Friday, November 29, 2024

Day of Mourning

 

In the summer of 2019, I spent two weeks in rural northeastern Wyoming for an artist residency. The Ucross Foundation was located on a 20,000-acre ranch for cattle. The foundation’s verdant grounds were carefully manicured and mowed every weekday with a hulking riding lawn mower driven by their groundskeeper.
 
On my first morning there, the newly-arrived residents were provided an orientation. The vast grounds included hills where we could hike. One trail had Tipi rings. Mentioning this provided their staff member with the opportunity to inform us that these lands were once inhabited by a number of Native American tribes, including the Arapaho, Blackfeet, Crow, Shoshone, and Sioux.

Sunday, June 30, 2024

Octavia Butler’s Predictions for 2027 from Parable of the Sower

I recently reread the second half of Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower, which was published in 1993. I scrutinized this part of her book since I’m writing my own near-future novel set in Northern California. I thought it’d be worthwhile to share some thoughts I have on what she predicted.

Sunday, June 9, 2024

Letter to My Son

 


Mi querido hijo, over the past few months you’ve often seen me looking at our iPad. Sometimes you’ve sat next to me on the couch while I’ve stared at our tablet. Sometimes you’ve cuddled next to me and asked for a hug so I could pay attention to you. One time, you came over and stood next to me while I sat on our rug, trying to watch a video of two Palestinian children as they lay dead and bloodied, their mouths open, their limbs contorted. I snapped at you and said, Go over there!, and pointed toward the other end of our living room.

Tuesday, March 5, 2024

Notes After an Artist Residency

 

Summer Lake, February 2024

 

Over a week ago, I was lodging in a cabin that overlooked Summer Lake in remote southeastern Oregon. For ten full days, the only noises I typically heard outside was the howling wind over the high desert basin, a pair of Canadian geese squawking by day or night, the chirping of robins or other birds, muskrats splashing in the pond at the back of my cabin, coyotes yipping and barking, or an occasional vehicle zipping by along Highway 31. On the drive to PLAYA through the Oregon Outback, I may have passed more cows than humans.

Sunday, January 7, 2024

Some Thoughts on the Warriors Roster

 

Dang, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written a sports-related blog post. The last time I wrote about my beloved Warriors, I correctly predicted that they would beat the Celtics in six games in the 2022 NBA Finals.

It feels like we’re at a critical juncture for this franchise. The dynasty is over, and what a run we had: four chips and six Finals appearances in eight years; nine playoff appearances in the past eleven NBA seasons, and since the Steve Kerr era began in 2015, last season was the first time they failed to make it out of the Western Conference in the playoffs.

Friday, December 29, 2023

20 Things I’ve Learned Over the Past Four Years

 (My perspective is from living in the United States, the premier capitalist hellscape on Planet Earth):

 

1.    Most people are really selfish.
 

2.    Most people don’t care about others, including family, friends, and colleagues.
 

3.    Most parents don’t actually love and care for their children as much as they feign over social media. When people say they’ll do anything for their children, that’s bullshit.

Wednesday, August 30, 2023

Biggest Regret

 

The pride of Castro Valley: Cliff Burton

I have my regrets from this one life I will live; things I’ve done and said that I wish I could rewind and undo so they never happened. In this, the year of the Lord 2023, I feel like the biggest regret in my life is that I never really played in a band. Man, what a miss—and I feel like it’s too late at this point to aspire for, and playing in a band just isn’t the same thing it was in the Before Times (before, you know, that virus no one wants to talk about came into our lives).