Friday, July 24, 2026

about Augusten Burroughs’ “Running with Scissors"

Running with Scissors, published in 2002, describes an especially noxious and wild period in American writer Augusten Burroughs’ youth. As the story goes, Burroughs’ parents, who fight loudly, frequently, and then violently, divorce. Burroughs, a smart, resourceful 13-year-old who is gay and neurotically image-conscious and clean, stays at first with his mother. But she starts to suffer an identity crisis, and her long-simmering mental health issues snowball. She sends her son to live with her psychiatrist, Dr. Finch, who is clearly insane and lives in a dilapidated Victorian house. Also living there is an assortment of people that includes Finch’s children (some possibly adopted), apparently a wife, and sometimes live-in patients and drifters.

The large house is the home of a repulsive, squalid chaos. It is without rules, without discipline, without sanity.
 
Although initially repulsed by the set-up, Burroughs assimilates. He even forms a close friendship with Finch's daughter, Natalie, who is one year older than he is. Meanwhile, though, Burroughs’ mother gets much worse under Finch’s care.
 
The book is run-through with darkness and disturbances. Like, a sick 33-year-old squatter named Neil rapes the 13-year-old Burroughs; then the two carry on a bizarre sex-power relationship for two years afterwards. Everyone, including Dr. Finch, knows. That is just one of the book’s rape and assault episodes.
 
Burroughs and Natalie eventually leave the house together, but their friendship dissolves after Burroughs fails to take Natalie’s father’s side when Burroughs’ mother accuses the doctor of rape. The book ends with Burroughs’ decision to move to New York City to try to become a writer.
 
A blurb on the dust jacket of the edition I read (St. Martin’s Press, 2002) affected how I read the book. Haven Kimmel, author of A Girl Named Zippy, commented: “Harrowing and hilarious. I haven’t laughed this hard since David Sedaris’s last book.” I understand the reference, but reading this is not like reading Sedaris.
 
Some parts of Running with Scissors are funny—I laughed when I read about Finch’s self-described office masturbatorium, a room in which he rubs one out between appointments. But that is an easy laugh; Sedaris is a smug laugh.
 
Also, Sedaris writes tight prose and can be beautifully sentimental; the prose in Scissors is unremarkable, and Burroughs never sounds sincere.
 
Moreover, Scissors just seems unbelievable. I assume Sedaris exaggerates, possibly straying at times into fiction. He’s a storyteller and humorist. Burroughs, I suspect, goes further and more frequently into fiction that he admits. He writes in Scissors about a time when he and Natalie, both young teenagers, pulled out a window from a pantry room and tried to fit it in a big hole they cut out of the roof. I just do not think that happened. And apparently the irresponsibly, undeniably crazy Finch, who readily tells patients about his masturbatorium and goes through a prolonged phase in which he divines in his own shit signs from God, stays licensed and practices for decades, thinking that the only threat to his practice is back taxes.
 
Burroughs ardently claims his work is "entirely accurate" and insisted the book remain marketed as a memoir during a 2005 lawsuit filed by the family of the real Finch, Dr. Rodolph H. Turcotte, who alleged defamation of character and invasion of privacy. The lawsuit was settled, and afterwards Burroughs reportedly said “what I wrote is the truth” and “it's still a memoir, it's marketed as a memoir, they've agreed one-hundred percent that it is a memoir.”

Notes: 
Running with Scissors spent eight weeks on The New York Times bestseller list. 
Running with Scissors was published in 2002; the defamation lawsuit was filed in 2005; the film was released in 2006.
 

Friday, July 17, 2026

a review of a noise rock EP by Coilguns

I wrote about this band’s 2021 EP. Now comes “Peace Trader,” a new Coilguns single about testing a country’s values and you not seeing that most people don’t care to live up to them.

The song starts with an octave chord and quieted drums. At 10 seconds, the sound goes big, raw, and passionate. It feels like good Deftones. A few chords swing back and forth to screams of “Tell me, what have we done with our history of peaceful force? Yet, we still have hopes!” Then the bass and a guitar drop out, the intro is recalled—the octave chord and drums pushed back in the mix so the almost spoken message can be heard, "Still thought that our land would export dialog instead of weapons / Still naive enough to support what we thought was our main goal / International help and solutions for a solidar world / But you’ve traded it all and pretend to be forced now to cope."

Then the sound explodes again. The most effective part comes at 2:40 with a falsetto mourn followed by the realization, however fleeting, that "No one’s land here, but a place to die; we will mourn them all, we will mourn them all.” Then belief in life after death returns.

Unlike migration flows, Coilguns runs tight.

 

Saturday, July 11, 2026

off another life

I waited in the parking lot, bloody knees in a bad town, a girl there running around. She was special, aching in my tears. She was so lovely, fantastic eyes, the one I used lay beside. I don't have a home anymore and walked into the strip mall bar with threats all over the walls. The people in there had some drinking money sent from home. The monsters people feed. We drank, and the evening robbed the graves of lives we couldn’t bother with.

These rusted-out ears hear the sound of cicadas breathing a second wind into the afternoon, bringing honor to evening. I blinded a few 
cicadas once—held a magnifying glass to concentrate the sun into a beam burning their eyes out. Then I set them free. I watched with burnt-out eyes that died a string of illnesses. Cicadas flew away like normal.

There are some lives you don’t want to peek into, and hers was one. She told me she raised four children but was the biological mother of three. One died last year at age 26. What remained was a skeleton’s stare filled with secrets.
 

Saturday, July 04, 2026

about spending 4th of July trying not to think about the hearts at stake

I was trapped and strained toward the trapper. I tell you to work backward from a valley in the Carpathians through the age of apocalypse here in America, to California, to the birth of nanotechnology. When a single molecule splits itself into two and eats you and drinks water into its structures, you discover life is widely available. You consume cold babies to survive but find a dead body kept warm by the levitating boy at Old Moon Creek.


Friday, July 03, 2026

subpar lyrics

Ever Since
 
Why should I wake up now?
The meaningless call
Why should I put myself through it?
Why does this happen at all?
 
I can’t find the reason
Put feet on the floor anyway
I stand in the humid air
And wish for winter’s say
 
I wished you loved me once again
But those days are gone
I want to see you
But now I must go on
 
How can I?
Maybe I’m in some kind of phase
I’ll think of you too often, even years from now
I’ll know I’m going the wrong way