martha young, library card, ca. 1978. She loved them and had many in the house. Those in addition to the stacks we’d have checked out from the Downey City Library every week. I remember always being curious about the books she read, even before her passing. As a little kid she’d often find me with them, … Continue reading words on pages — the ghost in my machine.
I made the decision to go out that night on impulse. The weight of the year heavy on my shoulders, I craved release, someplace to funnel my anger, the rage and the sadness that pulsed through my body — remnants of my Father’s death, a Wendy’s recent flight, and the realization I was left to fight another … Continue reading the eighth of december.