addiction
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Bibliophilism: On Love and Addiction
It is possible to give one’s life to books, to dedicate years to collecting, reading, teaching, translating, writing, and studying them. In an essay for the New Yorker, Thomas E. Kennedy, a writer, editor, translator, and professor, reflects on his…
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Valentine’s Day
It was only one meal after all and what could go wrong? The answer was simple. Me.
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A Letter to Eric
What follows is a love letter to my twenty-six-year-old brother Eric, written shortly after he overdosed on heroin. He survived.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Veronica’s Teeth
“…people like us made our own destruction. We suicide-bombed our own lives.”
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The Rumpus Interview with Brian Lindstrom
We talk to filmmaker Brian Lindstrom about his latest project, Alien Boy, the creative process behind documentary filmmaking, and his personal and artistic relationship with his wife, Cheryl Strayed.
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Albums of our Lives: Rufus Wainwright’s Poses
If I had written a list of pros and cons, I might have seen how moving to Austin from Seattle with a boyfriend who had just kicked heroin, and with stripping as my only job prospect, was not a recipe…
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Laguna
The strength, the ability to tuck and seal, to drag and drop, it’s nothing short of amazing. A superpower? A time bomb.
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Colt 1911: A Partial Timeline
“Eli. The gun is in my bedroom. There are bullets in there, too. I don’t need to worry about you guys, do I?”
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From Alcoholic to Diet Cokehead
In an interview with addiction website The Fix, reprinted at Salon, memoirist and poet Mary Karr discusses getting clean, flouting rules, and how sobriety shaped her relationship with David Foster Wallace. You’re present when you’re not drinking a fifth of Jack…
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The Thinking Man’s Filter
Smoking again sounds like a good idea. I quit one November – twelve dry months following five years of intense puffing. The break was insightful, curative even, which was why I thought it might be time to resume the habit.
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The Sweet Smell of Excess
Al-Anon sucked. If I hadn’t been too broke for therapy, I’d never have taken a friend’s advice to attend those awful meetings. They were worse than the AA meetings I’d been to over the years in support of my string…
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My Little Brother Ruined My Life
“Are you a masochist?” It’s the first thing Bosco asks me. He’s fourteen years old now, almost my height, 5′ 8″, creamy white skin, and a small, German nose from my stepmother’s side of the family.