Tuesday, August 2, 2016


You have to get your hands dirty.
Dig in deep and claw your way through the maze
There’s no gentle process here
No orchestrated deliberate prop 
Nay, not here in this sopping, glistening minefield
You have to let the tears fall—the blood flow
Have to crawl and squirm in agony or revel in ecstasy
No tedious thoughtfulness—No, “Today I’ll paint…”
Never that. Can’t be that.
There’s only impatient, daring, intense, unyielding madness
It starts as red or blue and becomes a screaming beast
You call it passion
I call it survival
A glob of paint
A drip of this
Spray that
Scrape, drag, push, pull, and dig my nails in
What do I see?
A skewed perspective?
Truth or lies?
Have I tripped on a landmine?
Or discovered paradise?
Are my hands filthy enough?
Has the twitching come to an end—or just begun?

Saturday, July 9, 2016


The newspaper reads like a John Grisham novel turned darkly unflinching. Each story more sordid and bloody than the next. Daycare workers raping children. Cops killing black people. Black people killing cops. Mentally disturbed people killing everyone. People—not always American—screaming for stronger gun control laws or bans. People—usually American—screaming to keep guns, threatening to fight to the death. And then there are the complacent. It’s not my problem as long as it doesn’t touch me. 

CNN flips from gore and loss to the presidential candidates as seamlessly as a preacher switching from salvation to tithes. Hillary looks bored as she answers yet another question about emails, annoyed as she calls for stronger police protection. Trump’s pinched face and snotty voice negates the script he’s reading as he tries to appear in any way presidential. 

Facebook is full of pretty pictures, YouTube videos, and food recipes. Its summer so there’s vacations and gardens and Happy Birthdays galore. Twitter is on fire with all of it. Prayers and vacations and #blacklivesmatter and #bluelivesmatter and #alllivesmatter and buy my new cd and #weightloss and omg I love these shoes and save the animals and stop the Yulin Dog Festival and #vegan, live cruelty free and #guncontrol and #love…and…and… I can’t process it all. It’s so surreal. So insane.

My kids are clueless. They’re tiny, pasty white creatures holed up with Destiny and talking to their friends through a headset. My kids are missing all of it in their sheltered little world. Part of me hesitates, do I tell them or let them live in their vacuum? I tell them. No one can live in a vacuum. They look to me for guidance, for answers. Blood on my hands. I’m posting nonsense like everyone else. And they’re looking to me? 

Don’t they see that there aren’t any answers to give? There’s only the pictures of fallen officers—former soldiers shot by another soldier. We train killers here. We train survivors by default. There’s only ugliness as we systematically erase beauty from the world. There’s only Diamond Reynolds wailing, echoing our emotions, praying—her voice the only voice I hear. Her voice tearing at me, beating me, a beacon of truth—“We’re innocent people. God knows we’re innocent people.” 

And then the segment ends. #Merica