Category Archives: Personal

Valid

40% of the world’s global military spending is from the United States. I’ll let these musical legends recap. It’s from a sit-down decades ago.

I’m as liberal as they come. Using every other modern nations metrics, it’s financially obvious that our level of military spending is not reasonable. I of course reject unilaterally the accusation that questioning the disproportionate spending for military efforts is unpatriotic.

For all the gnashing of teeth and pain that the current administration is causing regular people, it’s obvious you focus on the 40% of the budget and not the 1%.

Of what purpose is a defense against the world if the people within the country aren’t the priority

X
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Holy Snarl

It is strange for me to write about the reactionary shock some believers experience in the face of this emergent and vitriolic version of belief. I wrote this song from the perspective of someone I trust to have a grasp of what religion is supposed to do to their lives. The song wails into the octaves instead of screaming, followed by a descent into acceptance, as they are surrounded by people who’ve twisted the message into something unrecognizable.

“Angry Snarl”

though they can’t spell the word sanctimonious

you smell it from a mile away

uninformed but seemingly never silent

they poison our world with certainty

you can’t reason with people like this

their ears are closed with heavenly glue

they have just one book to ban all the others

and it never means the same thing twice

they never hesitate to offer a judgmental opinion

as if we haven’t watched them go astray

they speak of god with angry lips

where mercy lies in a forgotten ditch

(chorus)

you can’t reason with people like this

yet you persist in measured reason

knowing it’s all in vain

they have the only answer to give

and that’s their only refrain

they speak of god with angry lips

wondering why we don’t feel safe

an afterlife of condemnation

is no way to live

Love, X

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If Or Why (Original Songs)

I don’t expect people to take the time to listen or absorb the message. Whether other people think so or not, some of the lyrics are insightful. The female voice version seemed to have an unpleasant tone, even though it resonated with me, and I worked diligently until I achieved that sound.

I don’t create things with the exclusive motive of it being liked. If I had that fear, I would do what most people would and fail to summon magical words from the air.

I have three versions of this song.

Here are the lyrics:

the January sun shone on your hair
your shirt clung to you like a glove
I held my breath for a fleeting moment
as I watched you walk toward me

I knew your mind was elsewhere
I waited for our eyes to meet
A smile, a glance, flickering enthusiasm
The reciprocal charm of being waited for

I couldn’t do what came to mind
I couldn’t say the things in my heart
I swallowed down the hungry tingle
and instead urgently looked away

When you feel like you’ve been hungry
The difficulty lies in thinking straight
You don’t buy a house just for the kitchen
But try living there without one

The gradual wither of my affection
Leaves me a little shredded and uncertain
I can’t find the words to explain the color blue
When you don’t see the things that I see as true

Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder
its value diminishes when someone grows colder
Confidence and esteem have their place
Yet it’s a tango, a duet, and a mutual dance

One person’s truth is another’s lie
It’s easy to forget that it takes two
Both being nurtured, seen, and felt

One person’s truth is another’s lie
And I can’t find the words to tell you why
I crave a life filled with overflowing
Freely shared and effortlessly showing

Dancing alone just isn’t the same
It moves your feet yet traps the pain

if art is food for the soul
of what use are eyes if not to see
of what use are arms
if not to hold and behold

One person’s truth is another’s lie

No one should be left wondering if or why

….

The original version…

The second version, more of a rock feel…

An alternate rock version…

Love, X
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Dickson

Dickson Street is a ghost town early in the morning, after all the night zombies make their exodus. I love the experience of seeing and hearing things when the world is silent. It’s a little warmer this morning but the wind puffs and reminds me that it’s still cold. The crescent moon hangs in the southern sky. 

At one point in my walk, the thunder of distant sirens wailed for a bit. It was a strained metaphor for the wild and uncertain world spanning out around me. Beauty and horror are constant companions.

We’re all visitors here, no matter where we call home. Just because we have decades to call a place our home, it doesn’t conceal or deny the fact that impermanency is our master. Yet we keep arguing and fighting, as if our efforts are more than personally significant milestones. 

I can’t walk around deserted towns without being introspective. It feels like there’s an elusive revelation just around the corner each time I do it. 

X

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Immigration

Francisco looked at me before he ran. Had he not, the immigration officials never would have looked twice. He came back to work later under another name. When he came to the United States, he worked hard. He rode a bicycle everywhere. I learned a lot of culture and language from Francisco.

After he ran, I went to the back docks were immigration officials were zip-tying people I knew in a refrigerated trailer. I had left my identification in my locker and diligently tried to be detained with the rest of my coworkers. I demanded in Spanish that the people I knew be moved out of the cold trailer. I refused to identify myself or provide identification. While I was not eloquent, I had to remind immigration that these were people being needlessly scared and put in discomfort for no reason.

I watched some of the agents half-heartedly perform their duties. They knew that the problem wasn’t the immigrants. It was the system and companies that relied on their labor. There were also agents who relished doing their jobs.

Later, I looked out at the back acres adjacent to Bethel Heights. At the work smocks hanging from the fence, left there by human beings fleeing.

It’s impossible to describe the people who didn’t experience it. Or to those who don’t speak the language and understand the need and drive to have a better life.

What a f mess.

I forget these experiences until I am required to remember. Every person rounded up or diminished by political grandstanding is still a person. And needed by the demands of our economy.

I did countless interviews and I-9 forms. The law required me to take a cursory look at identification prior to employment. If their identification was rectangular, it was good enough for me. Because anyone who wanted a job could have one. We constantly had unlimited positions available.

As immigrants become targeted, you can of course nod or applaud. But in so doing, you’re ignoring the bigger problem of economic necessity. Removing workers is a harsh solution that does not address the shadow economy or why we need so many additional workers.

Each time I see raids, I see Francisco. He was a hard-working man brought here by the fact that countless companies need workers. I think of that look of desperation on his face as he stood there zip-tied, knowing he faced a trip to Brownsville.

The raids were pointless. One man came to work with his suitcase. Instead of fleeing from immigration, he came to work ready for a free trip back to Mexico. He understood the economic reality that a job would be waiting for him when he came back across the border. And that it would likely always be this way.

Raids don’t address the problem.

They amplify it.

Companies who need labor anywhere they can get it will continue to do so.

Even if only 10% of undocumented immigrants disappear, it will have a devastating impact to our economy. Even if you’re unconcerned about the fact that these are people just like us, you probably won’t consider it to be an issue until prices rise and the reality of your choices results in discomfort for you.

We are not a nation of laws. We’re a nation of economics. Current events consistently prove this to be true.

Que desgracia.

X
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Purple Rain Memory

I do not think a long-lost memory would have returned to me today had I not been showering in the dark. Alexa played the the song I almost always listen to – “Tiny Dancer,” and then went to the next song: “Purple Rain.” 

For those of you who don’t know that there is a term for repetitive sensory input, it’s called stimming. One of the odd consequences of receiving the same sensory information repetitively is that sometimes the act of repetition results in an almost blank state of mind. It can work like meditation or cognitive distraction, much like the tendency toward having shower thoughts.

People sometimes ask me why I shower in the dark. At times, it amplifies the disconnect that brings disassociated shower thoughts. 

As the song played, I felt like a light flashed in my head. The long lost memory came to me. My brain traveled 39 years into the past. At first, all I could recall is that a high school band friend had dragged me somewhere to watch “Purple Rain” the movie at someone’s house. I couldn’t remember which bandmate it was. He knew my circumstances and that I did not get out much. It seems like I can remember the names of four or five people who also watched the movie. For some odd reason, Winfield Watson is the most vivid name and face among those who were there. 

I hadn’t thought of that movie night in years. Had someone asked me about it, I’m convinced I would have told them they were mistaken. 

The moment in the shower left me feeling like I was on the verge of a flood of newly-accessed memories. It took me a long time to realize how many gaps I had in my childhood memories. I understand why that it’s the case. Having this one took me by surprise and it lingers. 

X

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2025

I got up at 12:15 a.m. Flashing blue lights bounced through the windows. Instantaneously, I remembered my impromptu intervention in someone’s life before I went to bed. I forget the number of times in the last 3 years I’ve stuck my hand in a window or tried to offer words or a hug as needed and without thinking. I can’t decide if it’s foolish or the right thing to do.

Convinced that the worst had happened, I went outside into the cold morning (or late night, depending on your viewpoint). 3 or4 police vehicles lined Gregg Avenue. To my left, I noticed that my neighbor’s vehicle was gone. 

Probably in part due to the other news from yesterday morning, I was certain the worst happened to my neighbor. Just as I was walking toward the street toward a police car that had my parking lot blocked, I heard a clear voice speaking in Spanish. 

…Which meant my neighbor wasn’t involved. It’s about 1:00 in the morning now. But that strange cloying feeling that something is off has not lessened. 

I’m on my second cup of coffee, scrolling the news and social media.  I can’t watch for the Quadrantids meteors this morning because it’s too cloudy. 

Didn’t we all ask that 2025 be like a lazy Sunday afternoon with a sleeping dog or cat on our laps? 

X

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December In The Silence

Banal magic. Walking along the early December streets when the world is silent but my mind isn’t. 

The fog and humidity that permeated the air made the attempt of a snapshot tricky. Because my brain is a feedback loop, the words from SFU ran through my head: “…it’s already gone.” But I tried because sometimes in the briefest of intervals and through the indiscernible capricious luck of the moment, I get a picture that defies the inability to describe the universe in my head at that moment. 

One such picture escaped me. As I walked the dead end length of Leverett, rabbit after rabbit fled from the greens of the apartment complex and across the road into the thick brush. At least a hundred of them made the odyssey in front of me along that strip of road. Does the moment sound magical or mirthsome to people after the fact? Probably not; such moments require presence.

When I doubled back down Poplar, a man on a ridiculously large bicycle asked if I had any money.  I told him no. I saw him near the torn up section of sidewalk being rebuilt near the trail and suspected he might ask me something as I approached. I didn’t catch what he said in reply but the tone was inescapable. “I’m sorry. Have a good morning,”I told him. “F*** you,”he said. “Anatomically improbable,” was my reply. I once again did not catch his response. I’m certain my life is much better because of it.

As I walked the streets, I took a long look at all the houses still lit up by Christmas lights. I wondered if the sentiment of holiday charity and kindness would last as the new year approaches. 

Something I read yesterday popped into my head: “If you don’t give when you have little, you won’t when you have a lot. If you don’t practice attention and love when you’re busy, you won’t when you’re idle. If you don’t wave hello first and often, don’t be surprised if the world seems hostile. And if you haven’t lived long enough to know that on a long enough timeline you could be everyone you see around you, give it time.”

The words sound like a New Year’s invocation. And they feel true. 

Love, X

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Cold Wisdom

Since I went to sleep too early last night, I was up at 12:30. I took advantage to attempt to see the less spectacular Ursid meteor shower. The vantage point in the open parking lot about a half a mile away had too much radiant light interfering. It confuses me when I’m up at that hour because the bars and strip joints still thrive with people making dubious choices. 

But back at the apartment, I used my Star Walk app to orient myself facing Ursa Minor. Normal people refer to it as the Little Dipper. Our current North Star, Polaris, is the end of the handle of the dipper. It could not have been more ideal due to the towering pine trees behind my apartment blocking the moonlight – and most of the city’s lights. The Ursid meteors are more sporadic. I always find myself half frozen with a crick in my neck from soft-focusing my eyes toward the sky. 

Flight Delta DAL 2036 flying from Salt Lake to Fort Lauderdale flew over at 38,000 ft. It was pretty dazzling. 🙂 

I accidentally learn something each time I take the time or make the time to watch the sky. It’s rare for me to watch the stars and not think of my grandpa pointing toward the constellations. He wasn’t well educated. But like most people of his generation, knowing things like that was second nature. Before good maps, GPS, and all the things we take for granted. I wonder what he would think or say if he were standing next to me at 2:00 a.m. in the morning, watching me hold one of the most advanced communication and information devices ever created. 

The irony of me using such a device to watch and learn about remnants of our universe that are 4.5 billion years old isn’t lost on me. 

One thing I do know. Grandpa would have laughed if I told him I was cold and it was about damn time for another cup of coffee. I got my jadeite green coffee cup off the shelf when I went inside. As I drank from it, I thought about the fifty years I’d enjoyed between now and the first time I learned the name of a constellation. 

“Age does not bring wisdom. It brings experience that teaches you that everything passes whether you do anything about it or not.”

X

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Cold – Sublime

Cold winter solstice morning. 

After capturing some birds on my Merlin app, I got on the swing facing the sun. The light blinded me. I wasn’t looking outward anyway.

The cold penetrated me, but it was temporary. 

Everything is, even this sublime moment that looks like a part of an ordinary day. 

Love, X

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