there’s a carnival tonight

Last night I stepped into a carnival. Quite literally.  We were coming in from downtown and as we emerged from the LA underground at the Santa Monica/Vermont metro station we found ourselves surrounded by neon lights and funnel cake, bumper cars and clowns. The damn clowns. Anyone who knows me well knows that I’ve developed …

‘A guy who grooved on his own head.’

Yesterday I had me one hell of a good time playing some music for the people.  I think I could get used to this. And so the morning has been splendid.  MY girl’s telling me that even my skin’s looking good.  It could be the sunlight.  Could be the moon from last night.  Bob Dylan …

The Driver Named Abraham

It was at a Starbucks on Melrose Ave, in West Hollywood, that I met Abraham.  He’d moved from Jordan to Ann Arbor, Michigan in 1990; and then out to Los Angeles only five years ago.  Since then he’s been working nights at a gas station from 10 p.m. until 6 the next morning. This week …

Rain pours in March for the Satori

What a crazy thing I think about, when its all about my career and acting classes, and the teachers who look at you with silent acknowledgement that you’re not at their level yet 'kid', but you show some promise at doing the thing in life that seems so important to everyone in the room, but …

Jesuit Impressions

This morning I’m reading the autobiography of Mark Twain, and I’m finding that the man is a rambler like me. Much to my relief. I am debating at the same time whether I should attend mass this morning, thinking about how it will be my first time going in more than two years. I’m thinking …

Am I back?

Back to writing? The hiatus, if truly over, was well spent. I am twice the writer, twice the observer, twice the artist that I was at my last moment of proficiency or output. There was once a time where I felt hesitant to be truthful about such things but a great deal of my fear …

Looks Like Life in Your Eyes II

Jude Moonlight~ I got back into town around an hour ago and I saw that the place had been overrun with pigeons and gossip. So I kept moving and came upon a white moon glistening over the red sands. Summer falls behind arriving summer trains. And I fall in love with an amber rain and …

Looks like life in your eyes…

Jude Moonlight ~ The baker wore a mustache and he smiled to me and he said, "Where you been, dear boy? What you been up to?" I said, "I been here, dear man. I been here, I got stuck on a girl and I can't get her off of my mind." And he said that'll …

Portrait of an Artist with Too Many Gigs and No Clues

I moved out to Los Angeles to be an actor, but I am quickly discovering that I'm a man of many passions.  I'm in one of the greatest and most terrifying sorts of trouble in the world. Hollywood Received word that there is a gig for me up in Portland that has nothing at all to …

Chapter 1

March 10 Sitting in the LAX terminal on my way to Portland with a desire to record things down even though I wonder if now is the time, and then I say 'now is always the time'. Someone looks at me strangely, prolly wondering who this kid is, this kid talking to himself. 'Ya gotta …

Prologue

Before all this began, there was December of last year when I wanted to be Arthur Rimbaud and I stood in the corner of a bookshop, where I was becoming a ghostly regular reading a 'Season in Hell' and wondering what it would take as carols played soft on the radio. It was Christmastime. From …

unusual calm

Out again after the shootaround in west LA and Wilshire, with the king photographer. What I thought would be an epic duel with the sun turned out to speed right on through, for the heat of the past few days was nowhere to be seen. The photographer is a true professional, used to be an …

HEAT

The key to all of this is to have no fear and to not seem to take anything real seriously. This is only a fun lil' gig. It's been hot in LA for days and also in the shop which is more like a sweat shop, and even in my creepy and charming apartment but …

Coltrane and daylight flights over crystal oceans

Was about to work on the keys but it looks as though I am not allowed. I went to straighten some name issues with SAG, which brings me to this atrium-like cafe on Wilshire and all I can think of is how I need to make it here more, for the sidewalks are as packed …

It’s always morning in the summer

Met with the photographer this morning in the southern parts of the city beyond Wilshire.  I had little idea of what I'd see. I needed new headshots for the rolling season. His house was like a western Buddhist temple, a fresh hut with all its summer windows open and the air sweeping in like 9 AM heaven. The …

Lead up to ‘Cassandra’. The Hero Girl, Divine Child Part 1

The morning began to the sounds of 'Slow Train Coming' echoing from one the neighboring apartments though I didn't know which one exactly, and me deciding to read Huckleberry Finn for some reason. The rest is a blur and I think someone came in and knocked me upside the head as I ascended into the …

adolescence, it’s last crossing. Epilogue to the Italian kick

I remember being a small boy and staying awake during the nap hour of pre-school, since I never liked going to sleep and its calling forth of that inevitable and so sorrowful end to a day, much as it still seems to do now. So I stayed awake in the dark room, we all did, …

hollywood Italian morning fog

On west third street, a couple o' blocks from the shop is doughboys cafe and bakery and it feels very homey and Italian. The coffee is always warm and is served in mugs that look bigger than my head. A young couple and lone young fathers bring their babies and little children here for early …

Christmas Eve on July 31. Saints, refrain

From the wake of exhaustion I am invigorated somehow as I sit at a small cafe table, with my head leaning against the table and looking out at the sea of small tables before me. It has the feel of a quiet night though patrons are scattered about the cafe, some silent and alone and …

Smells like Campire

An unexpected message from an old acquaintance, a teacher from childhood, adolescence, telling me that he was getting burned too often to remain teaching. Think the sincerity, the candor, as he calls it, of my last letter to him might've been too much to allow for any prompt reply on his part. As I look …

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