By on Jul 28, 2015 in los angeles

It’s summer in Los Angeles and lately you can really feel it. It’s hot and very sunny. People are flocking to the beaches in droves. Various factors have me spending time by the beach and so I am absorbing the beach culture without fully feeling myself to be a part of it. I love the ocean but not so much the sun worship and the beachwear, so I find myself to be somewhat detached and amused and sometimes wishing I was in NYC wearing a black coat and popping into a museum somewhere. I was watching Penny Dreadful recently, a Showtime mini series set in Victorian London that is I guess billed as erotic gothic horror. It is both beautiful and terrifying. The horror part is, like my response to the essence of beach culture, also something I don’t usually go for but I really loved what they were doing with the acting and the cinematography and the clothing, etc. Anyway, have...

Almost Got Me

By on Apr 25, 2015 in los angeles

What I’ve been thinking about lately is how I have this towel, that I bought a few years ago in Santa Fe, that cost $60. For the life of me I can’t remember or understand why it was $60, or what possessed me to buy a towel that cost this much. It’s a nice towel, but it’s not THAT nice. It’s dark brown, a decent size, and it is made up of these little loops of thread (thread that is spun from very rare sphinx moths bred specifically to make dark brown luxury towel thread, only on the third new moon of every year?) that catch on things and gets stretched out. Every time this happens I curse the towel gods and I think about how I want a refund. It’s an issue of worth, right? Of value. And perception of value. And how much money you have to burn on things like overpriced towels. So you can feel pumped up about yourself, secretly, as you emerge from the shower, a new person, and the towel,...


By on Apr 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

“What if all the myths and fairy tales were pointing to something that was not only true but also truer than anything we knew in this world, to a realm that was truer and more real? What if this world of materiality and corporeality were only the ‘shadowlands’ and what if we were meant for another place that was more real and more true? What if our hearts’ longing for that other place was what led mankind over the years to make a place in our world for myths and religions and fairy tales – and what if the God who had created us and loved us had found a way to break through into our world and to offer us a hand, to say, If you take my hand I can take you back to where you once lived and to where you really belong, because your heart knows that you do? Would you take his hand and let him take you there? Would you believe the miracle of his breaking through...

A Moral Act

By on Apr 4, 2015 in Authenticity

Therefore, a moral act is not an act in obedience to an external law, human or divine. It is the inner law of our true being, of our essential or created nature, which demands that we actualize what follows from it. And an antimoral act is not the transgression of one or several precisely circumscribed commands, but an act that contradicts the self-realization of the person as a person and drives toward disintegration. It disrupts the centeredness of the person by giving predominance to partial trends, passions, desires, fears, and anxieties. The central control is weakened, often almost removed. And when this happens, and other partial trends also aspire to predominance, the self is split, and the conflicting trends make it their battlefield. The ‘will,’ in the sense of a self that acts from the centered totality of its being, is enslaved. Freedom is replaced by compulsion. Deliberation and decision, the hallmarks of freedom, become mere facades for overwhelming drives that predetermine the decision. The voice of man’s essential being is silenced, step by step; and his disintegrating self, his depersonalization, shows the nature of the antimoral act and, by contrast, the nature of the moral act.

Paul Tillich, Morality and Beyond

Bright. Glad. Willingness.

By on Mar 29, 2015 in poetry

Today I walked on the beach and noted with deep appreciation the opal trailings of the sea burnished by the early morning light. Today I stood in sweltering heat – unbelievable heat for spring even in Los Angeles, if you ask me – talking to several men who are artists. We were convened near a tarped area meant for working. They live in a place made of tents and, I don’t know what you call them, but to me they are like shacks, and they live in them, and they make art. What lacks in their space for beauty, civility, clean silverware, privacy, they make up for in art supplies, hand tools, ingenuity, the persistence of the artist to create. Today I was in the bookstore, on a break from working and worrying about things, and held a book of poems in my hand. A new book of poems by Jane Hirshfield called The Beauty. The dust cover had a wonderfully subtly pebbled texture and...

the last bookstore

By on Mar 1, 2015 in los angeles, poetry

This weekend a semi-spontaneous excursion to a store called The Last Bookstore in downtown Los Angeles. I don’t know if it is the last bookstore but it might as well be. We got stuck in some traffic going there and I thought: This might be the last bookstore I ever visit because I might implode right here on the freeway while driving 2mph. But eventually we made it there. Me and two book loving teenagers whom I know through association. (It’s not true that no one reads books any more, and it’s encouraging to me to actually know young people who read and love books in the same way I did and that I do. This proves to me that there must indeed be a God.) It was night time and fairly sketchy walking downtown after 8pm. Not super sketchy, but a little bit sketchy. The bookstore is a huge building with two levels of books, some small art galleries, a labyrinth, an immense...

The Heaven of Dreams

By on Feb 26, 2015 in Poems

The Heaven of Dreams     You try and you try.   You try to birth something of beauty through the misfortunes of a difficult marriage you try to bloom into this beauty despite ferocious winds and high anxiety.   Who you are             in the essence.   This love in the wake of so much change. This deep well of desire and belonging. The blues greens opals of dreamtime. The aqueous pools of memory.   Who you are             in the essence.   You want to pull it through from the dream realm into time and space, through your crown and into your awakening body and wanting it seems to make it so and so you begin to move towards this this smooth opening, the soft warming of what you want just before it becomes real.   What you know is this.   Your only job is to be   is to be very clear.   2.   Though you pray for this continual soft...

Jane Eyre

By on Feb 26, 2015 in Poems

Jane Eyre   I blundered onto the moors with my coffee breath and my hands wrung blue with grief.  The air was four walls, a darkened room of mist, a grounded cloud that followed me, ghosted me. I was crazy with his name    his face    the longing for him the telepathic, tele-pathetic lifeline we shared, my heart all strung up and spun around him. I was dizzy with it, I was spinning. I wanted to go away from him but I had nowhere to go. I wanted to go to him but I did not know where to go. He perfumed and bewitched the gray air that cloaked me, spooned me. It was like this for a long time. After a while there was no time. I was small. I wanted to be even smaller. I do not know how to categorize what came next or what day it was but there was one moment that changed it all. I thought I saw the sizzle of a yellow bird flicker in the distance. I thought I saw it leap through a break...


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