ee. nuff.

Enough is a concept. 
Enough is an amount. 
Enough is an ideal.

Enough is attainable if you have the right degree, if you say the right things at the right time to the right people in the right way.

Enough is possible if you were born into specific living conditions. 

Enough is eight glasses of water. Or ten. Or twelve. 
Enough depends on the size of your glass.

Enough is approximately 2,000 calories. 
Enough is four servings of fruit.
Enough is a spoonful of sugar. 
Enough is an apple a day. 
Enough is my two front teeth.
Enough is that doggy in the window, the one with the waggly tail.
Enough is mounting Lazlo’s Hierarchy like it’s a Derby Horse and riding that shit into the sunset.  

(aside: “Lazlo’s Hierarchy” would be an awesome name for a horse)

+ TWO +

Enough is enough when I say it’s enough. 
Enough is enough when I say it’s enough.
Enough is enough when I say it’s enough.
And this is not enough.


Enough is Scrooge McDuck diving into his pool of gold, swimming ‘round and thinking to himself, “The gold was easier to swim through this time. Are my arms getting stronger, or was there less money than before? How’re the overseas account? I need to check. Where’s my phone? What do the stocks look like? Trending upward? Downward? What needs to be bought or sold? How can I improve my position? 

And my nephews, nephews keep asking me for cash. They’re a drain on me. Every time it’s ‘Uncle, Uncle, Uncle,’ and they’re asking for bail money, hush money, money for rent, money for bills. And I give it to them every time. I’m enabling them. Time to cut off the spigot. 

My eyes sting. I think the pool guy overdid it on the chemicals. I’ll fire him and find someone else.”

+ FOUR +

Enough is to know the difference between good and evil and choose because I know best.
Enough is two pieces of chocolate cake, three scoops of cookies n’ cream ice cream and as much hot fudge as I can stomach.
Enough is mercy when all you’re expecting is wrath.
Enough is a bullet when all you want is some goddamn peace and quiet.
Enough is remembering to look up and admire the stars.

+ FIVE +

Enough is when I have my finger on the trigger — 
— on the pulse — 
— on the button — 
— on whatever it is that gives me the most power and control in a given situation, and whatever makes the motherfucker on the other side of the table the most fearful and obedient to me. 

Enough is a warm towelette, followed by a glass of fizzy water to cleanse your palette. Then, it’s followed by bruschetta; exacting slices of toasted french bread from the nearest bakery topped with ripened Roma tomatoes, homemade Mozzarella cheese and fresh basil trimmed from the garden. Following the bruschetta is a delightful cup Butternut Squash soup, Beef Medallions with a Marsala wine and mushroom sauce, and to finish, Tres Leches cake for dessert.

That’s Enough.

+ SIX +

Enough is bread and wine. 
Enough is a rod and staff.
Enough is perfume and tears.
Enough is “On Earth as it is in Heaven.”
Enough is manna and quail.
Enough is fishes and loaves. 
Enough is dirt and spit.
Enough is “Do you want to be well?”
Enough is a garden.

“No,” says the serpent. “That’s not enough.”


Enough is an open palm, extended outward, radiant with love and grace. 

Enough is a flurry of punches with brass knuckles, enough punches until I hear the bridge of his nose snap into kindling like detonating the Bridge Over the River Kwai. 

Enough is up to me to decide. I make the scale, and I decide how it looks, and I decide how large the scales need to be, and I decide how much they shine, and I decide what we balance, and I will decide who gets to use them. 

Enough is when we’ve amassed the bricks and building materials necessary to reach the floor of the heavens, so that we might hammer and claw and slash and break through the floorboards of heaven, into the throne room of God, throw up our hands and go, “Ta-Dah!” 

Enough is the divine pursuit of Want — Want being a noble, virtuous and necessary thing — Want being a thing that must, being a thing on which the world turns and lives and moves and finds its being. 

Enough is up to me, always — and up to you, never. 
Enough is up to me, the beholder.


Enough is a gavel.
Enough is a gun.
Enough is a badge.
Enough is a title.
Enough is "oooh, awww."
Enough is initials at the end of your name. 

Enough is that email I want to show up in my inbox showing up and telling me that I’m better than I thought I was, that I’m forgiven, that I’m okay, that everyone loves me after all and they’re never going to stop loving me — in fact they want to build a statue in my honor and they want to praise my works and my wonders forevermore, and they want to slavishly adore me all fucking day and all fucking night and they want to hire people who do nothing but praise my fucking name and polish my fucking golden statue and defend it as if it was their own child. 

Enough is validation.
Enough is two thumbs up, five stars, a Michelin Star, a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.
Enough is everyone saying in unison, in harmony, with maximum enthusiasm and authenticity, “You’re okay, Dominic. You’re okay! You’re OOOOOOOOOKAY FOREVER!!”

Enough is satisfaction ad aeternum, unfettered consumption, leaning back in your chair and feeling your gross, fat stomach, wiping the residue from the corners of your lips with your index finger, then licking it with relish.

+ NINE +

Enough is one for me, one for you.
Enough is one for me, one for you and one more for me. 
Enough is not having to be accountable to, or responsible for, anyone.
Enough is all for me, none for you. 

+ TEN +

Enough is stuffing my fucking face because I can, because my cravenness is what makes me so good and so glorious. And besides, the heart wants what it wants, right — and I want good things because my heart is a good thing, RIGHT — and so Enough must be when my heart, which is a good thing, wants more good things and when it gets what it wants — RIGHT!?! 

Enough is when all the good things I’ve wanted are before me, doing the fucking high-step like they’re the Radio City Rockettes, and they’re all smiling and keeping their eyes locked on me.

Enough is when I can choose whatever the fuck it is I want to do with my good things, if I want to make a tower of good things, if I want to make cities and towers and gleaming white spires of good things, if I want to build and devote all the power in the world to those good things, when I rip the earth from its orbit and when I shotgun all the rivers and streams in the world, and I drink (glug-glug-glug) and I drink (glug-glug-glug-glug-glug) until I’m sick in the gut and I throw up and I wretch and I throw up again and I’m bent over the toilet throwing up over and over again and I’m crying and I’m blackout drunk on the rivers of the earth…

…but I still smile because the stomach acid leaves a sweet aftertaste on my teeth. 


Enough is a walk with your grandfather on that perfect spring day — the first of the year — and you get to ask him questions about where he grew up, and you examine the back of his hand with such affection and compassion like it’s a topographical map of the Fertile Crescent — like every single piece of him is the most treasured land since the Garden of Eden.


Enough is a lie, and it’s right that the belief is breaking down, because it was a fucking delusion and loony dream to begin with, and all the people who built their houses on “Enough” need to wakey-fucking-wakey, because one more forkful isn’t going to make your dick harder, and it’s not going to make your dollar stretch a little more like it’s as goddamn limber as a Russian ballerina.

Enough will not tuck you in at night and it will not sing you to sleep. It will not console you and it will not put an extra spring in your step.

Enough is a closet-full of the Emperor’s new clothes.


Enough is “Father,” whispered in the middle of the night, in the middle of the day. 
Enough is my dad.
Enough is you, next to me. No words are needed for enough.
Enough is one embrace from you.
Enough is “I’m sorry.”
Enough is a single note, played over and over again; bird by bird, rung by rung.


Enough is the Maker, pulling me close and whispering love and joy. 

Enough is the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.
Enough is made Sin for us. 
Enough is the Lion and the Lamb.


Enough is beyond my understanding. 
teach me the vastness of enough.
teach me the wonders of enough.
Enough is without hurry, without grabbing and without hoarding.
teach me the simplicity, the complexity of enough.
teach me the patience of enough.

Enough is room at the inn.
teach me the longitude and latitude of enough.
teach me the generosity of enough.

Enough is shelter from the storm.
teach me the love of enough.
teach me the abundance of enough.

Enough is lagniappe with a smile and a “On the house, baby.”
teach me the strangeness of enough.
teach me the song of enough.

Enough is “take up your mat and walk.”
teach me the infinitude of enough.
teach me the mystery and plain-sight of enough.

Enough is “Surely I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”


Enough is…
Lord, I don’t know what enough is.
But I want to.
Today I am here, and I don’t know what Enough is. 
Teach me.