by Kenneth Clay
I woke up sometime later, with my face in the dirt. My head was wicked sore and tiny pieces of glass were lodged inside my skin. A tree branch had landed on the dirt just a little bit away from my nuts. If I had been thrown out the windshield just an inch further, I...
by Kenneth Clay
Each morning, I roll over and reach for the needle. There’s just barely enough in there to allow me to get my fix. I, using drug-addict precision, carefully slide the needle into my veins. There’s little masses of purplish scar-tissue...
by Kenneth Clay
Okay, Payte. You see what I’m doing here? Do you see? I’m lighting it. But I’m not just lighting it, that’s not how it works. You gotta kind of twirl it around, slowly. Like a cigar, but not really like a cigar. Imagine it’s some ladies...
by Kenneth Clay
Hey there! This is the first page of a manuscript I’m working on called The Fool & The Anti-Realist. It’s a semi-autobiographical surrealist novel about facing the absurdity of life. Think Albert Camus’s Myth of Sisyphus but for the misfits....
by Kenneth Clay
I think most reading this know of the mythos surrounding insanity and genius. We’ve all heard of the “tortured artist” Vincent Van Gogh. And I’m also sure that most of us have heard of Hunter S. Thompson, a man who would soak his brain in...
