Saturday, March 18, 2017

Temporary Center

I stepped out of a hot shower this morning  to find light coming from the window making all the steam in the small bathroom glow.
It moved and rippled with every move I made, and as I raised my hand the steam around it floated off and away from it, pushed away by my body heat. Suddenly I was a Poseidon at the center of a vast ocean. Every breath I took caused a tide, and with the smallest gesture little hurricanes burst from my fingertips. As I dried myself off and began to dress, specks of dust came floating from my clothes. the dust mingling with the steam created small solar systems before my eyes, I gently spun and the tiny stars spun around me. I became the center of a galaxy in my aunt’s tiny bathroom.

The world does not revolve around me. I allow my insignificance to be a factor of liberation rather than discontent to counter  my egocentric mindset. But all the points on a scale are  subjective. Everything is subjective except facts. Facts are like physical objects, they can be buried, crushed, or burnt, but their mass will remain constant and they could never truly disappear or change. Truth on the other hand, is a concept, Truth is pliable, personal, perishable, part of how we see ourselves. And while the fact remains that I am an insignificant speck in a vast, cold and uncaring universe. My truth changed for a moment today, and I enjoyed being me.

Monday, March 7, 2016


I was raised believing I was incredible.
 never in my life have I doubted that my family doesn't love me or isn't incredibly proud of me.
 perhaps that is what's missing. perhaps a lack of shame or urgency has stagnated me. 
I've broken down because I have ignored the "check engine" light in the back of my mind because I never thought I should worry about it.
 the fantasy version I've constructed of myself can do no wrong, but this facade is cracked like my windshield.
 there are things about myself that I don't like.
 I don't like that I distract myself the moment I am faced with an obstacle, 
I don't like that I've become so hungry for affection that I'm willing to manipulate people to get it.
 I don't like that I catch myself feeling empty and thinking that other people can compensate for that. 
 mostly what I don't like about myself is simply that,
 I don't like myself.
I have been fired from my job,
I have been falling behind in school,
 and feeling so lonely that I've resorted to using dating websites and hook-up apps.
 the "check Engine light" has been replaced by an unhealthy rattling screeching sound, 
  my trunk wont close, the crack in my windshield seems to grow a little every day, my headlights are dimming on a dark road, and I'm pretty sure there is something wrong with my blinkers... 
 It is time to either get a full overhaul or get a new car, and although my ACTUAL car has all these problems, I don't have the money to do anything about it.
 but as for me, my money is time, and I think its Time I spent on myself.
 maybe get a few loose screws tightened, re-calibrate, brighten up, pop a few dents, god knows my stick shift needs some attention... 
but mostly its time to fill up on gas, and make a decision on where this moving wreck is headed. 

Wednesday, November 25, 2015


Last night I had a dream that I was dressed up in an egg costume and I was singing "I'm Eggory the 8th" I was also standing on a stool with a noose around my neck. 

When I woke up I was worried that this dream might an omen that I would die today.
I get in the shower and rinse the inside of an empty shampoo bottle to get the very last essence of shampoo onto my head, I manage to get some soulless suds out of it, I find the discarded nozzle and in a maneuver equivalent to toddler CPR I manage to get a few drops of the pure stuff out of it. 
Oh yeah now we're cookin! I ponder my dream and I think to myself how statistically speaking it is now less likely that I will die today, because what are the odds that I would die on a day that my subconscious decided to go Edgar Allen Pun on me?
 I then come to a worrisome conclusion that statistics don't actually affect chance or vice versa, as I flop around trying to get conditioner out of my eye, I think of how trying to predict the future with statistics is now just science backed superstition, another attempt to control this crazy world around us, like religion. 

As I climb out of the shower I think of how we come into this world with no real control of what happens around us, until we learn how to speak. It is now that we can ask for things, 

"Mommy I'm hungry!" 

"Daddy I want out of this bath!" 

Suddenly we can affect the world around us! But then we grow up, and we no longer see our parents as all-powerful cookie and bath time suppliers, but our mentality of asking doesn't really change, except now that our parents aren't masters of our fate then who is? 

 I go downstairs to the kitchen and pour myself some cereal with raisins. We never really stop treating the universe like a parent, some of us pray to it, asking the big Daddy in the sky for help, some try to predict the universe by its behavior: Like an astute child might know that mommy isn't so nice when she has the "grownup bottle", so it's time to play quietly in their room, AKA looks like a storm is coming, better get to higher ground AKA time to get the f*^%k out of Syria, 
and some of us assume that we are just children raised by children who have been here longer, Walking around on a great big beautiful ball of mud. 
And we might as well sit down and make a nice mud castle or two before we become part of the mud ourselves. 

I finish my cereal and take out the garbage. I decide that I will probably not die today, but that doesn't mean I won't, just like any other day really. 
So I might as well wash the dishes and pretend to be master of my fate.

Wednesday, November 18, 2015


I wake up feeling like I should go back to sleep. My hand slithers out from the protection of my blanket to seek my phone, it is exactly 7AM. I roll over attempting to delay consciousness. Too late though as I've already started thinking, The neurons in my brain have started chirping excitedly like an overly enthusiastic flock of sparrows, everything I need to do today lights up behind my eyes like Christmas lights in November.

 I shield myself with funny pictures and memes on my phone, muting the chattering birds and dimming the electric pissing reindeer. My escapism is interrupted by my peripheral vision, the blinds on my window have sliced the sun light hitting my wall, cutting it into little rows of rectangles, new rectangles form one after the other on my wall, with a gentle subtlety they fade in as the sun rises from behind an apartment building.

 I realize that my comprehension of time was woefully mechanical, associating time with the rhythmic ticking of clocks, but now as I watch the sunlight trickle into my room like a warm flow of honey, I realize time isn't a beat, it's a crescendo, one that will never abate... 

I decide to go put pants on.

Thursday, November 5, 2015


 הדלקנו נירות ונקית לי את האוזניים,
קניתי חלב קוקוס שסרפו לך העיניים,
שחינו על חופיי צרפת והתמסתלנו בגרמניה, ואני זוכר שפעם כמאת נדקרנו באיטליה
 חוויתי איתך דברים שלא יקרו יותר לעולמים, תמיד קשה לומר שלום לאנשים שאוהבים.

הסתנו את העיניים מפנטזיה מתפוררת, התעוררתי מחלום ואני אם מישהי אחרת.
המשכנו הלה עם הסיפור של החיים, עך לב שבור לא מתרפה הוא רק גודל סביב הסדקים 
חוויתי איתך דברים שלא יקרו יותר לעולמים תמיד קשה לומר שלום לאנשים שאוהבים

היו זמנים טובים והיו גם קצת פחות
 משהיה היה והכל יכול להיות
יש עבר ויש עתיד אבל חיים רק בהווה
כל רגע שהיה איתך היה לי די שווה
חוויתי איתך דברים שלא יקרו יותר לעולמים תמיד קשה לומר שלום לאנשים שאוהבים


Monday, September 28, 2015


I wake up in a bed that's not mine, not nearly as exciting as the stereotype entails, as what woke me up isn't some stranger from a promiscuous encounter, but Bruno, the gigantic rottweiler mix that I've been dog-sitting for the last week.

He needs a walk and he won't hesitate to bark at me to emphasize his point. I mutter my resistance and get up to feed him. Hoping that will satisfy him for an hour or two as I crawl back into bed.

I hear him wolf down the food in the other room. Just as I close my eyes a cutlery-rattling bark reminds me that the only bitch in this apartment is me.

I sigh and get dressed. I put his chain leash around his neck and take him out.

As we walk towards the elevator to get to the ground level I am confronted with a spectacular sunrise. I feel a touch of gratitude as I push UG⭐️. (Upper ground)

as we exit the building we are confronted by what looks like a tiny Cerberus.
on closer inspection it's three small fluffy dogs bunched together and led by a large bald black man with sunglasses. the three small dogs bark and growl at Bruno. The man leading them giggles, as to him they might have names like Charles, Frufru and Lady Fuzzington, but to Bruno they could easily be called breakfast lunch and dinner. Bruno pulls on the leash but I deny him a fuzzy snack and a lawsuit as we continue onward. 

      We meet another dog but this one has manners, and as is proper Doggy etiquette, both parties proceed to deeply inhale each-others genitals. Bruno could spend all day like this so I drag him away from his new buddy and we continue our walk.

 Only when one walks a dog or works at a hospital does one know the experience of looking hopefully at a sphincter. When Bruno finally finds a worthy patch of grass to soil, I collect his expressionist art in a small bag, I look up and see the sidewalk bathed in light from the morning sun.
 I would never see this without a dog. I wouldn't have a reason to wake up so early, just as we round the corner back to the apartment I hear banjo music. Some nomad is sitting by the entrance to the apartment and plucking a banjo, an oddly delightful surrealist moment as one does not usually hear live Banjo at the corner of Ventura and Centinela. 
The touch of gratitude I felt before grows exponentially. 
Some dogs are seeing-eye dogs, 
but all dogs are seeing-life dogs.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Long dead light

I sit at a tiny booth and pretend I have authority over people and which movie they should watch.
 Benevolently allowing them to pass if they have the correct piece of paper.
 As the people cross my little greeter booth to watch movie stars
I spend my time stargazing people.
 A little boy steps on an escalator while clinging to his father's hand. He slips on the escalator and swings slightly, never letting go of the arm that is the size of his body, he slips because the gravity which is collectively pulling us all down isn't quite as strong as the force keeping the child attached to his dad.
 I watch a mother with three slightly older slightly unruly children come towards my little booth.
 The children immediately start raiding the 3D glasses as I helplessly watch, words of protest from their mother go unheard until she uses the sentence of doom:"I think we should go home"
 halting them in their tiny tracks, 
they hastily put my glasses back in their little basket and temporarily behave themselves. 
I do my duty of tearing their tickets in half and unleash them on their designated theater. 
As the mother crosses my threshold the children take off again like a pack of rabid wolves that had spotted a crippled buffalo.
 At first it seems they are just running around wildly but I start to notice a pattern.
 the invisible force doesn't let them get too far.
 They orbit their mother like little moons around a planet.
A couple holding hands catches my eye,
 she says something and smiles, 
he laughs.
 A warmth radiates off of them like a sun. the invisible force 
where they hold hands,
like a hydrogen reaction
 in the heart of a star.
 A happiness that seems to make the movie hall just a little bit brighter. 
a brightness that bounces off of me
 like moonlight, 
I feel like I should be sad,
 but I catch myself smiling. 
I can't help but think how a collapsed sun turns into a black hole,
 a thing that warps space and time,
 an invisible force that pulls me from my tiny booth to a far away place 
and a long time ago,
 where the combination of gravity and love break a cheap Ikea bed and create a memory that shines bright, long after the star has died.
And until I do.
I tear another ticket and ponder if there is anything more beautiful than starlight.