
It’s days like these — when murders have become fully sanctioned and sponsored — that call for the dutch angle.

It’s days like these — when murders have become fully sanctioned and sponsored — that call for the dutch angle.
I’m inside the men’s restroom at Stearns. The city fixed the lights inside so everything was now visible. The mortar between the whitewashed bricks. The bright tile, the green accents, all dealing with the smell of piss from men and boys who don’t hydrate enough. Now I can spot the grading on the floor, where the piss dips and channels. I’m wearing my oldest pair of sneakers, and I decided to step tippy toe between the piss streams. I look inside the stainless steel urinal, shaped like a trough for tiny ponies, and I find pistachio shells.
The other day, life brought me to my original stomping grounds of Carson, California, 90745 if you nasty. Hungry, I took my grumbling stomach to Tita Celia’s for a plate of tapa and eggs. We used to live right across the street from their original location. Saw that they were selling pickled mangoes so I had to pick those up. Then I finally paid a visit to Teofilo Coffee where they only use harvested beans from the Philippines. I ordered a double shot iced americano for a proper introduction to my ancestral kape. It was all perfect for the soul.
Carson, I thought I knew you.
Welcome to the rotation.
By William Butler Yeats
It’s beautiful. Read it aloud — but only at a whisper.
What if the future you came back in time and told you that what you’re doing is exactly how you should do it, and that what you’re creating is exactly how you should create it to get to the place you want to go?
Throw away your doubts and keep moving forward.
I’m having a hard time tweeting lately, and sharing on social media, because for the most part, nothing seems as important as where we all are in this world, living under the condition that the world may end right before our eyes — as we are seeing its very decline. And I feel that for anything I post on social media from now on should be some sort of solution, activation, or rejection of — and relating to — our demise. And yes, I understand that we will all die; I guess what I’m trying to say is that death by mass destruction due to our humanity’s utter neglect of the only home we have wasn’t on my list. And I’m saying this after I lived through a stretch run in box office hits that included movies like Independence Day, Armageddon, and even read and watched The Road, never thinking that I would see it all come to real life. That just wasn’t in the cards for me, I thought.
The Dinosaurs
The dinosaurs hadn’t a clue and maybe they were all better for it. Just one day a crash from a meteor that torched the surface of the earth and then silence.
Right now, what we’re experiencing is precognition.
The government is calling it a “code red.” Our world is in peril. And so — though I want to post my hot take on the industry of publishing dictionaries on twitter and share my photo of my children nestled inside the holes I dug up for them on the soft sands of Cardiff By The Sea, I choose to pass up the opportunity. It just doesn’t seem right; it just feels like emptiness, posting empty things on empty timelines to increasingly empty heads.
I guess, based on this very post, I’ve found a platform for my worries and my worries at the moment is as deep as the crater that was formed by the meteor that killed the dinosaurs.

“Define who you are and what you are, and be clear on that. Meditate on that and then, live and die by that…”
— Nipsey Hussle
I cried for Nipsey the other day, having finally listened to the Victory Lap album.
I was mesmerized by his voice and saddened that I will never hear it again outside of this capacity — in songs and interviews.
And I was reminded of the deaths of my favorite rappers, having grown up in the ’90s, exposed from the jump to the rise of rap and hip-hop and subsequent fall of some of the pioneers that paved the way for MCs like Nip.
So I broke down listening to “Last Time I Checc’d” and wished I could’ve lent my ears to his message a little earlier, when he was still alive.