Two Years


A tidal child sings a sinner’s prayer
From wet sand castles ashore
Connected through their words and air
Withering the fruits of their labor Read More

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Connect

Photography by Bruce Gilden

I’m depressed. I’ve felt a surge of rejection over the past couple weeks, and what’s stupid is it all stems from the vitriolic, soul-crushing existence of social media. It’s simply embarrassing that, 1) we as a civilization have devolved to this being the “most efficient” way of communicating, when actually very little is communicated or learned; and 2) I, a pretty much against-the-mainstream, hippyish free spirit have fallen into all this must-maintain-an-online-presence nonsense. It’s hard living a life you know you’re not supposed to be living, that there’s a much better life for you, calling for you, if only… Read More

Storm

Art installation by Angela Glajcar

I black out in Laos w/ the Canadians and awake the next day in some tall grass next to the river w/ Amaya beside me. I can tell she’s upset and my state of mind is so twisted from the night before that I am emotionally numb. She goes right into it and tells me that she was going to leave me in the middle of the night, just get up and walk away and keep going, but Christ told her to stay and she obeyed. At this point in my life I am struggling so much w/ faith and it almost seems to my demented alcohol-soaked brain that she is using Christ to torment me, Read More

Our Sins

Photography by Manuel Libres Librodo Jr.

We like miracles because they are now,

Not because they are from God.

We use God’s love because it serves us well,

Forgetting that without it, we would be dead.

We watch our loved ones sleep

And pray to God they do his will

And then grow afraid of his will.

There lacks congruence in what we Read More

Let There Be a Repentant Rapist

Art by Luiza Vizoli

His name was Tyrone.

Or was it Tyrese? What I do know is that it is a grace of God that the memory of his name was stolen from me too. Stolen along with that Fourth of July night in Billings, the year I turned twenty-one, when he dropped a date-rape pill into my drink. There weren’t any fireworks that night.
Among the few moments of relative lucidity that night were these: Read More