Lo! Through the years, I’ve become a skeptic;

Rusting unburnished, like th’aged Ulysses.

The sharpness of my mind has turned septic;

The breath in my lungs has become a wheeze.

Yet the strength in my fist still begs to fight,

To once again tear Grendel limb from limb.

The sins of my past haunt me like a wight,

Could it be that I earned a curse from them?

I know it’s sin to commit murder, Lord,

I hold thy commandments by my bedside,

Yet they had caused injury further, Lord,

And so their punishment was eye-for-eye.


But now I hear my Geatish men burning

At the hands of an insatiable beast,

And I wonder if these Christian learnings

Are just the ruse of some fraudulent priest.

For it was my will that slayed these monsters,

Not the holy relics of olden times.

Mayhaps it be you were an imposter

To convict one’s enemies of false crimes.


But what the truth is, Lord, I do not know.

All that I can do is reap what I sow.

And if this cruel dragon would kill my men

Then I think it’s high time I kill again.



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I pledge allegiance to the flag


My young eyes followed

Each word on the board dutifully,

As we spoke,

Because I had been told

That’s what a patriot would do.


Of the United States of America


My home.

Well, my country, at least,

My home was there, too,

But just down the street,

Next to Mikey’s house.

I had never been to somewhere like Texas

Or Tennessee.

Ma said it wasn’t safe there.


And to the Republic, for which is stands,


And what exactly

Do we stand for?

I wondered.

Uncle Rob and Mom

Were arguing over that

Just the other day.

“You poor people

Are all the same.

Fat. Lazy.

And so irritating,

Begging for my money.”

He had spit.

I remember the contempt in his eyes

When his gaze fell on me.


One nation, under God, indivisible


Of course, the divide in our family

Was made long before yesterday evening.

Mom had married a Muslim.

And because he translated God

To Allah

Uncle Rob acted like dad was a terrorist.

Then again, so did my classmates,

Which is why mom drops me off



With liberty and justice for all.


At the time,

When I rocked back and forth on my heels,

Hand clasped over my heart,

I did not know the term “irony,”


But as I would learn,

In my public schooling,

The ideas of “liberty” and “justice”

Are riddled with it.


Where was the liberty

When my father was executed

By Mikey’s dad,

The “self-proclaimed” patriot?


Where was the justice

When my mother grew weak and weary

From over exhaustion,

While Uncle Rob

Grew fat

With his riches?


“For all,”

Echoed through my mind,

As we took our seats in class.

The tattered walls,

The creaky floors,

The wobbly desks,

All reminded me

What a perfect lie that was.


There’s no justice for us.



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Now, we find the skyfish has taken hold.

His once clouded scales have come alive

In a shimmering rainbow, bright and bold,

And he swims in the sky for all to see.


I watch as all the voices around me

Light up like they had just seen a lover.

There are festivals for miles to see

Each with their own, new, succulent delights,

And the children run with their skyfish kites.

I wonder how many have read my books?

Has the pen been overcome by websites,

Who stole His words and used them as their own?


For this is not the world I was shown.

He gave me words to make the truth shine through—

To bring eyes to the magic paths He’d flown

Yet in the stead of my books I see blogs.

No one reads the words I’d carefully logged.

Still, I hear His voice calling out to me,

Over the screeches of the demagogues,

Like the low hum of thunder on the wind.


He flies out to find all those who have sinned,

To drown the ranks of rot and filth and lust.

He purges their ranks until they have binned

The infectious bacteria of life.

A man proclaims love to his brand new wife

But his eyes drift to his secretary.

She, herself, took an oath against the knife

To join her blood in with His covenant.

Though we see the truth that has come of it:

That the weakness of man poisons His sea.


Yet still He calls to me from the big blue;

I wonder if pride has blinded Him too?



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Once in a blue moon, the skyfish appears,

But only to those who go to wander—

And even the wanderers do not see

The glory that is in His great visage.


He first caught my eye after the Spring rain,

When the sweet showers of April sunk in

To combat the drought March brought to the roots.

He was hiding at the edge of my sight

Behind blinding rays of the newborn sun,

But because I chose to shield my gaze

He granted me the knowledge known only

To those who see both the Heavens and Earth.


It was knowledge that no words could describe,

For in all the words that fill my journals

I have chipped away but a small pebble

From a mountain that dwarfs King Everest.

And yet I have been given this sentence,

Which knows no beginning and has no end:

To make His word—that is, the word of God—

Into a word that humans understand.


But with the volumes of books I have writ

More and more people have turned to my cause.

They have found His glory; His clouded scales,

And for the first time, Man has found its peace.

No children cry for their long dead fathers;

No wives waiting for their husband’s return.

There’s no violence against those who are queer—

For to the skyfish we are all mere kelp.

We all live, and breath, and bleed the same way,

Even if not all of us appear green.


But the quiet that fell over the Earth

Is a silence that I have found eerie.



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Why is it that humans look to heaven

When all ’round them they can find their brethren?

What’s more is what they can find down below

With a sickle, a shovel, and a hoe:

Nutrients that have more glory than God.

It’s something that I have always found odd.

To turn to the ever cancerous sky

Who’s one redemption is when the clouds cry.

And we could find fresh water in rivers-

Though one must look out for things that slither,

For while mother Gaea can be loving,

She cannot prevent our cousin’s hunting.

Still I’d first trust destiny in her hands

Than under the fist of a Christian man,

Who has crusaded with a zealous pride

And burned innocent crops while on his ride.


The irony is that with every win

He has indulged in the cardinal sin;

That in his search for greatness and glory

He lost the teachings that he held holy.

So stick to the land and I think you’ll find

This heaven of Earth is one of a kind.



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The blood had pooled in the middle of the road, crawling slowly through the cracks around the body. The body, that of a young man aged 26, was sprawled out with his head slumped to the left. He was well dressed, in a black coat and a white button down shirt with thin blue stripes, stained crimson from his wounds. He must have been thrown out into the road quickly after his injuries occurred, because a thin spattering of blood led back to the sidewalk. It had occurred just in front of Auguste Rodin’s Hellfire Bar and Grill, at roughly 1:15 in the morning, based on the temperature of the body and the state of the blood.

It wasn’t until later that we found the knife. Or rather, parts of the knife, which appears to have been shattered by an unknown force (one theorist suggests that it was probably caused by a sudden change in temperature from extreme heat to extreme cold, though the cause for this occurrence is still uncertain, and has been rapidly dismissed as impossible). Unfortunately, even after reconstruction, the knife has given us little to no information on his death. It’s a short, thick blade, with a well worn handle, yet in spite of this there are no traces of fingerprints, DNA (aside from the victim’s blood), or even a brand name.

On the man’s person there was a wallet with no identification, credit card, or any other means to give a name to his person, though he bares a striking resemblance to Mihr, a man I knew in high school. Additionally, he was carrying an envelope that was curiously addressed to a location that does not exist with the simple message “RUN.” The confusing part was that the addressee was simply titled “All.” We have attempted to find someone by this name for follow up, but we were unable.

After attempting to view street cameras, it was discovered that power had gone out that night between the hours of 12:00 am and 2:00 am. No suspicious behavior exhibited in the hours leading up to and following the event, when footage is available. Police are still searching for any information on this occurrence. If you have any information, please do not hesitate to contact us. Additionally, it would be of great assistance for you to put the word out, as we know you have a great capacity to gather information. We are at a loss for where to go next.


~ letter addressed to the Chivant Bridge society



*This is fictional, please nobody freak out. Side note, there are 3 references in this, based on names. I recommend you puzzle your way through them. They will hopefully grant you a little more insight into the meaning.


At the base of the mountain sat a temple, covered in moss from solitude. A solitude so lonely that even the rocks and the trees around it do not understand it. This temple sat for many seconds of eternity, alone and uninhabited, until one day it was discovered by an immortal man. The man had walked through the dense trees and vines until he stumbled upon it by what he thought to be chance (though any knower of things realizes that there was no chance about it). For a time, the man sat too, contemplating the world around him. He would walk through the empty hallways, and observe how the walls would echo back to him.

And for a time, the temple felt happy, until the time came for the man to leave. He built a great fire from moss and leaves and tinder that were scattered about the temple. The fire heaved and burned hot, and spread wildly like an unchained animal, searching out every crevice of the temple until it finally subsided into a deep sleep. For the first time in ages, the temple was clean. But the temple was also sad, because it was once again empty. And long after the dust had settled, after the wind had taken the ashes far away, after the vines had come to reclaim their territory, The Purifier came. He came like a demon, with all his disciples. They harnessed the temple, and it became the center of their world.

The temple felt happy, at least, it thought it did. It had been cleansed again, and the people gave it detailed attention. They built pillars and statues just for it. They broke down old walls and rebuilt it brick by brick, so that it was bigger and stronger than before. They remade it so much that the temple could scarcely remember the man from long ago who had come into the hallways and made them like a home. Until one day he returned.

The temple saw the man step through the trees in amazement. The smile across his face was more of surprise than of joy, and he walked slowly up to the temple. Up it’s numerous golden stairs until he reached the main entryway, which had been had been redesigned larger and more grand than he remembered it. He saw the new tiling, and could almost hear the roar of the statues on either side as he walked past. The people looked at him in both awe and in fear as he walked through the halls—really much more like corridors now. Eventually, he came before the main room, which too had been made more lavish, and looked upon where he had sat and meditated. Instead, before him sat The Purifier, demonic and powerful, in a throne constructed of a gold so vibrant that the man had to shield his eyes to speak.

The man and The Purifier spoke for hours, sometimes shouting, sometimes so quietly the temple could hardly hear them. Of course, the temple did not understand what they said, but she could tell that they were at odds with each other. For days upon days they spoke, the man standing, and The Purifier in his throne, until finally there was a heated silence, and The Purifier rose slowly to his full height, with a grim anger on his face. He pointed at the man, and from him burst forth a flame deep blue and hot, and it engulfed the man. There was a single tear that rolled from his eye as he was burned black to ash, and he looked at the temple with a sad smile, until finally the flames subsided and there was nothing left of him.

The temple became enraged, and shook violently, and implored the mountain above her to help bring her freedom. She realized now she had not been brought kinship, but instead had been conquered; that she had been brought from ruin to ruin. That it was not for her that these people cared, but only for themselves. And the mountain granted her wish, and erupted in smoke and molten lava. The mountain choked the people, and burned them to ash, like The Purifier had done to her friend. The Purifier ran to the top of the temple, as if to escape the ocean of death around him. But the tide was rising now, and it chased him up the stairs.

The Purifier turned to the mountain amazed, but not frightened, and he said something that was passed along by the birds, to the lions, and all the way through the world to me. This he said:

“In fire I was born, and in fire I will die. But it will not be at your hands, it will be at my own. One last, beautiful purification.” And then it is told, that as the lava reached the last steps, The Purifier put a hand to his chest, his fingers tensed against his heart, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he ignited, and exploded into a spectacle of red and white, before being carried off with the wind. The temple screamed, enraged and pained with sadness. That it would be known that the last victory could not be hers. She sat there again, for years to come, as the mosses came back and the ashes gave way to new growth, and waited, in solemn silence, until inevitably another would come to take her again.

– The end



*A quick note, I don’t own this image, it appears to belong to the wiki.guildwars site, but I cannot find an artist to credit the work to.


Hello everyone,


Good afternoon! So today I wanted to talk about the spiritual. Do you ever feel like you know what’s coming, or in touch with everything around you, and yet at the same time you feel like you are still your own being? Good, that means you’re capable of thinking about and observing the things around you, so hopefully this talk I’m giving will leave you thinking “Hmm” rather than “what the heck was he talking about?”

So let’s get into it. Being spiritual is something that a lot of people giggle and make jokes about. I have no doubt you’ve probably heard a condescending reference to some white woman talking about spirituality as she drinks her Starbucks and does yoga. And while those jokes are all well and good sometimes, they do undermine the value of being spiritual. I mean, from the perspective of an Atheist, I would imagine religious belief looks similar to this. Yet I guarantee if someone talked about the old white men with their robes and crackers, a large number of Christians would be upset. Regardless of jokes, the point of these comparisons is to express that spirituality is a subjective matter, and though one way is valuable to a large group of people, it’s very possible that another way is just as valuable to a smaller, less organized group.

So let’s talk about being spiritual. Man people who feel spiritual feel a connection to something. Whether it’s God, several gods, nature, or just the general vibe of living, typically there is a force outside the tangible that exists in the minds of these people. Of course, while just feeling a connection can be comforting, many people will go further and focus on this connection in order to create something out of it, or allow for it to shape their perspectives in life.

Now, I have no doubt many Christians reading this are a little upset that I equated spirituality to their religion, but at the base for it is. The whole basis for Christianity is very spiritual. Each person’s body is a vessel for an eternal soul, which goes somewhere that science cannot find, whether it’s heaven or hell. And that’s a fine belief to hold.

When I think about religion, I often think back to my history classes in high school, where I learned about Napoleon. Now, Napoleon, if memory serves, was a very religious person, but he realized that it provided an outlet for people to find peace, which, for an emperor, was very important. Does this mean he was controlling his masses? No, but it did mean he granted them the ability to control themselves. Which means being spiritual also provides new avenues for people to be controlled. Think about the old age of the Church, where in Europe, it was arguable that the Pope controlled more power than most countries. Hard to argue spirituality was good for the freedom of people.

Then again, the trade off for this freedom was comfort. People who suffer often turn to spirituality for happiness. And perhaps this is acceptable, even if it means the loss of some freedoms. What do you think? Let me know!


Hello everyone,


Wow it was hard to get out of bed this morning. What happened? Yesterday it was so easy! Today there are a lot of things to talk about, and so little time. I woke up with this song in my brain from a TV show that made me cry, and then I check Facebook to see all the videos shared of Gene Wilder, which reminded me of his death, and then there’s general stuff that I always want to discuss more. How do I choose?

Well, it’s not really a choice. Now, for me, Gene Wilder was not really a massive influence. I mean, I certainly watched him when I saw him play Willy Wonka, and I was fortunate enough to have parents excited to show me Young Frankenstein. And I suppose those are perhaps enough to have made a significant impact on my life. I’ve probably seen Young Frankenstein a dozen times, and I can remember singing along to Pure Imagination.

But maybe we should take a look at what his work meant in a more abstract way. He brought smiles to people’s faces through his humor, but he was also a serious enough person in character to make him seem human. Take the moment where Willy Wonka snaps at Charlie for going against the rules. That’s a very human thing to do. Sure, perhaps this is how it was written, but Gene Wilder brought it to life.

Or maybe take a look at his role as Young Frankenstein instead. This movie was full of giggles, silly jokes, and sexual innuendo (What knockers!). Yet take the opening lecture scene, where Gene’s Frankenstein struggles with his name. There’s the vanity struggle of a person who is ashamed of his heritage yet proud of his intellect. And then he stabs himself with a pencil. That takes a lot of heart to pull of without breaking character.

Of course, he was more than just a film icon from an era of the past. He was also just a good guy. Amidst all the posts about pure imagination and Frankenstein, I found a quote about religion that I think anybody with a conscience should read: “I’m going to tell you what my religion is: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Period. Teminato. Finito…I have no other religion. I feel very Jewish and I feel very grateful to be Jewish…” That’s just so beautiful, isn’t it? He went on to say he didn’t believe in God or anything to do with Judaism. But that’s less relevant than the core message of that quote—which is that, in life, your religion only extends as far as your heart does. Any person can claim to be anything, but in their actions you will find their true being. A person could claim to be a good Christian, and yet they would condemn the poor to suffering, and preach hate rather than love. An person could claim to be a follower of Islam, yet the would denounce and attack other groups in the name of Allah. An Atheist could claim to have all the answers and denounce other religions, and yet they have shown a lack of understanding for respect of others belief.

So be sure to keep the hearts of others in mind when you go forward in life. Gene Wilder was a wonderful inspiration to many, and a comedic genius to most. So I’ll end with one of the less quoted lines from his most popular singing role. “If you want to view paradise / simply look around and view it.”


Hello everyone,


Wow it has been quite a while since I typed that myself! How have you all been? I know for you guys nothing is different but it’s been two weeks since I’ve actually sat down and written something. Why? Because I’ve been on vacation! Ok, in truth I wrote some personal poetry over the vacation, and I may share that in the future, but not today. Today will be a vacation sharing day and maybe some discussion about perspectives from it.


Boom! There’s the family (minus my sister who couldn’t attend). I could go day by day but to be honest that’s 12 days and I don’t have that kind of time. Here we had just landed in Billings, Montana. Trust me, it was a stressful morning. We literally got on the plane 2 minutes before take off. In fact, we got to the airport just 40 minutes before it left, because I had accidentally forgot to put something in the car and we had to go back for it. Hence the happy expressions when we actually landed at our destination.

Alright so next up was the Battle of Little Bighorn memorial site. Which was a harrowing adventure, since I am part Native American, and yet apparently some of my great grandparents knew people that died in this battle. Of course, things were different then, but it made me think about how we quickly generalize disdain for soldiers when quite often they are just there following orders so that they can make a living.


We also checked out the Devil’s Tower national park. It’s a super cool…mountain? It kind of just juts out of the Earth, which I guess could be why it’s called Devil’s Tower. The myth behind it is, in a quick recap, that there were children playing who were suddenly chased by an enormous bear. They scrambled up the side of this rock, and when the bear pursued, he was unable to climb as well as them, so he ended up clawing at the rock instead, which is where all the markings on the rock come from. It certainly makes sense, were that possible, since the lines cascading down the rock look deep and almost claw-like.

The next stage of our journey was down to Mount Rushmore. As with most of this trip, things were super cool. The top picture is a panorama I took from the Norbek Observatory which overlooks a forest. If you can, zoom in on the rock to the left of that large tree on the middle-right section. You can see Rushmore from there. It was a really cool day to feel American and proud.

Of course, my pride didn’t end there. Like I mentioned above, I am part Native American, though in fairness it’s more blood than cultural background or understanding. This was taken at Crazy Horse, which if you don’t know anything about, I suggest you check it out. This is literally history in the making. It’s a huge monument to the first people of the Americas that is privately funded. To give you an idea of the size, see that top left picture? See the face in the center at the top? It’s facing to the right to give you perspective, in case you cant see it right away. That will be a head that is the size of all of Mount Rushmore, and in all honesty it’s something that should get more attention, because it’s a part of our culture that is mostly overshadowed by white history.


Also in this area was Sylvan Lake, which is where this picture was taken. This is on top of a rock that was in the middle of the lake, and it was incredible. Have you ever jumped off a boulder into water? This was my first time in memory, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying. Try it out sometime! (Be safe).

On our way out of South Dakota and into Montana, we found some different, interesting places. The top two pictures were from a graffiti wall, which is something I think we should have more of. Often times art is an expression rather than an image to behold, and this is a great way to make it a positive outlet rather than an illegal one. The second one is a Norwegian style church, which apparently is an exact replica of one in Norway. It was quiet and cute, and it really wasn’t awe inspiring. Which I think made it all the better, because it was just a little piece of history, carved out of time for the people around it to see. There weren’t people flocking to it, it wasn’t some money maker for greedy church people like mega churches can be. It was just a nice, homely place to visit.


Speaking of homely stuff, this place was the bomb, which is why I’m giving it a personal rant moment, because now that I am back in California I won’t get another taste for a long time. It was not only delicious, it was this cute little dive that just was perfect in taste. Oh, and their large sandwich was 17 inches long. So you know, challenge accepted. It really summed up the area though. It was a cute, innovative place with a community oriented feel. It cared about the customers as much as making a profit, and it provided opportunities for people to interact in a way that they might not always get to. If you ever get the chance, PLEASE go check them out.

Alright, last picture for this blog entry is from Yellowstone. We saw Old Faithful, we splashed around the river, we toured the sulfurous hot springs. But nothing compared to seeing the Buffalo. They were so majestic, which I feel like has become an overused word that no longer does the animals justice. But they really were like something caught out of time. They weren’t quiet by any means, but the valley was so huge that their noise sounded like a pin dropping in an empty room. Audible, but consumed and enveloped by the space around it. That doesn’t exist in L.A., as much as I wish it did.

Things out there move slower. And it’s great. Sure, there’s a lot of isolation that I’m sure could be hard for someone to deal with, but there’s also a grandeur of the countryside that make you just want to breath deeply and go for a walk. It begs exploration. The kind of space that wants you to pack a bag of supplies and go camp out. I’m thankful that I was given the opportunity to go on this trip. We also did some other visiting, swam in the Yellowstone river in a cabin, and we checked out the grave site of my grandmother. Both were amazing in their own way, but sometimes you have to put the phone and the camera down to just appreciate what you have. For me, those were moments like that, and I’m happy I have them as memories. Until next time! Maybe I’ll share some of the poetry I wrote out there soon.