(and why facebook isn’t helping)

America just celebrated its 245th anniversary of independence from England. Which is its own white lie, anyway. Email didn’t exist, so signing a declaration on July 4th meant dick to the crown or any other nation of the world. July 4th might as well be called “We don’t like dad and we’ve decided to move out, now we just need to tell him and deal with the consequences” Day. Seriously, celebrating the “birth of the nation” on July 4th would be like celebrating your own birthday on the day your parents fucked. But let’s set aside factual details for the…


“Dissecting the Renaissance”

When I reflect on my limited knowledge of the Renaissance (and on my brief perusing of wikipedia), I imagine a transition period where great and meager minds alike were imagining a new way forward. I think of it like a ship coming into port after a long journey—the ship is the framework of society, and the captain, passengers and crew are all pitching ideas to make the next voyage better. Some focused on the mechanics while others focused on the hospitality and entertainment. Some focused on the navigation while others focused on the safety and peace-keeping. And from this collective…


Nothing of my life is particularly normal aside from eating a couple times a day, being exceedingly amused by American politics, and suffering from opioid-induced constipation. Truly, I haven’t had a good shit in weeks.

I tell jokes for money, spend most of that money on ridiculous hats, and my god’s day off is Thursday. I sleep when I’m tired, eat when I’m hungry, and fuck because it’s fun. I’ve given up words like breakfast, alarm clock, cell phone, and job. And even though random orgies with college girls that “like to party” are what I call Wednesday, every time…


Who will know if we were ever really here?

One year ago today, I was at death’s door. (You might have read the story).

If you’ve never experienced knowing you’re going to die—I mean knowing in such a way that you’re wide-eyed surprised when death passes you by—then all you have is your imagination to suggest how you might face your imminent demise. I assure you, your imagination doesn’t have the first clue.

And if your imagination can’t grasp the reality of death’s door, how can it fathom an entire year that you shouldn’t have lived to see? Here I am, a year on, and I can’t fathom it…


“The madness draws us,” she says, glancing down to consider the cigarette that smolders at her fingers’ tips, “it leads us and then leaves us.” She meets his eyes again. “And when it goes, it’s us that say it’s gone for good. But look around us” — he had let slip from his senses the carnival that carries on in the village; amplified bass from deep within the streets pours out like an invisible sticky foam, stealing and blending the lifted voices of gleeful cries into one manic laughter, but the whole of his focus intertwines with her voice —…


The last time I was this close to death I was trying to kill myself.

I had just left my hotel after a great night’s sleep. I took good care to pack my things tightly in anticipation of the rain I would surely encounter. At these great altitudes of the Ecuadorian mountains you are living among the clouds, and among the clouds you are bound to get wet.

But for whatever waited in the distance, I only had blue skies overhead. So I set out with the bright promises of a new day. …


My Only Sunshine

If you’d told me this time last year that I’d be sitting here staring out over this vast expanse of forever decorated in soft, warm hues scored by a gentle, incessant roar, I would have thanked you for dreaming bigger for me than I ever could. One year ago I was still attempting to polish the jagged-edged life I’d carved out some years before with a dull and rusting knife. And yet, one year on, here I sit against the odds and all my best efforts to the contrary.

You know that little voice ever-present in the smallest corner of…


“Clouds in the Head”

Introduction

Photographs have the power to speak to us in ways that words fall short. The first televised presidential debate persuaded viewers that JFK resoundingly bested Nixon, while those that listened on the radio drew a different conclusion. We all know the famous words beamed down to Earth less than a decade later about small steps, but the words alone cannot compare to the sheer awe viewers must have felt seeing a man on the moon. That same decade would burn into the minds of millions images of children screaming, soldiers dying, villages burning, four dead in O-hi-o.

In the last…


Photo by Milkovi (unsplash)

It’s January 2nd, which means all those good intentions sharing space in my head with a brutal hangover can now return to their 364-day hibernation.

I remember my first resolution — I was a teenager and wanted a car. By “wanted a car” I mean I wanted to get laid, so I resolved to have a car by the end of the year, and thus, a dream was born.

When you’re a teenager that wants shit without parents that are fond of buying you shit, you’re forced to get creative because a job paying minimum wage isn’t getting you shit…


Photo by Ivan Rojas Urrea

My dog sleeps on the couch, shits outside, and doesn’t wear a collar. Let me elaborate.

The last time I had a dog, I was just sprouting hairs below the belt. Half lab, half dalmatian, we dubbed her a dalmador because labmation sounded, frankly, too fucking creepy. She was the kind of dog that people wrote stories about when they wrote about a boy and his dog. She chased rabbits, brought home squirrels, and got pissed when she realized medicine was hidden in the cheese. We’d moved from the sticks to the suburbs, and my sweet bitch of a dog…

Sammi Rudkus

Unrepentant humorist and day-drinker with flexible morality seeking meaningful one-night stand-ups and forgettable moments captured on disposable film

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