Author Archives: Jeff Stewart

About Jeff Stewart

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Mozart, Slayer, reverence, and fiction.

1988. California. Thinking about my first time, thinking about the ocean 25 years back, a room, the gorgeous faux-beach-spiritual and her place: one room, a kitchen table with one chair and a bed. And on that bed, being introduced to … Continue reading

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Dirty south, desperation, Dead Birds Hot.

She tossed her smoke and stumbled toward me, leaned down and put her hands on either side of my waist. “Want a lap dance?” “Sure.” I loathed strip clubs, could count on one hand how many times I’d been in … Continue reading

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Gutted Rose

Motel 6. Arizona. Small break on the tour for the Lolly book, a commercial book of sorts for which I was hired. It’s been interesting for me. The main reason I took the job was because of the strictures—to have … Continue reading

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Without mercy.

The Native down in the corner cell with the shower, I don’t like the motherfucker, and he doesn’t like me. He was getting released in the morning a month back, when a female C.O. walked by and caught him jacking … Continue reading

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Life for all of this

  A lot of ex-cons and drunks lived in the building.  My room was the corner spot on the 3rd floor.  The old man in the room next to me was deaf.  The girl in the room across from me … Continue reading

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Car hoods and space.

The desert met us at nightfall in New Mexico, but we had stopped in the Texas Panhandle to look at the stars.  They were bright and close to the desert, dusty and forever, and bulging from their firmaments −swirls of … Continue reading

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Calculating Infinity; the grace of near-death.

  The boat was rocking so bad you could run up and down the door frames.  People like to imagine the ocean as being blue and beautiful.  I used to imagine it that way.  When you’re that far out at … Continue reading

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Teeth, bruises.

  My father moved in a whore and her son when I was at work. My clothes were folded behind the couch.  I saw their suitcases.  They were in the kitchen talking.  I walked into my room, sat on the … Continue reading

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Living in the city

  I came back and sat at the table.  I nodded to the empty table where the couples were.       “Cops take off?”                                                                                                                                Dave smiled, “You caught that.”                                                                                                           “It’s that snarky vibe, also the tension of never being fully … Continue reading

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Walking in L.A.

I took a detour and drove into Hollywood, around the cul de sac, and looked at the building where my studio apartment had been.  It was still there of course, but I wasn’t walking out of it with no car, … Continue reading

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