Sometime before I was born, an anonymous artist had spray-painted the question “whiCh OnE yall hit My Boy on His hade?” on the train bridge between Cheltenham and Abington townships, like a hometown banner. Later in life, simply mentioning this catchphrase was like a secret password to anyone who had grown up in the area during that era. My mom had always pointed it out when we drove underneath, and though we didn’t understand the absurd humor as children, we laughed nonetheless. It was something we shared, not just as a family, but as a neighborhood.

Read

Rosebud Magazine – Issue 45, Summer/Fall 2009
Death & Cinema
A few men had talked about it—a heavy metal musician even claimed he’d do it at a concert that past Halloween—but only one person had the guts to stage his own death, and that was Alejandro’s hero, Pier Paolo Pasolini. Maybe no one could prove he staged it, but that’s why the act was so brilliant: he’d elevated suicide to the level of theater and made it art. Some claimed a hustler had killed him, but how could it be murder if he wanted to die?