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The voice of a ghost rattling around in my head.

A Biographical Sketch

 

I was drunk for pretty much every waking moment from the age of thirteen until nineteen, including the irregular Eucharist I was badgered into on behalf of my dead Sainted mother. She was piety incarnate as far as anyone in the neighborhood was concerned, which is where I stayed mostly because wandering too far usually resulted in a split lip, busted nose and bruised knuckles. I guess the wandering didn’t account for it as much as the drinking, but hangovers never bothered me because there was always another flask on hand.

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Exponential decay.

Chapter 1

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Bob Dylan and Aliens of Beta Orionis Zeta

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Untitled Fuller Interlude

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