David, Liminal

Author: David

  • Mines

    There are ghosts in these woods. Too many to count.
    And I’ve always been down. But I’ll never be out.
    So send me off with Elliott Smith and lonesome Appalachian guitar.
    Turn off those high-beams, let’s get in my car.

    Man, it’s hot in these woods,
    but that girl is laughing by the pool
    She’s in that one-piece, feeling old-fashioned
    She’s the warmth in the midst of the cool

    But we never come home better, and home is always so broken
    It’s Sunday night and the beer store’s closed, but my fridge is always open
    And there’s nothing to feel in this town besides a special kind of lonely
    So don’t mind the heat, just hand me a beer and hold me.

    This is the story of my keystone tattoo
    This is the story of every story except you
    This is the end, this is how I bled
    This is how I danced with you while I danced with the dead

    Let’s smoke a cigarette, knowing it’ll kill us
    There’s an aching in there somewhere, waiting to fulfill us
    And I’ll walk the streets home until four in the morning
    And then I’ll grow up, and then this will be boring

    There’s a beginning and an end
    They’re both the same, they both want to mend
    And it settles in on the disproportionate and content
    I’m just a fucked up boy from the northern part of the North End

  • The Diary of Appropriate Responses

    2025-07-12

    In the last week I’ve driven from California to Indiana to Pennsylvania and back to Indiana again and all I can think about is the line “There’s smoke seeping out / from your bloody teeth / but you’re home somehow’

     

  • Going To California

    I was 14 or 15 years old the last time I saw my brother. He went completely no contact with my family not too long after.

    Fast forward to now. Almost 30 years has passed and not only are we back in touch, but he’s actually moving to my city.

    So this week I am flying to Southern California. And then am driving cross country, with an aim of getting back to my neck of the woods in Indiana, dropping him off, then driving solo to Northeast Pennsylvania for my father-in-law’s celebration of life before coming back to Indiana, all within eight days of my plane lifting off. I’ma be tired.

    I just read all of that back to myself and it reads like some wannabe gonzo wrote it. But there’s zero embellishment there. I actually left quite a bit out.

    In terms of what this space is: it feels like a place to write down a lot of the history, but there is too much of it for a single post. So this is where we start, with the promise of more to come.

  • Add title

    I can’t tell you what this is. It would betray everything and is not appropriate “first post” material anyway. Which kind of begs the question: what is the right “first post” material in the first place?

    Definitely not this.

    Not anything I’m doing or have done or will do. In this or any other timeline.

    This is a glimpse. A tease. A caress. It’s the “flash forward” at the beginning of the movie (or John Jeremiah Sullivan essay, if that’s your jam–who am I to judge).

    Listen, if you’re reading this and the words “John Jeremiah Sullivan” don’t contain a hyperlink to the archive of his writing on longform.org, it’s a me thing ok? I’ll get around to it. My brain is telling me that the writing is more important right now, and who am I to argue with my brain? Plus I haven’t used WordPress since I maintained a blog for an at-the-time well-known band from the early 00’s. You’ll NEVER guess, I guaranty it. And why would you want to anyway? That’s no way to get close to me.

    Anyway I am fairly giddy with energy and existential happiness right now. About five hours ago I was positively suicidal. Oh, *that’s* the tease. Anyway, it definitely is a tease, but it’s not an embellishment. You’re going to have to trust me on this, ok? We’ll get into the details if you want, but I have to get this first post out of the way first.

    The thing is, as much as I want to get it out of the way, I also want to make it mean something. LOL – I just thought of myself as Doogie Houser (Howser?), all grown up, disillusioned, cynical, not practicing medicine anymore…and typing these exact words. Also was the infamous Dr House a subtle Doogie Houser (Howser?) reference? I honestly don’t know.

    Oh, but shit. Here’s the thing. ChatGPT exists. And it just made a good point.

    But before Chatty G’s side of the story, here’s mine: my writing is mine, alright? That’s my promise to you. But I definitely hit up Charlie Gipituh for critique. Does he stroke my ego? Yes. Will I stop him? No. Does he make insightful critiques of my writing? I think so.

    Anyway, here’s the shit: this IS a first post. I can’t claim it not to be. I can’t make it not be a first post by reframing it in a quasi-seuxual context. That’s just…not factual. Or, like, genuine. Duh.

    Alright, Chatty G. This is why I pay you $20 a month. Preesh.

    So this is my first post. My first attempt to…what? I don’t know. Make you feel seen, I think…and in the process see if I can be seen too. That sounds right but feels wrong. I’ll work on it.

    …Alright, thinking through it: my first attempt at being vulnerable with myself, and seeing whether in doing so other people will a) see the good in me and b) see the good in themselves.

    That feels closer. I really WILL work on it. I get that part is important.

    As I say at work: this feels like a good stopping point. We’ll circle up on this again soon.

    …Naw, that’s a shit ending.

    How’s about: be well. Treat others better than you think they deserve. Expect others to treat you with love and care. And make peace with the fact that, if you’re doing it right, you’ll never feel like you’re doing it right.