Jeremy-Void

I was 18 and I was dating Samantha; this was very early on in our ten-year stint together.  I went down to Beverly, MA, which was where she’d grown up, even though currently she lived in a dorm room for college in Boston. We chilled all day long, met up with her two best friends, Brett and Loren, who seemed joined at the hip, what with the fact that they were practically inseparable—they were a package deal, in a way—and both of whom were my friends, as well, since they frequented the Punk rocks shows in Boston that Samantha and I went to.  We got someone to buy us booze and we went down to the Dane Street Beach, where we me

I know I write a lot about my past, but it’s one way of dealing with my demons, I guess you could say; it’s a way to cope with what God had burdened me with, if you believed in such a thing; it’s a relief from the mundane world I live in, an escape, because drug addiction is no longer an issue.  But that’s not it; I need to capture the hysterically fueled wet nightmare that was once the life of Jeremy St. Chaos, now known as Jeremy Void, so perfectly that the reader will be immersed in my words.  It’s not about dealing or coping, it’s about an obsession that won’t go away - - I’m obsessed with r

The first 21+ show I had attended—I was 16 at the time—took place at O’Brian’s Pub in Allston, MA; just take the green line to Harvard Ave., get off and cut down Harvard Ave., and keep going past Blanchards, the big liquor store on the corner, until you reach the end of the road, O’Brian’s Pub is right there on your left.  The band was the Dillweed Elite; I met Tim the singer out front and we spoke and he said, “Look, I told them you are here on behalf of Counter Culture Records”—the record label I had worked on before the founder Jeff Turner had stolen all the proceeds of a benefit show f

Earlier today I received a phone call while in therapy.  It was my friend Aidan’s mom.  My friend Aidan who’d crashed at my place.  My friend Aidan who I’d had to let go.  My friend Aidan who I’d been told had left for Boston with junky scum, no not scum—junky people, a couple, a guy and a girl, human beings addicted——addicted to heroin.  What could I say.  Couldn't talk long, for I was with my therapist.  Could be comforting, for that’s what I did.  Said I understand, but I don’t understand; corrected myself and said no, I don’t, I couldn’t, I’m not a mom, not a parent,

Chapter 1: Riot Girls Tick tick, tock—the clock stops.  The lights flicker.  I hit the Jack Daniels.  The train lurches and jostles.  Motion.  Forward fucking motion.  The Jack Daniels feels smooth going down.  I’m alive.  Passengers mob the doors.  If only they knew what I know.  Life 101.  The Jack Daniels in my hand.  Life swirls around me.  People lost in oblivion.  They herd like cattle inside the subway train.  Lights flashing.  The world going black black black.  Wake up.  You’re almost there.  My eyes surge open.  I tuck the botte inside my bag and lift it up and stuff my arms through the straps.  The train tilts an

It`s not the same anymore. The winds, they cool the haunted shadows. The earth, the sky it`s so dry. It`s cold it`s dark, I need a part. A part in life, to give into the fight. What`s my part in this hell? Do I have one? Did I fail? Will I blow away in the wind, never to be found again? This life, this air, it`s all so frail. I take my leave and bail. Break away from this hate, the cold stares They always hate. I cannot breath, no I can`t see. The light it`s near, the empty space. The space I waste, the time it`s grime. My place in this space is nothing but waste. Waiting, wasting away in the air. I`m nothing, I`m fine. I kn