CRAIG CLEVENGER
The Contortionist’s Handbook
CONTENTS
P. S. Ideas Interviews & Features …
Fugitive Tendencies by Will Christopher Baer
Stranger in a Gray Hat by Craig Clevenger
If You Loved This, You Might Like …
My cigar is not a symbol. It is only a cigar. —Sigmund Freud
I kissed her …. It was like being in church.
—James M. Cain, The Postman Always Rings Twice
I can count my overdoses on one hand:
August 1985. Percocet. The 5 mg tablets were identical to the 325 mg tablets which were identical to the generic laxatives. I was in no shape for fine print. ER, three ounces of ipecac and solid heaves of poisons and binder, thirty-seven hours of cramps and shitting blood.
February 1986. Methocarbamol. Yellow caplets, bright like a child’s crayon sunscape. Those five pills stopped my heart and I saw the brain seizure tunnel of light before the EMTs shocked me back alive. They billed me $160 for that jolt.
June 1986. Demerol and thirty-two aspirin reopening the damage I did when I was fourteen.
November 1986. A busy year. Vicodin. Imagine waking up to your morning stomach knot and subsequent rituals:
Shower.
Coffee.
Traffic.
Talk radio.
Hell.
Home.
Drink.
But you remember that it’s Sunday. That