On Being Whole — It was about 10 days ago when someone went into a club and murdered a bunch of gay people. No one is talking about it anymore. That was it. It’s all over. It was also my father’s birthday. I don’t talk to him much because on the one hand I…

1–5 of the First 7, 563 rules of love — Loving someone is a lot of work. Simple work. Repetitive work. Satisfying work. Frightening work. Lovely work. I have been trying to be good at love since first Bush administration and I don’t think it’s helped. I only know a few things: 1. Show up. I don’t even know what…

A Thing You Do Alone — I am trying to make some sense of the act of being alive and I can’t seem to. Maybe the trying is the problem. I have the gnawing feeling that it has something to do with love, but what in fact is love? I was about twelve years old when…

In the morning I felt breath on me. I was barely awake. Every night of sleep had been a small battle, every morning a hangover. I was under stress from all directions. I was unsure of myself, jet lagged, emotionally fatigued. The sun coming through the blinds was an imposition…

The older I get the more I am convinced that my ancestors speak through me. This does not mean I am special. In fact it is the opposite. It means that I am only who I am because of who I belong to, who I come from. As…

I’m tired of writing about holding the hands of sick or dying people. After a while it starts to feel gross, constantly turning the warmth of a human hand in yours into poetry for a blog for a paycheck. I do not know what else to do. No one should…

The other day I was walking from my car to a place that sells vegan burgers that are delicious and also somehow disgusting. I can’t explain it. …

In Paris I am filled with love and I don’t know why. I’m not sure that I know what is meant by love when I use it here. I am just happy. I am not bothered by anyone and I do not wish to be bothered by anyone. …

In Amsterdam I rode a bike in the rain, my hands turning numb, the one pair of jeans I brought with me soaking wet. I had under packed because when I left California in the early part of September it was still effectively summer. My first stop was Barcelona where…