The pleasure of listening to a Tim Reaper set when driving down highway 1 in the rain. It takes me to remembering a time in 1997 of coming alive, of being around people, an idea of no future. I want to tell an undertold story. There was something about feeling
I taught at what was then called Prison University Project at San Quentin for 5 consecutive years. Much of that time was one-on-one tutoring in study hall, but this piece is about a day in my first full-length literature class, which I co-taught with a brilliant
(but I am a broke-ass anyway so would I feel that way if I could afford to go more places?) [This was originally written about a trip to Puerto Rico in June 2023. I visited the same friends again in Jan 2025, one who grew up in Aguadilla, and
"But it's just like believing in yourself/ you don't look good if you don't" written last week at Lake Merritt, an ancient location of animal and water gathering together, Oakland CA, unceded Ohlone land, Huichin, before that probably just fire Love this
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