Vida Rica

I have begun so many times now, I no longer know where to begin.

One would think that to tell a story, there must be a beginning and an end.

But maybe there are neither. Just now.


Sitting in the shadow of a pana tree.

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I was a year late for the rim fire. One of the biggest fires in the history of California.

It took till a couple of weeks ago for me to see fire in the wild. Inches from the highway driving into Oakland on 580.

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And I See

Something is lost.


Energy. Time. Electricity.


Yet all the same I write.

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Saturday morning was sunny.

The skies were blue. The grass a deep green.

The forecast was pleasant for Sunday, and most of Monday too.

I wanted to walk.


Find a place with pavement. People. A simple job. Part time. A library with internet access. In a town where there is no one to know. Even if there was, I wouldn’t care to.

I have things to do.

When I’m low, there isn’t much between me and starting over.

Simplicity. A bit of control. A lot of freedom.

Sitting here days later, I still yearn for it. Just a taste. To wet my lips.

It is out there.

I know it.

I can feel it.

In times of chaos, that place is magnetic.

And I am a paper clip. Bent and twisted.

That place is my best bet to get myself straightened out.

To start from nothing.

Get a job at a quiet bar.

When I get some spare cash, I’ll buy a skateboard.

I’ve always wanted one. I had a dream about it once. 1

Skate. Sleep. Work.


Skateboards →

Smooth Moves in Bowling Shoes

This is part of the Big Shed Little Cabin series

If work is a rubber ball.

I wonder am I the juggler or am I the dog?

I rest my head against the wall.

Close my eyes.

It all starts to spin.

My mind, topples, and begins to roll. I nod and turn. Subtle suggestions for my mind to follow. I begin clumsily directing through a reconstructed fabric of time. I’m searching for something. But the folds of emotions slow my stroll. Press on. Clear a path for concentration. Focus. Awareness.

The Yesterdays are a sea of eternity. The Tomorrows too. In them lies an answer. Of that, I am certain. But the ripples of the fabric swell. Any vision of distance, obscured.

So I spin. And in the darkness, I do my best to navigate by the stars.

Weary. Bleary. I doze off.

The damp cold against my back makes me shudder. The solid ground tells me that I have navigated to the Now. I sit up to see that before me there lies a single path.

I look outward, to the beauty of this place. Something to grasp on to. And inward, to see how far that will carry me. I fall forward, spinning violently toward my eventual reality.

It hits.

Like a set of pins.

I open my eyes. Look up. The back of my head rests against the lane of a bowling alley. The back wall of Big Shed Little Cabin. Two segments of lanes, stacked on top of each other horizontally. Somehow, that was the solution that made the most sense.

Above, tarp. An ugly, salvaged umbrella. Something that would struggle to capture a fart, let alone heat on a cold night. I see an empty space between joists where some semblance of ceiling begs to be.

I see more work.

I see the climb out of here.

All we can do is climb.

When we run out of footholds, we create our own.

With that, I press my lips against the rim of the glass. And with an alcohol laced milk mustache, I call upon my spirit animal.

The Dude.


A man who has faced near unsurmountable opposition in the form of nihilists and a rich, disabled Caucasian.

A man who knows how to put spin on a ball. 1

Shall we partake on a brief journey of ponderation?

The Dude abides.

An idling Ford Torino beckons. Some Creedence, a joint, and a drive.

Are you fuckin kiddin me? →

Big Shed Little Cabin

Imagine life is a game in which you are juggling five balls. The balls are called work, family, health, friends, and integrity. And you’re keeping all of them in the air. But one day you finally come to understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. The other four balls…are made of glass. If you drop one of these, it will be irrevocably scuffed, nicked, perhaps even shattered.

  • James Patterson, ‘Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas’

It goes like this.

Hold it. Squeeze it. Give it a hug and a kiss. And…

Kick the rubber ball as high as I possibly can.

No time to watch where it goes. I need to build a really big shed to live in.

(Rachel calls it little cabin)

Grab a hammer… no no. Nails are too permanent. Grab a screw gun.

Measure. Cut. Screw.

Put up a window. Put up a wall.

Put the tools away and sprint back to the ball.

Tell Me More →

Approximately Equal To

It is a mathematical term.

Represented by a symbol: ~

It links to a page where I use my words to give the best approximation of myself. Approximately equal to what I am about. As equal as equal can be, when represented by digital words on a screen.

About me, but also about Burger A and Burger B.


I’ve also added a couple of features.

  1. Footnotes. I saw The Internet’s Own Boy the other day. I really enjoyed it. It inspired me to read some of Aaron’s blog. I liked his use of footnotes. Seemed like a good way of not interrupting the flow.

  2. Fonts. I like pretty things. I’d be happier if my blog was prettier. I think fonts help.

  3. Contact. Feel free to use it. I’ve actually got it sending to my personal email. Is that dumb?

Hope everyone enjoys some good family, friends, and food this week.

Off to find a turkey.