I once saw a priest – original free verse

I once saw a priest
With his nose in the air
And his hand in his pocket
Eye sockets black and gold
Wrinkles on his face
And a smooth black hat

He looked to the sky
He looked to me and I shuddered to think of the evil he has caused
The rumors he has started
The time he has wasted
A vampiric creature

I once saw a priest
With scaly skin
And bloody ankles
He told me to believe
In myself
Of all things

He stood still
Wearing black dress shoes
Made of leather and death
His rosary dangling in the wind
I heard the echo of his clicking footsteps
A sad thing

I once saw a priest
And I immediately began to plot his demise
A childish game
Of course I only succeeded in my mind


Tagger – Broken Glass Project

Broken Glass is multimedia art project analyzing the phenomenon of broken glass on city streets and the affect it has on the community, the individual and animals.



Warm beer dribbled down his lip, slowing on his facial hair and stopping before reaching the bottom of his chin. He leaned his head back and took one last swig. He spit to get the bad taste out of his mouth while his body was going numb. Numb and alone. The darkness surrounded him like a warm blanket. He knew he was the most vicious creature there. There was no one else to be afraid of, just him.

His fingers were stained red with spray paint. They were rough and torn and tired. His hair was greasy and sour from a long three days of restlessness. Sleep only came when he felt at peace, peace only came when he felt strong, he only felt strong when he no longer cared, and he was only carefree when he was careless and numb. His fear and pain numbed with beer.

A wave of anger came over him so quickly at the memory of his eyes, his rage filled expression. His whole body boiled despite the alcohol. He closed his eyes and took a breath, this was how he fought with himself, fighting his desire to fight, to punch his dad so hard and over and over till blood splattered all over their dinner. He imagined breaking the dishware his grandmother had sent across countries as a gift over his father’s head. He could see the blood and sharp ceramic pieces flying into his nephew’s crib. That thought is why he closed his eyes, that thought is why he took a breath, and that feeling of being stuck, cornered in a place that should be called home is why he stood up, killed the last drops of beer before slamming the bottle on the filthy concrete next to dried dog poo, discarded candy wrappers and dead grass. The sound was quick and dirty just like his father’s fist hitting his mother’s face. The sound gave him a tiny satisfaction that he felt in his chest and finger tips. He used this tinge of rebellion, this ripple of adrenaline that comes from defiance to create a wave of energy, which he used to cleanse himself as best he could of the darkness that surrounds him. He immediately felt vibrations on his outer thigh, he reached deep into his pocket and grabbed his miniature monolith made of plastic and metal, he pushed the button and said, “Hello?” An animated voice responded through the thin block, “Where you at? I got the car let’s go…”

He walked away from the broken glass pieces with composure. His hostility numbed by the influence of the fermented liquid. His vexation dulled, for now, by the rancorous shards left like mines to afflict the blameless…

Are there any blameless? Are we all not somehow deserving of rancorous broken glass to be put in our pathway? What can be done to change these explosive behaviors to help the innocent? Should we even try, is there a valuable lesson in encountering ruins of pain or aggression?

Broken Glass

It is easy to take things for granted.  As a citizen of the United States, born and raised, it is easy to forget that the current culture and lifestyle came with a price.  Whether it was a loss or a gain, freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are delicate notions that must be constantly be fought to maintain.

Having clean streets absent of dangerous debris is a luxury not everyone in this nation is able to live with.  From paper trash to glass, the streets I walk are scattered with filth and broken glass.

Through artistic expression, I invite you to join me on my journey through this Broken Glass project.

*Notice how the glass sounds like Buddhist bells at this speed.

Cocina Abierta – First Shoot Day

Screen Shot 2014-07-10 at 11.33.22 AM
Yesterday was my first shoot day for Cocina Abierta with artist Christina Sanchez Juarez.
Cocina Abierta is a nomadic experimental “test kitchen” that facilitates the fluid exchange of immigrant histories, culinary skills, and base building strategies, towards the development of a worker-centered philosophy to eating ethically.
The end result of these shoots will be three docu-art videos and a spectral audio track.  The opening night for the installation at the Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions.
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