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So
Long,
Captain Shoo-In
George
Carlin
1937 - 2008
Queen Of Vernon
1994-2007
Reality Check Celebrates 10 Years!
Midnight For Cinderella
Released!
Order now!
The Gueem
1997-2006
A jc novel manuscript optioned by film production company.
Autographed copies of
Trailing Jesus available!
Reviews:
7/16 Brick Township Bulletin Feature
6/29 Minnesota Star-Tribune Review
4/22 Union County Advocate Feature
4/23 North County News Feature
6/5 Cary News Feature
American Writer Monthly interview.
Writer's Manual interview.
Erin Page
Rumored...
Quote of the week!
"Election?
Votes? Scam? Let me consult the Qu'Ran to see if I can
rule on this thing."
-
Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.
Quote Archive
NEWS
RAINN
Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network
City Lights Books
Flying Dog Beer
Friends of Gonzo
Rita J. King
Scribe
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The New Book!
Nearly every horrid, petulant, fury-inducing, truth-mongering morsel from the Reality Check News & Information Desk for the past five years, and then some.
Not for the weak
more info on this book |
The Third Book!
This introspective and controversial Holy Land journal from the edge follows the mysterious path of the Galilean mason's radical revolution of spirit all the way to 20th century Jerusalem.
more info on this book |
The Second Book!
A collection of missives, barbs, cracks, essays, and beneath the belt journalism practiced in the belly of the beast.
more info on this book |
The First Book!
One man's journey into the soul of a NJ club band full of fierce portrayals and moving stories.A runaway underground bestseller without the benefit of a big time publisher or much initial publicity.
more info on this book
More jc Inside!
jc's haunting tribute to the Lost Generation, "Resurrections in Babes Clothing" is included in this intriguing collection of various poets and essayists born between 1960 and 1982
more info on this book
More jc Inside!
Two of jc's columns on the events of 9/11/01 are part of this charity compendeum available now from American Publishing.
more info on this book
Denise - Artist
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RealityCheck
Weekly
contemptuous gonzo blather by jc. |
June 17, 2009
OPEN LETTER TO MY WIFE PART II
A Continued Apology Ten Years In The Making
Dearest,
I send this missive to press on the tenth anniversary
of our marriage from a hotel in Barcelona, Spain, where
you lay beside me in one of your rare restive states,
mouth agape, right wrist resting awkwardly on your forehead;
your breath slow, but steady. It is the finest example
I have that you have survived me, something I did not
predict a decade ago in this space, when we were far
away in Syracuse, NY getting hitched. It was a cowardly
act; putting down every horrible thing I had wreaked
on my loved ones and those who were unlucky enough to
cross my path in a pathetic attempt to publicly expunge
all this bile without your knowledge. But no jury would
convict me. I just didn't want to queer the deal. Ultimately
it was nothing more than cute and it brought me a meager
pittance to submit it, but it didn't mean a goddamned
thing.
Turns
out you knew all about it, didn't you? After all, you
lived with me, and not the Me that I rolled out at parties
or professional jaunts or even family affairs, but the
real Me. What the hell does that mean? Fuck if I know,
but you do, and that's all that counts. I rely on that
instinct to strip away all my well-crafted facades and
leave me a bloody, emotional, blithering child. It's
a good feeling to be "reduced". Hell, yes. I recommend
it to anyone with this kind of mind-numbing ego.
But
you never ran from the tornados, darling. Not you. Not
ever. This is why you are the finest of women, which
makes you the finest of humans, because we all know
a man could not begin to scale the heights you traverse
daily. It is always a trip to awe to watch you move.
It is something between cat and silk. I'm afraid to
describe it anymore. I close my eyes and see you dance
and that's good enough, so that image will have to be
good enough for the reader too. Good luck with it. It's
worked for me.
So
there is the toughness of spirit and the tenderness
of your feminine wiles, but it speaks nothing of what
this crapped on, kicked out, undulating sack of protoplasm
has gained from even knowing you, much less being "loved"
by you. No one really knows what love means. I never
did. I thought I had it down and tore it up and dragged
it out and caressed it and sunk into it like a soft
chair and was thrown from it like a speeding car careening
into a blind ravine, but I was mistaken. I know that
now. Love is nothing you grasp. What I have for you
cannot fill poems or splatter on canvas. You can't hum
it like a melody or turn it into a foreign film. It
seeks no philosophy or religion. It is the unspeakable,
the unknowable and I sure as hell wouldn't reveal it
under oath or threat of torture.
click
here to continue
THIS
WEEK
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