We are always the protagonists of our own stories. But just once I had hoped you would play the support in a chapter I had written, laughing and rejoicing in the triumph I overtook. It was a high, it was momentous, it was glory overwhelmed. And it also paled against anything you had to say. I’m sorry….

Things that really matter and stuff:

Note: I was supposed to post this ages ago, but I received a wordpress-related scare. I couldn’t type on the post editor section! Actually, I still can’t. I’m using Chrome right now, because for some reason my Safari can’t handle making wordpress posts. Not proofread.

In Progress

I haven’t posted anything in a while, mostly because I don’t have anything complete to present to the world. My “In Progress” desktop folder is full of things I can’t seem to finish once I’ve started. I will finish them, though. I promise. 

Prose/Poetry: Memory

I was in Chuy and Kiko Eatery when this happened. From Pablo C. Bueno’s wake. Dated 11 March 2012 from my pocket journal, unedited.  One The Eternal Adoration A million steps and a thousand falls are etched onto the skin of these floors and walls. Each gentler and rough step, or hesitant footfall (your first step,…

Prose: the flight of angels//Opinion: On Sunday Masses.

WARNING: I don’t seem to know how to make short posts. Be warned of the coming 1700 odd words. the flight of angels He holds in each of his many hands the image of a bird’s egg, large and small and unique. He nurtures them; his fingers, the least of which holds the strength of the…