Monthly Archives: April 2013

Man-kissing in Spain

We drove several hours down the east coast of Spain to a three-day music festival in Benicàssim. I didn’t plan well, and realized once we got there they didn’t have cash machines. I assumed I could get some using my debit … Continue reading

Posted in humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments


Paper soul, face soft as a coin’s on its back, on the pavement Looking out the world from the inside of a jar: We are touching but can’t see, can’t hear, just waiting to be exchanged at face value.

| Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

If the world could be a sweater and I could try it on before buying it

Titles are important. Like the name you choose for your child, it should match the expectation you have for what’s inside. You have the responsibility to grant the name, but it’s not yours: it’s the story’s, the child’s. You’re just … Continue reading

Posted in music, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Since the war I smile more

This is the name of a poem I started after 9-11 but never finished. What bothered me most that day was the knowledge that things would never be the same, that no good would come of it. Instead, more violence, … Continue reading

| Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A face for the homeless

I’ve been writing about the homeless who live on an alleyway by my office, in downtown Seattle. There’s an obvious irony in their existence, cast against the large, corporate office for Starbucks and all the commerce and new real estate … Continue reading

| Tagged , , , , , | 7 Comments

I’d rather be wrong: a short rant on the difference between nihilism and existentialism

It’s late, I’ve had too much beer, and my 23 year-old cousin wants to show me his favorite YouTube video and talk about the meaning of life. The video is by a band called Mr. Bungle: manic, circus music, the … Continue reading

| Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The sun took my eyes and put them on the moon

The face on the moon is a mask, a caricature, a serial killer, no different than mine: it always looks sad, alone, surprised to find itself so far out there on its own.

Posted in poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments