I have this problem. Anyone who’s been in my company has probably noticed it. And anyone who knows me can attest to it. A scab cannot exist without me picking it. If there is a scab of any sort, it *must* be picked. And I can’t rest until it is!... Read More
This is a poem I wrote 10 years ago. Its a poem about the search for purpose and the paralyzing pain of not knowing it. Niche My bones want to melt My muscles want to let go My body wants to stop Walking, Struggling Fighting, for air, for life. My mind painted... Read More
We can hardly get them off our minds. The whole world is watching today. And everyone is wondering, ‘what will happen to the brave men who spoke truth to power in Irvine?’ What will go down in history about the students who gave a voice to the voiceless, and took... Read More
