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This month has been unseasonably warm. Usually by mid-December we’ve had a few snowfalls. Frost coats the car windshields each morning and temperatures drop below freezing until the end of March. But we’ve been enjoying lovely September weather this Christmas. I didn’t have much experience with the cold growing up. Living in the Texas coastal
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I could worry less. I feel that’s the case for most people right now. Even people without pre-existing anxiety disorders are gripped by constant stress and concern: “How is the economy doing?” “Is AI going to take my job?” “What if I get laid off?” “Is the United States still a safe place for me
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Consecrate wine into his blood Then pour it on your hands. Burn the bread that is his flesh And mix the ashes with stained sand. Nail the commandments to the cross With thorns pulled from his crown. Then pray to the God you desecrate And claim you love him now. You would crucify your God
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I adopted my pet when I was 24. We always had family pets growing up, but Aspasia is the first pet I can truly call mine. She came into my life when I was at my lowest, when my depression was evolving into a mixed-manic episode that would push me past the edge of sanity.
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For the last 25 years, we have experienced non-stop “historical events”. We had short period of hope from 2010 – 2015, when it looked like things might get better. The economy finally appeared to be recovering, and the LGBTQ community finally got the rights they deserved, but the election of 2016 brought that crashing down.
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I started working on my novel again. It’s a project that I pick-up and put down so often that I can’t even remember when I first started. Inspiration comes in waves, and it’s easier to find excuses than it is to find motivation. So, year after year, I tell myself that I’ll finish the first
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There’s comfort in chaosThat an organized mind Would struggle to find while Navigating through thoughts Falling out of boxesAnd side-stepping timeMelting like Dali’s clocks. When ideas are litteredLike leaves after harvest,And wasted hoursSpill from managed blocks,Calm grows in the refuse- Nourished from the decomposed conceptsOf productivity and order.
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The dragon’s breath was thick and cold, Echoing in the crags of its rocky lair With the sound of cowbells ringing somewhere far below. And a path so narrow and steep, It would be missed if not for the warning signs marking its way. Maybe it was a good thing we couldn’t see beyond the
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There are ancient ruins across the street. I can see Porta Nigra from my room. As I write this, I am sitting in the open window, sipping a cup of coffee while my laundry dries in the open air. Tourists walk under the gray stone arches onto a bustling street. A scene so different from
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I’m not the neighbor Mr. Rogers knew I could be When I refuse to grieve For a man who openly mocked empathy. A man who reduced lives to a price To be paid for his right to bear arms. “To be a neighbor”, Rogers taught us, Is to forgive and be kind. But I can’t
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Bringing Mae Flowers 