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I had become my father. Another alcoholic destined down a dark road of desperation. Rife with self-loathing, destitution, and despondency. A dissolute barfly full of contradictory, yet melancholic thoughts. My everyday was my yesterday. Nothing ever changed. Maybe because I was not ready for it to change. So, once again,Continue Reading

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Roger Camp is the author of three photography books including the award-winning Butterflies in Flight (Thames & Hudson, 2002) and Heat (Charta, Milano, 2008). His work has appeared in numerous journals including The New England Review, New York Quarterly, and the Vassar Review. He previously worked as a reference librarianContinue Reading

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I heard there were no gun laws in Texasso I rented a Taurus and droveto Thom Young’s house,running over prairie dogs and singing the newBlake Shelton Christmas song.And when I got thereI bought a rifle and some nightcrawlersand we fished in a puddle behind the Allsup’s.But the fish didn’t wantContinue Reading

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I don’t remember when it startedbut the end came last Tuesday.I’d taken a Xanax and slept all day,seeing an old girlfriendand my dead dogin dreams or nightmaresor some other hell that I’ll get to reliveif I don’t get this one right.And when I finally wokeI couldn’t ignore what all theContinue Reading

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The Portland Pessimist Society was founded in 1984 by Felicia Gay, Rose Brightwell, Gladys Hope, and Joy S. Young. The PPS credo is a four-point “Litany of Grievances”: (1) Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz is the worst person to have ever lived.(2) Be disheartened.(3) Sunshine on the shoulder may lead to skinContinue Reading

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I stare out the window, a wistful sigh dangling off my chapped lips. From forty-four floors above the ground, the tiny people look like little ants – ants scurrying about in their heels and skirts and suits, ants with their solid-colored briefcases and someplace important to be. Ants with longContinue Reading

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Part I: A severed head with its eyelids cut off.  The floating mass, rounded by gravity, orbiting a star, hosted billions of little organisms that named themselves human. They received our gift. Part II: Pandemic From onset to death, it requires one to five days. The average time is threeContinue Reading

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At Miss Hooker’s funeral I’ll fall inlove with her all over again, red hairand green eyes and freckles and her eyes closedlike they used to be when she recitedthe Lord’s Prayer at the end of SundaySchool class and I peeked to see how she looked with them closed, maybe asleepContinue Reading