Sometimes I visit the Mission District of San Francisco, where I was born. It’s not the same, and it’s getting worse. Google moved into the
I’m supposed to stay away from the taboos. This is both what my doctor and Michelle recommend. This is a time of rest, they say.
I got a little too close to the core yesterday, when I wrote here on The Writing Bull. The image of the little nude boy
Professor Dick Head (his friends called him Richard) taught a literature class in my undergraduate college. He was a really smart guy. He had the
If having a few of my poems bludgeoned in class at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop was my only grief, my journals would simply be a
In the middle of writing the first notes for the novel The Holy Spirit of My Uncle’s Cojones, I recorded the above dream. My son