Author Archives: Peter

Open City declared Peter Nolan Smith an underground punk legend of the 1970s East Village. The New England native spent many years as a nightclub doorman in New York, Paris, London, and Hamburg. The constant traveler has lived for long periods of time in Europe and the Far East. After a forced retirement from the Schmatta trade in Thailand, Peter Nolan Smith returned to New York to work in the international diamond trade. At summer’s end he resumed the life of a writer. The world’s leading leisureologist is currently based in Sri Racha, Thailand, Fort Greene, Brooklyn, and Luxembourg City. He has no address.

American Fools – 2015

Yesterday Ohio Governor announced his candidacy for GOP candidate for president and explained his reason to join the crowded field by saying, “Why not?” This rationale was better than answering, “What’s it to you?”, but he is miles behind the present party favorite, Donald Trump, who has been thrust into the lead after saying that […]

GUNS GUNS GUNS by Peter Nolan Smith

American boys loved guns in the 50s. Plastic weapons lay gift-wrapped under the Christmas tree. Our movie heroes slaughtered the country’s enemies on the silver screen and TV cops performed gun ballets on prime time. Guns were good for the country and America was good to guns. Armed with air rifles my older brother, our […]

American Justice

To anyone who thinks America has solved its problem with racial hatred and inequality, these two photos tell the truth.

Asshole of the Week July 13

Cannabis has been legalized in several states and decriminalization laws are winning polls throughout the nation, however the forces of the anti-drug war have refused to wave the white flag of surrender and this week a retired Canadian police officer came up with a mass market pot breathalyzer for police to test drivers for reefer […]

GAY AT HEART by Peter Nolan Smith

My family left Maine on a sunny June morning in 1960. At the end of the street the deep blue of Portland Harbor shivered with the first kiss of summer. Lawn mowers buzzed across the green lawns of Falmouth Foresides and black-yellow bees zigzagged between my mother’s flowers. They wouldn’t be hers tomorrow. “We’re done,” […]