Hey Wake Up!!!

Three times a week or so I walk/run down to Whole Foods and back and it’s a long way, it takes me maybe three hours. Once I’m there I get some tea and sushi and sit outside and clear my head and I feel the tension drift away. I get some of my best ideas […]

The Reluctant Revolutionary

In the moment that I wrote death to Khomeini, I wasn’t thinking about how I might be prosecuted or even executed for my actions. If I had, I wouldn’t have done it.

This Game of Life, Chapter 1 of A Dangerous Woman

The murder happened by the water. Silvia knew who was responsible: Gerardo, the man of her dreams, her only love, the one who made her feel like she was the luckiest girl on earth.

Trouble in Paradise

A few months ago I walked out of my house to find a razor sharp javelin stuck in the middle of my front door. It was at eye level, right where my forehead would have been if I’d opened the small window in the door. I guess if I’d looked, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be dead.

Collision

We all have two parts to ourselves.

White Dove

His words are a white dove that flies to a sacred destination, through the canyons of my brain, over the ocean of my inner body, and finally to the sacred mesa of my tattered heart.

At the Gates of Hell and of Heaven

But no, the big entrance door swung open and out of it came a woman dressed in a long black gown with a white covering on her head. I blinked, thinking surely I was dreaming. But she was still there, greeting us as we climbed out, saying “Welcome to the Sisterhood of Mary.” And with that welcome, in the space of a single day, we passed through the gates of heaven after escaping the gates of hell.

Death of Free Speech

the normalization of silence & fear “Why you fool, it’s the educated reader who CAN be gulled. All our difficulty comes with the others. When did you meet a workman who believes the papers? He takes it for granted that they’re all propaganda and skips the leading articles. He buys his paper for the football […]

The Game of Life

I start here, on the night of November 6, 2016, the night Donald Trump became president. That night will forever be imprinted on my brain, driving from my home in Woodland Hills to Silvia’s sister’s house in Fontana. Fires blazed on the skyline. Police cars raced in the opposite direction on the freeway, sirens blaring, lights flashing. The country was on the verge of chaos, angered that this orange man bad had been elected, or so it seemed he would be.

Ode to the Youth of the SFV

My one son has told me he knows of at least twenty youth he grew up with who lost their lives to drugs and/or suicide. One was his best friend.