Oakland — When he did something of which he was ashamed—and he was doing those types of things more and more—he immediately set about destroying all evidence of that thing. He did not imagine he was alone in this—people snuck cigarettes and porn and cupcakes and liquor and did unspeakable things to animals—but like death, heartbreak, and childbirth, shame was one those human emotions everyone experience...
Oakland — Oliveto Cafe is a gem. It’s almost hidden, even though it’s on such a big prominent corner: overshadowed by Market Hall’s great bustling façades on both sides, and by big brother Oliveto (non-Cafe) ab...
Oakland — I have always strived to be fully aware of who I am for myself, who I am for those close to me, and who I am for the world. I definitely have a lot more practicing to get there, but I my goal is to b...
Oakland — The tag is not an exaggeration. I’ve had many a whiskey in my life, you know. Rye, Bourbon, Scotch of all regions. Plastic bottles AND glass. I’m an equal opportunity drinker. The point was cheap. I w...
Envision > Create > Scale
Just learning about hi.co right now, at Arbor Cafe, on reading about its archiving and closing. Impressed, but sad.
It's a quieter night in Ghost Town
Jack London Square and railroad tracks of gold.
Always fascinating to watch commerce in action as container ships come and go under the San Francisco Bay Bridge.
Generations later, you can still see and feel the resemblance of a blood-born loved one. Yiayia Nitsa with her great-grandaughter, Lyla.
How do you spend a Sunday afternoon? Do you sit? Wonder? Take a load off ?
Acknowledging that change needs to happen. Everything has its own purpose and lifetime. Farewell, old bridge.
He didn't know she'd started taking pills.
Some Mondays start with knowing you'll need a beer in you hand on Friday.
Charlotte, my daughter, said her first three-word sentence today. "I got it." Better than her first two-word sentence: "Mommy, no!"
Sadly, his friends were never as interesting as the television shows he could watch.
Noise Pop 2014. El Ten Eleven.
Decided on an analog morning of book and coffee, but have been using my phone the whole time.
One thing about barflies he didn't understand--and he was well on his way to joining their ranks--was their neediness; their need to talk to whoever sat next to them.
California is shaking its collective head in disbelief at this cold. It's great small talk, and a public emergency.
At some point, all the various people he tried to be canceled each other out and he was left with no one.
He only felt alive while sleeping. All other times he simply fantasized about death. It makes little sense.
When you hurt someone deep, part of your punishment is wondering what they are doing when they leave, hurt.
"How can you tell an alcoholic from a 'functional alcoholic?' By how quickly they drink their water." It wasn't a good joke. But it was true.
It was not every night that he reflected on the worthlessness of his achievements and general existence, but it was a good number of them.
One thing he didn't expect was that telling the truth made people feel like idiots. So nobody wins.
A care package. Moments and context in ink and index cards. Makes me homesick for a place I've never been.
Hanging up hand washed clothes outside reminds me of a life I used to live.
He woke suddenly, lucid enough; and attempted to remember how much damage he had done the night before.
The people at sunrise waiting for buses and going for runs and walking dogs always filled him with a weird sense that he was ok.
How many people keep a lie integrated into at least one major part of their lives? A lot he suspected. Hopefully.
There is a particular type of liquor store, he thought, where you really see your people.
He wondered if most people felt this as often as he did, that he definitely wasn't trying as hard as he could.
Self Conscious
He moved every so often; often enough so they wouldn't think he needed an ambulance.
"Well, there's a reason you think drugs are positive for you," he told his stepson. "Drugs think you are great."
It was amazing--or disturbing--how much time he spent erasing the evidence of what he just did.
He liked sports, but it was so odd that people liked sports. It being out of their control and all.
She must if known he got stoned. She must have.
He wore headphones to block out the voices of those less fortunate than he. And the voices that thought he was less fortunate.
He decided to simply approach every woman he found attractive. Probability, he figured, would be on his side.
I'm interested in who these Apple air wielding coffee sipping beautiful people are lingering in the coffee shop for hours.
She told him he was balding, which felt way worse than when she told him it was over.
"One way to control people is to become their victim," he thought.
He didn't mind being a monster, and that was one of the issues.
Somewhere on the edge of Barstow.
His sister-in-law managed not only to change the relationship with his brother, but erase everything that had come before.
He hoped to finish before he was finished.
The continuing adventures of delayed public transit.
When you've lived somewhere long enough that you stop depending on the posted schedule.
Commuting with bacon in my bagNo one knows of the deliciousness hidden within
Rock Paper Scissors
Art Murmur
Art Murmur
Clouds clouds clouds
The sort of drink most folks can't stand. Reward at Boot & Shoe Service after a long day's wander.
Every once in awhile you come across off the beaten track gems.
Enjoying the last moments the train is empty before the commuting hordes descend. Also, that guy's neon green shoe laces.
Rockin Crawfish near Lake Merritt... Hip happening place even at 10 pm.
Broken leg, neighborhood view à la Rear Window.
Modshadow.
From the roof.
Views from a firehouse.
Modern coffee.