We’ve wandered into the maze of the Minotaur— a chemical chimera that pursues synthetically manufactured routes   deep inside labyrinth folds in our skulls with no way out   where pleasure is the highest good.   “Made” we’re told “to conquer mountains that wait to be subdued.”   Our Maker— the Succor— sovereignly sneezes, washing…

Before there was time, before there were gods, before there were blood sacrifices, before there were written words, Light spoke and split the atom of nothing. Time was dragged into existence, filling empty space. Some call “nothing” chaos, but chaos is disorder, which is something. It’s not even darkness, for darkness is a black top…

Gentle Jesus. Born a King.   You laid in a foul feeding trough, appearing to many as humbly.   O Precious Prince,   you were hunted down and brutally beaten like a lamb led to the slaughter.   O Beautiful Savior,   you were so brave to die for me.   Prior to your divine…

Not your Precious Moments figurines

but sleep-deprived warriors

with holsters for concealer and coffee.

Quick on the draw to conceal lines on their face

and savor the passing whiff of a fresh pot percolate.

I drive down Pelayo to Aragon to El Camino Real to Pico to the 5, north or south, to get away from my life.   But the dirt of the street sticks to my skin.   Windows rolled all the way down. Ruach, the mighty wind, cleanses from within.   A rock cracks my windshield….

A strap hangs off her missing shoulder—

a pragmatic prostitute at a makeshift bordello

where there are no curfews,

rules or chores

only dark alleys and cardboard boxes

to claim and explore…

If you know me, then you know how much I appreciate understanding why people do the things they do. When I get to know someone’s psychology, I feel closer to the person (for better or for worse). So, here is a tribute to– Actually, I’ll let you figure it out.

Come, touch my lips, my Lord, caress
With flesh the flesh of me;
One mortal morsel and my “Yes!”
Shall make me one with thee.
Come, kiss thee into me.

“He massages people’s feet

as he washes away the dirt

and the stench of the street.

He walks with those who suffer

and suffers when those who suffer

go astray.”

This is the Rabbi

who inspires closet skeptics

to “come-out” and pray.

Aretaics and arts were never meant to exist separately from one another. They were meant to overlap (not just on paper but in our own lives) and be an example or an apologetic for others to witness.