Writings

You were right, dear professor, the great vortex came in time whirling us into the pond in which Narcissus saw his beauteous reflection. No longer an extension of the hand, the mouth, the ear, no longer a tool, but an obsession, a possession Narcissus mesmerized by his own image til he lingered and perished. In the dispiriting cafés in front of our Apple screens—the apple was once a fruit, now mechanized, and bitten like the original— the seductive bite that drove us out. Narcissus solitary and non-conversant, transfixed by the…

we are made of weak cloth and barely woven fabric sewed, having chosen a design because of texture, jute or silk having chosen a colour, violet brown or red, for the breadth of cotton held against light for the depth of denim that soaks up all stains weak cloth never woven for the strength of weft for the sounds it makes when flapped against laundry lines in wind, for threads that stray and those that remain after so many washings we, these ties we say we’re cut from are paper…

Cars, trucks, and heavy transports bustle down the busy thoroughfare known as Preston Street. A vital link between the city…

I remember as if it were yesterday, when I would stop in to see Mom and Dad after work. They…

The 1920s saw the revival of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) in the West, especially in Colorado and Oregon, with…

SAPLING Sunday mornings, Mom attends mass at St. Ambrose Church while Dad takes me to High Park where I play…

“Since the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves.” (Italian proverb)   Monday, 9 a.m. Not writing. Dim, dreary…