Thank You

August 3, 2016 § Leave a comment

Caught myself twice today. An insignificant lack of awareness. Have seen it for years. Two times in one day. Caught myself viscerally. Could of hit a mother and her baby in a stroller, smashed into that white truck because I didn’t turn my head as I swerved out of that lot. First time, first time it’s made me thankful to have noticed. Thankful for being aware. First time I see this life altering humanity not just in others.


Summer Travelling 

July 23, 2016 § Leave a comment

Time has stopped still. Thought this phenomenon was gone from my over educated world view. And all from a dream.

It has been decades.

The truck full with people: strangers, men, women, family. My passions and fears within the dream symbolically. Who am I comes with morning analysis. Where am I the deconstructed plot. Asking others for help. The police, truck driver, a beautiful accented young woman after expaining her slangy patois with a laugh. All cinematically stylized. Ethereally lit. No one could help. Had to figure it out alone.

Lost, moving forward non dream like, investigating. Traffic, filmshoots closing streets. The end lost. No fear felt, no anxiety caused, just the reappearing self in a soft palette world.

Time has stopped just like when I was a kid on summer vacation. Just like now. Being replaced by doing is the magic. Total acceptance of time and place and living. It’s great to have this power back. Why now? Doesn’t matter. Glad to feel like a kid. Appreciative of being allowed a return. Hope I can stay here a long time.

Turning 50 on the 5 or 10

May 30, 2016 § Leave a comment

The accelerator quietly revs. Blurring passed the trees that pull their leaves and branches a yellow car pushes into the center lane. Again, the accelerator. For 30 miles, maybe, more. This happened a long time ago. The 5, or 10, most likely. California.

From the back seat the hiss of the wind sucking from the top of the glass louder than anything else: the music, the cigarette smoke, the silent conversation. From under my uncle’s foot comes the engine. Petal to the metal. Calculated. Press and release, press and release. A rhythmic repetition up from my feet through to my head. 20 miles, maybe 50. Why’s he doing this?

Now, the thought comes up as choral children sing from the Catholic church on N. Broadway just above the Zanja Madre–Why do we do what we do? Do we even realize what? How long has this rhythmic questing been with me? 50 years, 20?


Film School

May 25, 2016 § Leave a comment

Film School

Took a while to fight the mind away from the disconnect.

The pan of not feeling while feeling it all too much: an extreme close-up in sharpest focus.

Double fuge tone deaf, pleasing the critics with a soundtrack of life not understood. Balls, strikes, ads and silent casting all in one. A solo performance stolen by methotrexate down by three. Non linear cut and paste.

It took awhile to fight the film school mind. It’s all on the editing room floor.

In the end I always get final cut.



March 12, 2016 § Leave a comment

The building’s exterior’s the same. Plain, easily dismissed as any other family restaurant. Sitting in the booth furthest from the entrance, the counter and tables, the arrangement of pepper and creamer, the way the server pours coffee into the white porcelain cup also forgettable. I don’t remember details.

Used to come here with my mother as a little boy. Re-imagining how things might have been if she hadn’t died just as my 1st little boy was about ready to sneak away with abuela and eat breakfast. Just as I did. No one knowing of the intimate adventure. A little secret between us that made our relationship exciting, like when waiting in line in Hollywood to watch a movie Opening Night or when the raindrops bounced off the roof of the car like today. I listened from inside fogged windshield waiting for the rhythmic rain to stop so we wouldn’t get wet while I opened the umbrella.

It might have happened with my son. Could have happened for him like for me. It didn’t, though. Two more little boys after and decades later, details forgotten don’t matter, nor does nostalgia or possibly getting wet. Re-imagined secret breakfasts do.

My Body Back

January 30, 2016 § Leave a comment

Beginnings. Where do they come from? They aren’t new. Beginnings come from somewhere, of something. The before is natural. Already there. From where does the start start? How can anything begin from nothing?

Genuinely realizing this paradox sets things free. Recent blockbuster reboots and deaths of musical and artistic heroes lined up a kind of forced perspective while an anomalous case of the 21st century flu pushed me into the gap and shivered my body back from its egoic nebulousness.

Back to the body, the organic conception (this is where things start). Back to where life ended to begin anew. Resurrected.

Had Enough?

November 24, 2015 § Leave a comment

Those that live in Los Angeles and have had their car towed know this name. It is infamous for accentuating the evil of humanity. Or, to leave a bit less ambiguity—living through the process of “loosing” your car, “finding” it, and “getting” it back from the mechanized ordeal of this towing, auction, quota enriched company exposes a negative side of humanity that most would not wish on their worst enemies.

Look into it. Find out. Where do you stand? On a personal level I’ve had enough to post this. You?

Other American cities have similar collaborators with different names I am sure. Have you had enough?