tamales in little saigon

We got tamales in little saigon on a sunday morning. We were arguing over petty nonsense in the car. I admit I get a little restless in love, for the  idea that some day the one I love I may not hold any longer, i may not have any longer, disturbs me so…my heart recedes into a protective place under a sleeve, like the tamale wrapped in skin and folded in plastic.

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saints

we benefit by choosing selfless lives, turning away from pleasures the average person affords. the cost of living is lower in an ascetic home and heart.

my god. when I think of some of the selfishness of my past, and what it cost me. if I can champion you before I champion myself, life makes better sense.

I imagine we will always struggle with our choices and I hope 4 more comfort than regret traveling through these lives. these geographies.

even saints were travellers,

once.

real.ity

I am on a mission to find reality. I won’t find it in my phone or in the dark. I cannot find it alone, nor in a crowded park. I step into my jeans my boots my leather jacket pulled around my hoodie. Here behind the wheel, eyes open and coffee steaming at my lip, waiting for this old train to pass through town, exhaust smoking in the cool morning air. A smile pulls over my face cuz I know I am real with you. Yesterday we ran. Today I’m gonna break out the draft of my book and mark it up somethin’ fierce. What is real? We are. We are real.

600 years

we could keep us around by populating a host planet or why not go extinct right here, and let earth eradicate our species? we’ve had a good run. we could show our greatest virtue and make room for new species. we will look better in retrospect.

the lost

a half-sunken bridge spanned a boggy marsh and every other year or so someone from the adjacent towns there was lost, never to be found. boundary lines were redrawn which made the bog a sorta no man’s land and no one had to claim the dead upon their land. children were outlawed from crossing the bridge and when they grew into teenagers the bog became a common hideaway where adults rarely looked. were they to be sought out, they would not be found. for those who wished to be left alone would never be seen again. only the bog and the bridge, and the sky kept the secrets.

the lucky ones have no phones

the lucky ones

our technology was killing us a little bit each day, and the lucky ones had no phones. i saw a lone wolf pay phone in the city outside a restaurant by a busy intersection. remember how we used to get on then off these phones? you dropped a quarter in and set the world aside for a few minutes. when you hung the receiver up there was a chime, the change fell and you could scoop it out with one finger into your palm. look up and the world was right there for you, confrontation, and you wanted to face everything. you were in it! we didn’t know any different back then. we were the lucky ones. i wanna be lucky like that again. i’m gonna keep this crap phone and this crap service as long as i possibly can, until i’m so sick of it i won’t ever pick it up unless you need me.