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I’ll always remember that day
And keep it as a reminder—
That day in which you looked my way
And I didn’t have a clue who you were
And you didn’t have a clue who I was
That day in which our eyes told stories—
As to what is most important.
So if and when we lose our way, I know
Together we’ll find ourselves again—
Where eyes can say what words cannot express—
And stories, we, can only tell together.
If we can accept ourselves
in life, and that in this life
we’re living, the right way
and the wrong way, mostly
aren’t ever in alignment
with our true nature of self,
rather it’s often
sideways we must go, sideways
like the pebble in the stream
knows only one direction,
and that chaos when reversed
reveals itself as precisely
the way it ought to be.
the moon?
but a keyhole
to another room,
which awaits
our arrival—
whenever.
For the majority of my adult life I have lived in impoverished communities, mainly because it’s what I am able to afford. I have seen, felt, and heard the cries of both men and women, alone in gutters, pulling the arms of children onward to a life not many of us will ever lead. Some of course have made choices leading them down this path, others are facing hard times, but I see the majority of them, just as I see myself, as I see my loved ones, as common people. So regardless of the outcome of an election, regardless of the winning or losing side, I still see many men, women, and innocent children who will continue to suffer either way. I do my best to spare what little I have to offer, be it a dollar or two, a bottle of water, or even a smile which seems to go even further than the former because at least they know that they are seen, and like so many of us often feel, we like those less fortunate are not forgotten. So just be a decent person, treat people with dignity and respect, regardless of their current standings in life. Do what you can to leave the world a better place than it was yesterday. And be well, my friends. Be humble and aware. And give more than you receive, when possible. With love, gratitude, and thanks to all who’ve graced my path, and who I continue to think of daily.
There’s a sewer pipe
in the dark, by the L.A. river
like a grave in the ground
where people sleep
by the highway, by the neighborhood
where pumpkins soon
will be replaced by
feasts of Turkey, stuffing, corn
and carefully locked doors,
then to be replaced by balsams and fern
white lights and tender eyes
of Christmas morning,
regardless of the hole by the L.A. river
where people sleep
live, and love—and pray, regardless
of the election, regardless
of the president
I still weep.
Do you?
Looking at the LA river
now, smelling it
more than I can see it.
There’s a pigeon
down there, drinking
down there, bathing itself
in whiskey and piss—
probably blood even.
Who knows really?
It could be the purest water
in the world, but I guess
only a choice few
will get the opportunity.
While the rest of us
get coffee, Dasani
and whatever else
man feeds the birds.
I recently came across a post stating, “this is a bad year.”
Though I don’t disagree that bad things have happened this year, I can’t fully commit to such a bold statement as the entire year being bad.
Or perhaps, I’m just looking at it from a more critical standpoint?
A protest for example, is a collaborative effort between cultures standing together for justice.
The police force has made efforts, though not always headline news, to reinforce their code of conduct: to protect and serve.
Most citizens are respecting the rights of others, choosing to wear masks, in the fight against COVID-19.
The government is making attempts to sustain our American way of life through relief programs and continued unemployment benefits—even though at times it may feel like not enough—granting enough security to survive.
I’ve seen a number of portable facilities spring up in mainly homeless areas of Los Angeles, which does not solve the issue, but certainly shows hope.
What I am getting at is even in our darkest times, there are signs of hope.
Hope which we can and should not disregard as a complete and utter bad year.
If anything, I’d say, there is an awakening taking place.
What I see from an observers eye is an awakening of people who, regardless of the hardships, struggle, and inability to make concrete sense of all the senseless acts that have been occurring, realize a need for change and progression forward as a human race.
We are all struggling, regardless of another’s grass, I repeat,
we are all struggling.
But with struggle comes realizations. And with realization comes understanding. And with understanding comes progress.
Through common ground and communication I know there is hope, for you, and I, and the suffering on all sides.
It struck me odd today when a friend told me they envy my ability to travel where in turn I assured them, not everything is as it may seem, and that I too am struggling, only I choose a different point in which to view my current state of awareness.
You don’t have to travel far to climb a mountain or swim in a lake, or wake to see the most beautiful sunrise, or even lend a hand to someone less fortunate, because these are natural and always there waiting for you to take action.
Rather than saying, “this year is a bad year,” I suggest taking a deeper look and the time to realize that progress is happening.
And though progress may seem difficult, remain hopeful, my friends.
Be honest with yourself and your loved ones.
Greet a stranger as he were your family, with arms stretched wide in abundance.
Be the light at the end of the tunnel, the light which shines even in our darkest of times.
Be the air of peace in which we’re all capable of breathing.
Be courageous. Be kind. And be hopeful.
How far West are you willing to go
she asked in the hills of Mulholland
Far enough I said, gripping the dash
Flooring it through winding curves
she closed her eyes and said
If it’s not over the edge than don’t bother
And that’s when I knew she’d never exist
Hitting the breaks and pulling over
I looked out upon the city
quietly
I was alone
Words Of An Average White Male 