauldron, spitting up vodka
and half-digested pills.

this is the thrill?
I was walking on two feet twelve
hours ago, laughing and absorbing
September sun on my face.
now I am crawling like
a veteran.

this place no longer welcomes me
with open arms
she cracks her jawbone in my eyes.

tottering on a child’s set
of bipolar la-lee-da.

I bet if you were to crack open
my egg-y brain you’d see the
walnut fissures my father gave to me.
folding up like a shoebox

I’m wondering if the man’s hum
is a television commercial or if I’m


part II.

hey, I’m not dying, okay?
my fucking brain is sizzling
but I still feel like clutching on to you
and kissing you
and loving you.
this part isn’t going to last.
it’s a fucked-up thread
hanging out from my sweater sleeve,
I’m not going
to let the whole sweater unravel.
(not this time, I’m done doing that)

this is the sweater you helped me knit.

it gets cold in October.
I won’t

I have to keep you warm, too.
come here.